Chapter 965: Make Big Money

Pedro lived in Yawo, which, according to the world language combined with local dialects, means “a small puddle.”

It refers specifically to the Yawo Lake in the city.

Before human civilization challenged nature, both humans and other animals lived around water sources.

Water is the source of life, providing the daily moisture needed for survival; humans may have lived here since ancient times.

Because of this lake, irrigation became very convenient, so many farmlands surrounded Yawo Lake, drawing water from it.

Fortunately, the entire Yalan region was never short of water, so the lake’s surface never receded.

Yawo had about three hundred thousand residents, making it a fairly large city in Yalan; the surrounding farmlands required many people to tend them.

Of course, Pedro was not one of them—he was a high school teacher, highly respected in the locality.

Yalan had only two universities, both established in the Jide Republic.

One was “Jide National University,” said to have been jointly funded by Jide’s major families to cultivate talent for themselves and the nation.

Jide National University was considered the ultimate pinnacle for all students in Yalan; tuition was free, and students received a monthly stipend of seven to eight Federal Sol.

Yalan had too many poor families; they knew that even if someone had the ability to enter university, they could rarely afford the tuition.

So Jide National University openly recruited from all of Yalan and waived tuition entirely.

All graduates were required to work for Jide’s enterprises or government for five years, a form of alternative tuition payment.

After five years, they could gain freedom—or continue signing contracts with enterprises or the government to keep working.

Thus, anyone who passed the entrance exam was seen as having achieved class mobility.

But getting in was difficult; the entrance exam was extremely hard, unlike those of the Federation’s universities.

The Federation’s universities primarily judged admission based on written exams and interviews, with interview scores being more important.

Here, they tested only “hard skills.”

Whoever could complete their questions could enter Jide National University.

The other university was a private institution: “Jide Emerald School,” whose professors and lecturers were mostly renowned masters from around the world.

To the people of Yalan, this school was a noble academy, as students had to pay exorbitant tuition and possess some influential connections.

Money alone was not enough.

Graduates became corporate executives or high-ranking government officials—classes ordinary people could never reach.

People rarely discussed Emerald University; instead, they talked more about Jide National University.

Pedro often used Jide National University to motivate his students.

“If you finish high school with an A average, I’ll help you apply to Jide National University!”

Actually, no recommendation was needed to enter the national university; when Pedro said “apply,” he meant applying for travel subsidies for poor students.

Once approved, he would take qualifying students to Jide’s capital to sit the entrance exam.

If anyone passed, they received an incentive bonus to encourage them to keep supplying talent to Jide.

If no one passed, it didn’t matter—he would return with them all to Lapa.

The fastest way from Lapa to Jide’s capital was by boat, taking only two days and costing little.

“...Write down these key points and memorize them well.”

“This is your final year—your fate hinges on this last year.”

“Last year, four students from our school entered the national university; after they graduate, their lives will be completely different from yours.”

“Many see education as a chance to change their destiny. I don’t fully agree, but it’s undeniably true.”

“So whether to honor your years of hard work or secure your future, I hope you all strive hard.”

He glanced at his wristwatch. “Alright, class is dismissed.”

Yawo City had only one high school, with severely insufficient enrollment.

In poor areas, even if families understood education could change destiny, they often couldn’t afford the costs.

A child studying full-time burdened the household; many Lapa residents dropped out after elementary school—or never even finished elementary school, or simply didn’t attend at all.

At seven or eight, or even ten years old, children couldn’t handle heavy labor, but there were always tasks suitable for them.

Those who made it to high school and completed it were mostly from the middle class or families with decent finances.

Walking out of the classroom, Pedro had taken only a few steps when he frowned at the dusty road in the distance.

Over the past few days, numerous vehicles had passed, stirring up dust along the suburban dirt roads.

Even the office couldn’t open its windows; by afternoon, a layer of dust had settled.

Because the school had so few students, the office felt empty; there were only about twenty teachers total, all crammed into one large room.

Pedro returned to his desk and complained, “The dust is flying again—what’s going on these days?”

A teacher beside him replied, “They’re buying grain.”

“Buying grain?” Pedro glanced at the desk calendar, dazed. “It’s already October?”

“But even during harvest season, there’ve never been this many vehicles before!”

In the past, grain was transported by horse-drawn carts; trucks rarely appeared, since they consumed gasoline.

Horses needed only roadside wild grass.

The male teacher beside him smiled, sharing rumors he’d gathered—some people were endlessly curious, driven by the urge to know and act, then spread what they learned to satisfy their simple craving for pleasure.

“I heard it’s foreigners—they’re paying twenty-eight Federal Sol per ton for grain. I heard harvests are happening everywhere.”

Murmurs spread through the room; they spoke in Pala, the current market price for one pound of wheat being one Pala, and one pound of wheat flour about one point three.

Converted, the foreigners’ price was far higher than domestic consumption rates.

In Pala terms, one pound of wheat might sell for one point one to one point two—already a lot.

The Lapa ruling elite, including their president Diego, were well known to them; Pedro worried, “I hope they don’t sell too much grain—what will we eat?”

The gossiping teacher laughed, “No, I heard they’re only selling part of it. The presidential palace says they plan to keep building roads this year.”

“I heard foreigners have started investing in Zolan—they’ve brought more income and taxes, but also demanded better highway systems.”

“The Alliance did something right this time. Many feared market opening would cause disruption, but it’s turned out quite well.”

Others agreed: more investors meant more wealth and improved living conditions.

They envied life in the Jide Republic, where Jideans’ lifestyles were said to differ little from those in the Federation.

If not for various reasons tying them here, many would consider leaving Lapa for Jide.

But Pedro vaguely felt this wasn’t a good thing.

He couldn’t say exactly why, so he just chatted casually about changes since market opening.

For example, prices of imported Federation consumer goods had dropped, goods became more varied, and foreigners were now visible.

As one of the few educated elites in the city, he felt this trend might not end well.

But he didn’t know what exactly would go wrong, or why he felt this way, so he let it go.

A few days later, he heard from colleagues that the Federation was now offering even higher prices—nearly thirty Federal Sol per ton for wheat, and more people were selling.

“The Federation is a major grain producer too—don’t they have enough to eat?”

With no classes, Pedro sat in the office chatting with colleagues, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, puffing clouds.

His colleague wore an “I know everything” expression: “The war on the Tanfet Continent has intensified. Apparently, Ande has fully joined, and many nations are being drawn in—willingly or not.”

“The Sladers launched the ‘Autumn Harvest Plan’—both sides suffered heavy losses; much grain was burned in the fields.”

First, the Sladers burned vast stretches of Dantela’s farmland; Dantelans wouldn’t stand idle—they had spies in Slader, using high-explosive shells and covert arson, further slashing already meager grain yields.

“Now they rely heavily on importing grain from the Federation, so I think they’re just trying to profit?”

“They’re paying thirty Federal Sol per ton, plus shipping—that means they must be selling it for over thirty-five Federal Sol per ton!”

“These Federation folks are brilliant businessmen—if I had a shipping company, I’d transport grain to the southern continent too.”

Pedro’s focus differed—he worried whether his own country had enough grain to eat.

Lapa’s grain supply had always been tight, barely sufficient.

The climate here was too favorable, with vast primeval forests and edible animals, fruits, and nuts.

Even if some went hungry, they could buy cheap food from hunters if they worked.

One local food, called “wheat tree,” had starchy trunks; after crushing, washing, and settling, clean edible starch could be extracted.

Boiling this starch with water formed solid lumps.

Add some seasoning—it wasn’t delicious, but it kept you from starving.

Compared to one Pala per pound of wheat, wheat tree flour cost only fifteen cents per pound.

Not to mention the year-round wild fruits, nuts, and game.

His colleague saw no issue: “They’re paying so much—we can buy grain from other countries.”

“And next year’s new wheat harvest will come in mid-year—I’m sure even our president… right?—won’t leave zero grain behind.”

Pedro still felt uneasy, but he had to believe his colleague.

October quickly reached its end; grain harvests were complete across all regions, the dusty trucks vanished, leaving only bare fields.

During this time, another thing happened: wheat prices in the market rose sharply.

One pound of wheat now sold for about one point twenty Pala; wheat flour jumped to one point fifty-five Pala per pound.

Though the increase was only twenty percent, some were already unable to afford it.

Wheat tree flour prices also rose slightly.

As an educated elite, Pedro’s income was decent; his family usually ate bread or wheat kernels, so the price hike still affected them significantly.

Now, he and his family’s main breadwinner ate steamed wheat kernels, occasionally eating bread.

Women and children mostly ate wheat tree flour.

At first, the children were happy, thinking wheat tree flour wasn’t too bad—but after a few days, they refused to eat it.

But if we don’t eat, there’s no other way.

Pedro, as a direct victim of the wheat price surge, felt even greater worry.

He truly feared that President Diego, envious of such high prices, would sell off all the wheat and leave not a single grain behind.

The facts proved his fears were justified.

Diego sat on the sofa, panting; his obesity made every breath painful and exhausting, yet now his panting was not from discomfort, but from excitement.

“Mr. Diego, we are willing to continue purchasing wheat at thirty-five dollars per ton.”

Roger had recently begun adapting to speaking as an equal with a president—it was a novel experience for him.

At first he had been nervous, but with more exposure, he had grown calm and composed.

They had already purchased vast quantities of grain—not just La Pa’s grain was being bought en masse, but grain across all eleven nations was being snapped up at premium prices!

La Pa was already quite good; nearby, there was a small nation of only four million people that sold even more!

Diego’s chest heaved violently as his gaze fixed on Roger’s face; Roger still avoided direct eye contact, smiling slightly with his head bowed in respect.

“We’ve already sold a good deal of wheat. Our original plan was to sell only fifteen percent, but now we’ve sold over twenty percent—we can’t sell any more.”

He spoke with no real firmness; precisely this hesitation revealed to Roger that Diego didn’t want to stop selling—he was driven by greed!

The price has surged nearly fifty percent, and they don’t even bear the shipping costs—no one, not even Diego, could possibly resist this deal!

Diego’s face showed signs of distress. “If we sell more from our grain reserves, my people may have nothing left to eat.”

Roger chuckled lightly. “Mr. President, with money, how could you possibly fear going hungry?”

“To be honest, I shouldn’t say this—but if it weren’t for the surge in orders from Slad, our own grain would be more than enough.”

“We are now buying grain from around the world. Once we meet all order demands, we will stop.”

“Perhaps in a week. Perhaps the day after tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow. Or perhaps… today.”

“This is the highest wheat price in a hundred years—it will never go higher!”

“Miss this chance, and there may never be another.”

Roger didn’t need to say it—he understood these things himself. He glanced at those around him. “We need to discuss this.”

Roger and the merchants rose. “As you wish, Mr. President.”

They quickly left the room; all who could decide for the Four Great Families were gathered here.

“What do you think?”

A local man, around fifty, spoke softly. “We need more money—add more.”

“They offered thirty-five—they’ll give thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight—even forty!”

“We still have about one and a half million tons of grain. Sell another half million to them—but raise the price!”

“Losing half a million tons means only that each person eats a few fewer wheat meals per month—but for us, it’s nearly double the profit!”

“It equals the profit I used to make selling one million tons!”

His eyes glowed faintly red as he spoke!

Half a million tons at forty dollars—that’s twenty million!

At our old prices, it would take seven or eight years to earn this much!

Divide it among us, and everyone gets several million—Diego himself was losing control of his emotions.

“Won’t people riot over being unable to afford food?”

Another man snorted coldly. “Who dares riot?”

“We haven’t sold all our grain—we’ve kept some back. The people have their own farmland and reserves too. They may go a little hungrier than before, but nothing serious will happen.”

“Besides, our army, our guns and cannons, aren’t just for show.”

Soon they reached consensus. As Roger had said, such an absurd price opportunity was a once-in-a-century event—perhaps even a once-in-a-millennium one!