[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-shadow-empire":3,"chapter-the-shadow-empire-the-shadow-empire-chapter-952":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Shadow Empire",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2268572,4428,"Chapter 952: There Will Always Be a Time to Fill, and Oge","the-shadow-empire-chapter-952",952,"\u003Cp>A quiet night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>General Diaz did not call Lans, and Lans knew this man would grow greedier.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If General Diaz were not a greedy man, he would most likely have arranged for the items to be returned rather than kept them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As long as he kept them, he was certainly no moral saint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In this world, there are no moral saints at all; the more polished someone appears, the more vile their inner corruption, far worse than anyone imagines.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some people’s evil is surface-deep—they might bully others, rob, or do other bad things.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Others’ evil runs deep in their bones, hidden where no one can see.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their evil has evolved into “wickedness.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans did not yet fully understand what kind of man General Diaz was, but he would find out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not call Lans about the model, which meant this money could still move him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When morning sunlight filtered through the curtain’s seams into the room, Lans slowly opened his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Six o’clock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Summer days dawn early; reason told him he should rise from this cursed, seal-imbued bed, clean himself, go out for exercise, and return before breakfast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But his body told him he could not.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shifted position and dozed again—just for a moment—then, after another bout of idle thoughts, it was nearly seven.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was too late to exercise now; he rose and went to the window, drew back the curtains, letting the sunlight flood in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bathed in the light, he stretched, another bright, beautiful day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a simple wash and grooming, he went to the dining room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Out of safety concerns, Emily and Patricia remained at Lawrence Farm, while William had gone to Hucheng; no one was left here except Lans.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cook who prepared breakfast was hired—rumored to have once served imperial nobility.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Despite appearing forty or fifty, she was an absolute master at her work!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans sat at the table and picked up today’s newspaper; they were arranged in order according to his habits and preferences.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The butler had done it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans picked up the top paper, *Today’s Jingang*, and was immediately drawn to the front-page headline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Working Class Is Not a Bargaining Chip”—a compelling headline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had a rough idea of what had happened, then unfolded the paper and read carefully.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge was dead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The skilled tailor from the garment factory who had joined the Labor Union strike—he was dead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His leg, deprived of follow-up treatment due to lack of money to afford hospital care, had developed a severe cascade of complications.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pain constantly tormented him until he could no longer tell whether it was his leg or his soul that ached; he could only increase his painkiller dosage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had been reduced to a wreck by painkillers and pain, spending his days paralyzed in his wheelchair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could still move, but he had given up struggling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In July—just a few days ago—the hospital came to him demanding payment for this month’s installment. He had no money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the bank staff left, his wife secretly followed them and paid the first installment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She did not know that Oge, afterward, had gone to every length to somehow obtain the money for that first installment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sold his blood and borrowed from former coworkers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he went to the hospital to pay them—but the staff told him the payment for last month had already been made.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Confused, Oge insisted on confirmation, tracked down the person who had contacted him, and learned his wife had paid last month’s installment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Where had a woman like her gotten such money?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To the wealthy, a few dozen coins might be a trivial expense, but to ordinary people, it was wealth they might not save even by going hungry and frugal for a whole month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And now, his wife had simply handed it over so easily?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Countless thoughts churned in his mind. He returned home, sat in the living room, and waited silently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That evening, his wife entered with a basket of groceries, surprised to see Oge seated directly facing the door, but quickly smiled and lifted the basket. “I bought some beef mince, onions, and a tomato today.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“We can make tomato beef soup—your favorite, right?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge said nothing, only stared at his wife. Only then did he notice her complexion had improved, and… her gestures and bearing seemed more confident.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not know what had caused this, but he knew something had happened to his wife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sat there, staring at her. Unable to bear it, she turned to him. “What’s wrong?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked, uneasy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge tilted his head; fresh waves of pain surged through his body—as if they had sensed his anger and erupted suddenly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In silence, he pulled out his small painkiller bottle, took out three pills, his trembling hand shoving them into his mouth, then chewing hard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He braced his hands on the wheelchair armrests, leaning slightly forward, head bowed, his body shaking from pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The doctor said if you keep abusing painkillers, you’ll only become more dependent on them!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His wife’s words made him lift his head; through his disheveled hair, one eye glimmered—filled with confusion, pain, and rage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They said you paid last month’s installment.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His wife fell silent for a moment. “Yes. I paid.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Where did the money come from?” He fixed his gaze on her face and eyes, watching for lies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She had indeed thought many times about being discovered and how to respond.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, at this moment, she had no idea what to say or how to say it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All her rehearsed answers felt meaningless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I earned it from work,” she said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge did not believe her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re a housewife who can’t do anything—how could you earn dozens of coins a month?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And our meals have been better this month—how could you earn so much?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes were tinged with red—bloodshot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I do housework for wealthy families,” she blurted, resorting to her prepared lie.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She was a housewife; her greatest skill was housework. So it made sense that a wealthy person needed a maid like her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Oge still did not believe her. They stared at each other, separated by his hair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps seeing her unwavering, unflinching gaze, he grew uncertain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re not lying?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His wife raised her voice. She sensed her husband was weakening, and instinctively, her tone grew louder. “You don’t believe me?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge shook his head. “Don’t you dare lie to me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pushed his wheelchair back to his room. His wife continued tending to the stove.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dinner was the best meal they’d had in a long time: tomato, onion, beef stew. The onions and tomatoes had dissolved completely into the broth; his wife added a bit of wheat flour to thicken it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each spoonful carried generous chunks of beef—whether drunk, eaten directly, or dipped with bread, it was perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The family sat together as always, sharing dinner. The daughter was astonished by the feast. “Do we have money again?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She looked at her father with hopeful eyes. “Did you find a job?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge’s lips twitched. He lowered his head, scooped a spoonful of soup, and put it in his mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The girl looked confusedly at her mother, who only shook her head slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though the food was excellent, the dinner was silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For the entire night, neither spoke; each lost in their own thoughts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next morning, Oge sensed his wife had left. He rose quickly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew finding his wife would be nearly impossible, so he turned to a reporter for help.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was all a staged script—the reporter would never miss such a vital news story. He drove, taking Oge to follow his wife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, they saw his wife change clothes in a small inn, then reappear on the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, Oge’s world shattered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He saw a man shorter than his wife, arm around her waist, leading her into a nearby inn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that instant, he wanted to rush forward—but just as he prepared to, the reporter in the driver’s seat asked, “Do you want to stop her?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oge looked at the reporter, wounded. He now realized—it had all been a “trap.” He had stepped in, sinking deeper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gaze at the reporter carried the fury of betrayal, but the reporter was unafraid, watching him through the rearview mirror.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Have you thought about what happens to this month’s hospital payment if you stop her?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Even if you had money now, how would you pay next month’s?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Do you want your whole family thrown onto the streets?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Think of your daughter—her life has only just begun!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter’s face twisted with mockery as he stared into Oge’s eyes through the mirror. “What about your painkillers?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You didn’t forget, did you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The painkillers you’re taking now? Your wife bought them with her money.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you stop her, everything you still have will end right here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter’s words pierced Oge’s heart. His hand gripped the back of the front seat; the other clutched his chest, gasping as his face turned pale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter felt no pity for the man. “If you truly want to stop her, quit the painkillers.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter thought: if this man could overcome his addiction through sheer willpower, it would make a powerful news story—rising from despair through personal strength.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People will like this story; it may be overly idealistic, but... at least it gives people a sense of inspiration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon he drove away from there and returned to the home that no longer belonged to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whether it was because the previous stimulation had been too intense, he began feeling pain again in his body; he had just pulled out the painkiller bottle when he remembered what the reporter had said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gritted his teeth, originally planning to throw the bottle away, but for some reason, he suddenly abandoned the idea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, he had paid for it—he put the painkiller bottle into his pants pocket.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He glanced sidelong at the reporter, as if telling him he could endure it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter merely smiled in response; he had checked the data—some people who abused painkillers did manage to quit, but not many.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this point, Ogr was no longer concerned with any of that—he began fighting against the relentless pain in his body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even breathing caused him to feel the pain of his lung lobes rubbing against other parts of his body—so clear!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He began to sweat; he merely clenched his fist, and the instant stabbing pain in his palm joints made him shudder and immediately open his hand, afraid to apply any more pressure!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could clearly feel the pain of bones grinding against bones—too painful!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His body trembled slightly, yet even when he did nothing, he still hurt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His femoral head ached, his spine ached, there was almost no part of his body that didn’t hurt—too painful!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He instinctively reached for the small pills, but then he caught the reporter’s half-smiling expression—he gritted his teeth and endured the excruciating pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t know how long it had been; he thought the pain was temporary, but now he realized he was wrong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pain was constant—he didn’t know when it would end, maybe in the next second, or maybe never.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even breathing began to feel like burning—he could no longer bear it!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He forced himself through the agony, pulled out the small bottle, shook out four pills, and shoved them into his mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Five minutes later, he felt as if he had returned from hell to the world of the living—just not being in pain was this comforting!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he knew some former bread shop owner who had lost all human form, they would surely share a common language.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After enjoying the relief for a while, he sank into deep self-reproach and regret—why, why hadn’t he held out?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe everything would be fine in the next second, but why hadn’t he held out?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slapped himself, then sat there dazed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before he could solve the painkiller problem, he seemed truly unable to stop his wife from prostitution—without this income, he couldn’t even afford the painkillers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still, he believed everything would get better; once his leg injury healed, he would find a job, so his wife wouldn’t have to stand on the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That evening, Ogr’s wife brought back some decent food; Ogr nearly spoke up several times, but ultimately held his tongue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The family finished dinner in a gloomy silence; Ogr went to bed early, feeling like a fool and hating himself—he couldn’t face his wife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whether from anger or guilt, it didn’t matter!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For several days straight, Ogr had gradually accepted the outcome—his wife had become a prostitute.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had heard from the reporter that his wife earned at least ten dollars a day, which shocked him, yet somehow made him reluctantly accept her doing this work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, the clients paid real money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If nothing unexpected happened, perhaps by next month or the month after, he could fully accept it—but an accident still occurred.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the afternoon, his wife ran home from outside and locked herself in the room, saying nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon after, his good friend arrived with two others; they saw Ogr and shouted loudly, “Do you know?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Your wife is prostituting!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The old apartment had poor soundproofing; soon the neighbors knew. They leaned out, listening in the hallway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, his ears buzzed—he could only see his friend speaking, but heard not a single word.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon the men left, but outside the door were dozens of eyes peering in, their gazes heavy with meaning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He even saw several middle-aged and elderly neighbors wearing smug, triumphant smiles!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A man’s last remaining dignity was crushed to the ground and ground into the dirt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That night, after his daughter returned home, she learned of the matter; when confronted, he lost his temper, and she ran out—the girl couldn’t accept it!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her mother had become a prostitute; tomorrow the whole school would know. She could even imagine the cruel boys going to her mother for sex, then using it to humiliate her!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She couldn’t bear it—she would run away from home!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ogr and his wife had a fierce argument; soon his wife left too, leaving him alone, sitting dazed in the living room wheelchair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The empty house mirrored his empty heart—he covered his eyes with his hand and wept uncontrollably…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everything was just one step away from its final transcendence!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reporter dialed the editor-in-chief’s number, then temporarily left Ogr’s room and went downstairs to the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He smoked a cigarette, watching several unusual men enter the apartment building; about seven or eight minutes later, accompanied by a heavy, muffled thud of something falling, Ogr appeared before him in another way.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All of this was faithfully reported in the newspapers—though they made no mention of anyone helping Ogr complete his final journey.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After reading the entire article, Lans sighed—he was just another unlucky soul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Who else to anger but him?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans could predict that this report would shake the entire Lianbangzheng’s working class!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They saw certain people as belonging to the same class—as worker brothers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But those people only saw them as pawns in their power struggles!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2532,"2026-06-19T21:10:31.886Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","8a796344cbf37b958826028171332e39fd6e8ff3bd957273cc331e45216cdc0c","the-shadow-empire-chapter-953","the-shadow-empire-chapter-951",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-shadow-empire-cover.jpg"]