Chapter 921: The Wrong Path Leads to the Wrong End

Aug was devastated; in this moment, he felt he had been deceived!

In just a few days, everything had changed!

At this moment, this man in his forties sat weeping uncontrollably in his wife’s arms like a child.

His wife had been holding back tears to comfort him, but it did no good.

“We’re going to lose everything!” he said.

The bank will auction off the house he still owes payments on, and even the proceeds won’t cover his full medical bills—he and his wife and child will become homeless, living on the streets.

Ryder’s factory has already fired him; given his current condition, he won’t find another job until he’s fully recovered!

He didn’t know how long it would take him to stand again; the doctor also told him he still needed follow-up physical therapy.

He needed money.

Never before had he felt such intense desire for money, or such deep regret for his own foolish actions.

His wife could no longer hold back her tears; she knew exactly what “losing everything” meant.

It meant twenty years of effort since their marriage would vanish into thin air, and every happy moment of their past would become meaningless.

This society had torn them apart like a monster, and now it was about to swallow them whole.

But all she could do was comfort him: “Things will get better. Maybe there’s still a chance.”

At that moment, the distinct clatter of shoe heels approached from afar; the man looked toward the approaching reporter and his face tightened with suspicion.

The reporter stopped about two meters away, raising his hands slightly to show he meant no harm: “I’m a reporter. If you don’t mind, I can take my business card out of my pocket.”

Aug nodded, and the man pulled out a card, stretching his body forward to offer it.

Aug took the card but his suspicion didn’t ease; he asked, “It says… you’re the managing editor.”

The man smiled gently: “I used to be a reporter. I didn’t lie.”

Aug studied the man before him—“Mason”—carefully, and his expression gradually softened, because the man’s attire and demeanor didn’t look like those of a… con artist or anything like that.

He dressed well, with taste, and most importantly, he carried himself with presence.

“Sorry, I’ve just been through…”

Editor Mason stepped closer, raising his hands in a calming downward motion: “I know. If I were you, I’d react the same way.”

He paused. “You’re in trouble.”

A firm statement. Aug could only nod and add, “A big trouble!”

“Would you mind coming over to talk somewhere quieter?”

Aug shrugged. “Could it get any worse than this?”

At his wife’s urging, he rolled his wheelchair over with Editor Mason to a small coffee shop nearby.

A shabby coffee shop, with no seating at all—people took their coffee to go, never stayed to drink it.

The atmosphere in the new industrial zone was intense; this wasn’t the Bay Area.

In the Bay Area, coffee shops had large outdoor and indoor seating areas, where well-dressed people might spend thirty minutes, even one or two hours, killing time.

And wasting that time wouldn’t affect their work or lives in the slightest.

But here, people didn’t have time to linger; they had to hurry, hurry, and hurry again!

Eleven to twelve hours of high-intensity work every day left them no time to stop, whether on the way to or from their shifts.

They preferred to sip coffee while walking, finishing it just as they reached the assembly line—the caffeine kept them alert for the next stretch of work.

At lunch, if they had a little extra cash, they’d buy another cup, and spend the afternoon refreshed.

Even supervisors and managers usually ordered takeout instead of sitting here.

Who knew what might happen if they left their posts? They never stayed away long.

Editor Mason ordered three coffees; the three of them went to his car. He opened the passenger door and sat in the front seat, facing directly toward Aug in the wheelchair.

“I’ve heard about your situation. I think it’s representative. I want to report your story so more people will see it.”

“I’ll pay you twenty dollars for telling me your true story.”

“And if enough people see it, it might spark public outcry—maybe your problem won’t be a problem anymore.”

“What do you say?”

“Should you accept?”

Aug took a sip of bitter coffee. “Do I have any other choice?”

Editor Mason knew the answer. He pulled out a notebook and pen. “Then let’s begin.”

He placed the coffee cup in the passenger cup holder and asked, “Who do you think caused your current situation?”

“Your factory, your manager, the labor agency, the refugees you clashed with, or the union and the Labor Federation?”

Aug was representative—he was a union member and a registered member of the Labor Federation, a skilled worker who had benefited from the union’s and Labor Federation’s various welfare programs.

Using him to speak carried more weight than finding an ordinary worker.

Aug looked confused, cradling the coffee cup in both hands—his hands might be the hottest part of his body right now.

He didn’t know how to answer, so he lowered his head and thought.

“I don’t know. The manager… honestly, he treated us fairly.”

“He raised our wages after the New Year, and even added meal allowances.”

“As for the labor agency, I don’t know them at all. I’ve always worked in the factory; I’ve had no direct contact with them.”

“Some say they’re destroying the entire Jincheng labor market. I don’t know what that means or how it would look—but right now, they haven’t affected me at all.”

“As for those refugees… they say the Wanli Group arranged them.”

Editor Mason wrote it all down without missing a word: “Aug, you know the Federation is a place governed by law. Do you have proof of this?”

Aug shook his head. “Everyone says so.”

“Everyone also says the President is a lizard person.”

This made the depressed Aug chuckle faintly. “Alright, I have no proof.”

Mason nodded. “Then… what do you think of the union and the Labor Federation?”

“If they hadn’t launched a strike that had nothing to do with you, do you think this would have happened?”

This question left Aug, who had never blamed the union or Labor Federation, even more confused—it suddenly sounded like Editor Mason was making perfect sense!

If they hadn’t pushed for this strike, protest, and demonstration, he wouldn’t have been at the port that day—he’d have been in the production workshop of the new industrial zone.

Joking with the pretty female workers, demanding others strictly follow work rules and procedures.

Finding fault, acting superior.

Aug gripped his hair tightly with one hand. Editor Mason wrote it down:

“When I mentioned the union and Labor Federation as the driving force behind all this, the crippled man painfully and regretfully grabbed his own hair.”

“It’s clear he now regrets most of all being manipulated.”

After a long silence, Aug sighed. “I don’t know how to say it, Mr. Mason. They do have problems.”

Editor Mason added another adjective: “Big problems!”

“They redirected their own unmet demands by stirring up conflict between you workers and the Wanli Group.”

“But in reality, you had no conflict with them to begin with. I heard you still worked at the Wanli Group factory—they hired you, didn’t fire you, and didn’t replace you with illegal immigrants or refugees.”

Aug felt even more regretful. “Yes, but now I’ve been fired!”

Editor Mason asked, “Why?”

Aug answered instinctively: “Because I joined the strike.”

“Who got you to join the strike?”

“The union and the Labor Federation…”

A horse, a sheep, a donkey—any animal, even a human—once led by the nose, quickly begins to think as the leader thinks.

Editor Mason used only simple methods—no complex tricks—and imposed his viewpoint on Aug, making Aug believe it was his own thought.

He was in agony now.

And the thing he hated most had become the union and the Labor Federation—if they hadn’t incited him to join that strike, protest, and demonstration, none of this would have happened!

He would still be earning seventy dollars a month, paying off his mortgage this year, and living a happier life!

He was in such pain he could barely breathe—how could he have done such a stupid thing?!

Editor Mason was satisfied with the interview. He took several photos of Aug as proof of his suffering.

As the interview neared its end, he asked, “How much do you owe the hospital?”

“Over nine hundred dollars,” Aug said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“So the union and Labor Federation abandoned you?”

He didn’t answer, only stayed silent—the answer was obvious.

If the union and Labor Federation hadn’t abandoned him, he wouldn’t be here talking to them.

Editor Mason sighed. “Nine hundred dollars. Unless God opens His eyes to you, I can’t imagine how an ordinary family could get that money in a short time!”

Aug suddenly looked at him with hope. Editor Mason shook his head directly: “Don’t count on me. I’m not a philanthropist. I can’t give you that money.”

“If you don’t mind me sending people to follow you around these next few days, I’ll give you another twenty dollars.”

“It won’t solve your problem, but it might make your big problem a little smaller.”

Aug didn’t refuse. Now, if he could get any money, he’d try anything.

Then Editor Mason called over two trusted reporters.

Every “manager” has trusted and untrusted subordinates.

Those who earn trust get more opportunities and better paths upward, as long as they don’t perform too poorly.

The two reporters arrived quickly; Editor Mason took them aside to a corner.

Your job is to follow him around the clock and document everything that happens to him.

He owes the hospital a huge sum of money; the hospital will surely take legal action in a short time. If they don’t want to lose their house and all the effort they’ve put in over the years, they must find a way to raise the money.

You’re not just supposed to record and report on them—you’re also responsible for guiding them.

Whether you can win the Golden Newspaper Award this year depends on this one story.

The reason the editor-in-chief is the editor-in-chief isn’t just because he’s an excellent administrator—more importantly, he’s won the Golden Newspaper Award!

He knows exactly how to pierce society’s nerves.

And he’s well aware of one thing: the Federal Government dislikes unions and dislikes the Labor Federation—this is common knowledge.

So he can be certain this report will win the Golden Newspaper Award.

He already has the Golden Newspaper Award, and his current position has made him realize that the Golden Newspaper Award is, in fact… just a toy. What he wants isn’t the award—it’s a better path upward!

His two trusted reporters must seize this opportunity; he himself must seize it too.

Neither of his two trusted reporters has ever won the Golden Newspaper Award—they’re essentially his apprentices—so they listened intently.

“Guide him down several paths.”

“First, get him to take all the money he currently has and go to the casino.”

“If the money isn’t enough, get him to quickly mortgage his house to the bank and use the loan to gamble.”

The two trusted reporters felt a slight chill in their hearts, but they still listened carefully and took notes.

One of them asked, “What if he refuses?”

Editor Mason smiled and said, “Bring magazines and newspapers featuring stories about casino games and big winners, and leave them where he can see them. Make him feel like he has one last chance to turn things around.”

Both trusted reporters nodded. These were all damn practical lessons—things he’d never taught them before. Clearly, the editor-in-chief had his own “mission.”

“Second, there are many street prostitutes around. When chatting casually, find a way to steer his wife toward that direction. I heard he has a daughter in high school.”

“Don’t be too obvious—just mention it casually, like you’re gathering story material. Let her believe she won’t need much time to pay off all her debts.”

“As for their daughter, find a way to make her feel guilty and burdened—that her parents shielded her for over a decade, and now it’s her turn to repay the family.”

The two silently recorded everything. They finally understood the gap between themselves and the editor-in-chief—why he was the Golden Newspaper Award winner and editor-in-chief of the Jinggang City News Group.

And they? After all these years, they were still obscure little reporters.

“Third, if they resist all of this, guide them toward… you know, I’d rather not say this.”

“But every story that truly elevates ends in tragedy. Comedy can’t shake people’s souls—just as comedy can’t move the judges to give you the Golden Newspaper Award.”

“Only a bloody, gory death can deeply pierce society, pierce every single person. Do you understand?”

The two reporters took a deep breath. The editor-in-chief really wasn’t human—but his thinking was damn brilliant.

Editor Mason patted both their shoulders. “I believe in you!”

“I hope to see your names on this year’s Golden Newspaper Award candidate list—and that I get to cast my vote for you!”

Past winners of the Golden Newspaper Award become ordinary judges for the award and are eligible to vote on candidate news stories and candidates. The one with the most votes doesn’t necessarily win.

Because the final review is conducted by the judging committee, who hold a veto power.

But the candidate with the most votes has a far greater chance of winning than those with fewer or no votes at all!

The three returned to Ogr’s side. Editor Mason looked refined, like a gentleman. “Ogr, I’ve spoken with my reporters. They’ll be following you and reporting on your situation.”

“This might attract public attention. We’ll publish the specific details of your need for help in the report—someone might even donate.”

“So… this isn’t just for me—it’s for you too.”

Ogr took a deep breath. It was indeed a possibility. He nodded firmly. “I’ll cooperate.”

Editor Mason walked over and placed another twenty dollars into his hand. “I’ll be watching you. I hope you can get through this crisis.”

He paused, greeted Ogr’s wife, then left in his car.

After watching Editor Mason depart, Ogr told his wife, “Mr. Mason is a good man. Everyone has abandoned us, but he’s willing to help.”

The two reporters twitched their lips. Perhaps Mr. Ogr didn’t realize what this “good man’s” ultimate goal truly was.

The strike in Jinggang City failed to gain traction and began spreading more widely—this was the first time the Labor Federation had failed to organize a strike in recent Federal history.

Of course, they refused to admit defeat. They began gathering evidence to prove the refugees and Lans were connected to Wanli Group—but it was meaningless.

Because this city, from top to bottom, inside and out, belonged to Lans!

As for anyone who dared speak out, they wouldn’t even get the chance to say anything before being purged.

(End of Chapter)