Chapter 960: Discussion

The convoy traveled along Zolan’s roads, and the locals paid little attention to Gomes’s luxurious caravan—they saw such things often.

What drew their curiosity were Lans’s vehicles: plain, boxy, dull-gray boxes they had never seen before.

Locals found no strangeness in luxury caravans, as the ruling elite nearly all owned them and frequently drove on these roads.

Take Diego—he owned an imported car with a gold shell, reportedly costing around a hundred thousand Federal Sols.

The entire body was forged from pure gold—not low-purity gold, but pure gold!

At first, people were stunned, but after seeing it too many times, they grew numb.

The rich lived above the clouds in this city, while beneath the clouds lay mud mixed with dog shit, and people struggling to survive in it.

Zolan didn’t look especially poor; commercial ecosystems had formed along its streets, and people shopped in those stores.

Its development certainly lagged behind the Federation, but it wasn’t terribly bad.

People observed the strange convoy, just as those inside the vehicles observed them—and this nation.

The convoy soon stopped at the Lapa Grand Hotel, a hotel named after the country.

From its gilded, dazzling exterior, it was clear this was the nation’s most upscale hotel.

When Lans stepped out, his men had already scouted the surroundings; Gomes and his team waited for him in advance.

As Lans and Roger stepped out, the group approached again.

“Mr. Lans, this is the highest-class hotel in Lapa. I’ve applied to the upper echelons to open the penthouse suite for you.”

“All accompanying personnel will be properly accommodated.”

“Please follow me.”

Lans nodded and entered the hotel with Gomes.

If judged solely by this hotel, it was no worse than the grand hotels of the Federation—extremely luxurious.

Mirror-like marble floors reflected the massive crystal chandeliers overhead; the baseboards and cornices featured gilded relief carvings, giving the impression of stepping into a royal palace.

The attendants in the lobby were all young, beautiful, or handsome, excelling in appearance and demeanor.

There were also many non-Lapans here, each accompanied by a companion—female or male—who looked at Lans’s group with curiosity or surprise.

Some recognized Gomes—they were locals who knew his status in Lapa.

Seeing Gomes treat the young man behind him like a high-ranking dignitary, they wondered: who exactly was this young man?

Two others recognized Lans.

Lans had considerable fame in the Federation, but few knew him personally; only those from Jinggang City truly knew him.

These two were from Jinggang City and primarily engaged in foreign trade.

Their operations were small; expanding production faced many problems, starting with securing stable orders.

Any manufacturing industry faced this issue: unstable orders.

Blindly expanding production lines risked bankruptcy—loans, labor, and facility costs.

Only with stable, long-term orders would factories expand.

Factories that expanded for a single order almost always ended badly.

In the foreign trade market, larger enterprises secured bigger orders more easily, as their production costs were lower and more competitive.

This might be another form of “the rich get richer”—advantages kept rolling forward.

So some, those with a bit of adventurous spirit, came to Yalan to take a chance.

Some went to other countries; others came to Lapa—backwardness didn’t always mean no profit.

Seeing Lans appear here surprised them.

Another reason for coming to Lapa was to avoid competing with large corporations.

Lans didn’t notice them—he didn’t know them. The group entered the hotel; all four elevators were already open and ready.

Lans and his party stepped into the first elevator; the cabin was spacious enough for over a dozen people and extremely stable.

Gomes began introducing the hotel.

The hotel had stood for over a decade, primarily to host foreign dignitaries and provide the ruling and privileged classes with venues for formal business meetings or celebrations.

They lived no worse than the Federation’s middle class; in some ways, even better.

Diego, the president, could host events at his estate—but what about ordinary privileged class members?

Hence, the Lapa Grand Hotel came into being.

The hotel’s designer came from the Federation; in truth, Yalan had suffered heavy cultural infiltration from the Federation—they were too close!

As they spoke, the elevator slowed and stopped; the doors opened to reveal an opulent “Presidential Suite” before Lans.

Unlike traditional designs with corridors leading to rooms, opening the door revealed the suite’s living area directly.

The lavish décor, even by Federation standards, ranked among the highest tier.

Roger had his own room on the lower floors; only Lans and his closest aides, like Ma Duoer, would reside here.

Ma Duoer brought the entire instructor team with Lans; others would arrive in Lapa gradually, not all at once.

Lans planned to send a thousand members to Lapa first; as recruitment and operations expanded, the number would grow.

If he needed more personnel, he would speak with Senator Cleveland, who strongly supported his work.

Before leaving the Federation, Cleveland even mentioned that, if necessary, diplomatic and military pressure could be applied to the Yalan Alliance.

Of course, that was unnecessary for now.

Under Gomes’s guidance, Lans toured every room, finally standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall in the living area.

A double-layered glass wall looked out over Zolan, the capital of Lapa.

The bustling yet unprosperous city contrasted sharply with the opulent interior—a bitter irony.

On one side, extreme luxury; on the other, people whose incomes couldn’t even feed themselves—they deserved to be overthrown.

After watching the city for a while, Lans turned to Gomes. “Let’s go to the study.”

These were the words Gomes most wanted to hear; he immediately gestured toward the study. “This way, Mr. Lans.”

Inside the study, Lans sat in the chair that looked extremely expensive, tapping the armrest inlaid with emeralds—this chair alone might cost several hundred, even over a thousand.

“Sit,” he said.

Gomes quickly sat opposite Lans, his face filled with hopeful anticipation.

If before, betraying his country wasn’t his only option, now, with the Yalan Alliance forming and the Federation opening markets, his value to Diego would plummet.

Perhaps, because of his sister, this “favor” might last a while longer.

But his sister couldn’t stay young forever; one day she would age and lose favor.

When that happened, his entire family would fall from heaven into hell.

Don’t expect Diego or any ruling elite to be kind or benevolent—rulers under absolute dictatorship are either tyrants or madmen.

Diego wasn’t mad, but he was certainly a greedy tyrant.

With luck, this might last three to five years; without luck, perhaps only one or two.

To Diego, all of Lapa was his toy—including the men and women living here. Changing a woman was easier for him than changing a piece of clothing.

Changing a piece of clothing cost money; changing a woman required only a finger flick.

In a sense, Gomes’s betrayal was also a kind of “awakening.”

Lans was younger than Gomes, yet now Gomes sat before him as cautiously as he would before Diego, barely daring to speak.

He kept his head down, staring at his toes, his mind filled with torment and unease.

After a while, Lans finally spoke. “Previously, I’ve been considering how to realize your dream.”

At these words, Gomes snapped his head up, his eyes gleaming at Lans.

But the light quickly faded.

As if unaware of Gomes’s excitement, Lans continued: “But the emergence of the Yalan Alliance has rendered this plan impossible.”

“Simply replacing a regional leader won’t achieve your vision—it will make you an enemy of the entire Yalan Alliance, and you’ll be eliminated.”

“This alliance of regional powers is more like insurance bought by Diego or other leaders for themselves.”

“They negotiate among themselves: if the ruler is overthrown, who will succeed? And they target that person.”

“Dealing with these people is difficult. The Federation government doesn’t want to create too much negative fallout—we aren’t invaders.”

Lans pulled out his cigarette case—the same ivory one, a gift from the dead Luigi.

He didn’t particularly like the case; he simply got used to it.

Sometimes habit is a powerful force; until he found another he preferred, he’d keep using this one.

Gomes immediately fished out his own gem-encrusted lighter from his pocket and leaned forward.

Lans took two puffs, then exhaled quickly—that was why he disliked kerosene lighters.

These two puffs carried a kerosene odor; though some claimed they couldn’t smell it, he could.

Matches, however, released only a strong scent of burning gunpowder at ignition; once they burned steadily, only the wood’s natural scent remained.

For example, pine matches released a distinct pine fragrance when burning, blending beautifully with cigarette smoke—those first two puffs were excellent.

Don’t Federation people seek complex fragrances?

This is it!

Lans tapped his hand, glanced up at Gomes, who immediately withdrew his hand and sat back upright like a Boy Scout.

“So, directly pushing you into power is highly unlikely to succeed.”

Gomes visibly sank into disappointment; he raised his head to speak, but Lans raised a hand to stop him.

“Gomes, I know you’re loyal to the Federation—that’s why I’m here.”

“Lapa, other nations, all of Yalan—they’re all unavoidable parts of the Federation’s next ten-year plan.”

“So don’t worry that things here will stay the same. Change is coming soon, and during that change, you must work for us—for the Federation!”

Gomes nodded repeatedly. “No problem, Mr. Lans. What do you need me to do?”

Lans twisted his neck. “First, help me understand this country and the people who rule it.”

Gomes, as chairman of the Lamen Official Chamber of Commerce, knew Lamen inside and out—especially its economic dimensions.

Though he had no higher education, he was a man with a touch of shrewdness.

Lans viewed him as a fool—from Lans’s own perspective, Gomes truly was one.

But such fools were, in fact, the norm for most people, since individuals like Lans were exceedingly rare.

Possessing sufficient wisdom, along with an understanding of world development that was alien to this world and far ahead of its time.

Lans listened carefully as Gomes spoke of everything about Lamen, while Diego simultaneously discussed these newcomers from the Lianbang.

Diego did not attend the Yamen himself; he delegated his younger brother to represent Lamen as a member of the Yamen.

Lamen ranked only middling-to-lower among all Yamen members, so according to current arrangements, they would not be eligible to chair the Yamen until thirty-two years from now.

By then, it was uncertain whether Diego would even still be alive, so he gave it no thought.

“Just now, Gomes told me a trading consortium from the Lianbang has checked into the top floor of the Lamen Grand Hotel. They call themselves the ‘Empire Trading Consortium.’ Do you know what this group is?”

He asked his “Minister of Foreign Affairs”—though this minister was, in fact, his brother-in-law and also a member of another ruling-family clan.

All of Lamen was controlled by these few ruling clans; without their bloodline, one could never enter their circle.

But if one carried their blood and was willing to do some work, one would surely become an official.

At the very least, a city official.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs shook his head. “Among all the trading consortia and financial conglomerates I know, this is merely an obscure little group.”

“But I know some things about them. They control large quantities of scarce medical supplies. Recently, they attracted some attention, but then rumors spread that the medical goods had been secretly disposed of, so public interest faded.”

“As for this Lans White, I know him far better.”

Diego shifted his sitting position. He wasn’t tall and weighed over two hundred jin—his weight had long since exceeded all limits.

If he sat still too long in one posture, his buttocks ached, so he had to constantly shift his body to relieve the pain.

Behind his back, some called him “Fat Penguin.” This nickname had been popular for a while, then fell out of fashion.

The reason it faded was that anyone who used it—whether to his face or jokingly—was dealt with by him.

Thus, the term became taboo.

Then again, when he rocked back and forth changing positions, he did resemble a waddling penguin.

“How well do you know him?” he asked.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs paused, thinking for several seconds. “Our wine can’t sell because of him.”

Lamen’s core export commodity was grain, and grain could be fermented into wine. Wine fetched far higher prices than grain, so even though Diego wasn’t clever, he knew turning grain into wine brought greater profit.

At first, they did make money. But once Lans began cracking down on all the smugglers in Jincheng, Lamen’s wine could no longer be shipped to Jincheng.

Later, in Denuozhou, the escalating conflict between Lans and Jinfu Wine Industry eliminated many smuggling syndicates.

As for Nanya’an Province, the fierce Sumuli people had begun clearing the field; only a few major smugglers still resisted them, while smaller ones had completely lost their chance.

Now, if these small Xiang Yalan wineries still want to sell their goods to the Lianbang, they must either risk massive danger by smuggling.

Or accept Lans’s terms: surrender most of their profits and sell their wine to him.

Lans pays extremely low prices, and he doesn’t buy every kind of wine.

This has caused many wines to lose all market demand.

Lamen lacks talent in this area. They could have continued northward to try selling in the more remote eastern coastal regions, but they had no such people—so the smuggling wine trade had to stop.

Hearing the Minister of Foreign Affairs speak, Diego’s face darkened. “Looks like an unwelcome fellow.”

He had no intention of eliminating Lans. The Lianbang government was already desperate for an excuse to harass them; if he now handed them a reason, the Yamen would likely sacrifice him to preserve peace.

He wasn’t clever by any means, but he had this much political sensitivity.

His brother-in-law held a different view.

“Whether he’s unwelcome or not, if he’s come to invest, we can still welcome him.”

“After all, if he’s willing to invest, won’t that money eventually end up in our pockets?”

(End of Chapter)