Chapter 97

An annual fee of sixty thousand dollars was required to maintain even a modest level of value for a councilor—that was William’s considered price to Lans.

“I don’t know how much you earn each year, but clearly, these things are still far from your reach.”

“What you should focus on now is stabilizing your job and broadening your horizons. When you become wealthier, you won’t need to invest in those councilors—they’ll come to you on their own.”

William lowered his voice slightly, “All ten city councilors in Jincheng have ties to the Koda family, but none were put in place by the Koda family. Do you understand what I mean?”

Lans nodded. “I understand.”

But understanding was one thing; expressing what needed to be said was another. “William, I’m saying hypothetically—if you intended to run for one of those seats, do you think you have a chance?”

This café wasn’t low-end; after all, the city hall stood directly across the street, and every cup of coffee came with two cookies.

The cookies had chocolate chips—not soft chocolate or chocolate syrup—but a pleasant texture, especially when chewed.

The sweetness they released blended perfectly with the coffee, creating a fine chemical reaction. William picked up a small cookie and popped it into his mouth. “If I decide to run, the Federal Party will definitely back me—without needing to fund me.”

He clapped his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Winning would be a surprise to them; losing wouldn’t cause regret or loss. But are you really serious about this?”

To be honest, he was a little tempted. After all, serving as a “clerk” in city hall versus becoming a respected city councilor— as a middle-aged man in the Federation, he still wanted to shine.

Seeing Lans’s determined gaze, William gained momentum. “The party will back me. Jincheng has plenty of capitalists with Federal Party ties—they’ll be my assets.”

“But they won’t be decisive assets. You see, this is Society Party territory. They might give me a two-hundred-dollar check, but they won’t openly stand behind me.”

“So we need to carefully choose a district—one with little competition and easy to win votes in.” As he spoke, he couldn’t help asking again, “Are you really serious about this?”

Lans pulled a cigar from his coat and tossed it to him. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Tell me—if I’m to help you become a councilor, what exactly do I need to do?”

William glanced at the cigar in his hand and said thoughtfully, “Money, votes, and publicity.”

Lans memorized those three keywords, then stood. “I still need to go to the Land Administration. I’ll contact you once I’m nearly ready.”

Watching Lans walk away with effortless ease, William’s calm heart stirred with a faint ripple.

The Land Administration was not far from city hall—no more than a five-minute walk. After stating his purpose in the lobby, Lans was invited into an office.

A middle-aged man received him.

The most striking thing about this man was his gleaming bald head—it reflected the lightbulb like a mirror!

“Mr. Lans, all the plots are here.” As the map unfurled, Jincheng appeared before Lans in an entirely new form.

It was divided into many regular shapes, each painted in different colors.

Residential land, commercial land, docks, ports, public utility land…

The city suddenly looked… trendy!

Eventually, his gaze was guided by the man to the industrial zone in Chengxi. “This area has already undergone basic infrastructure development—the ground is hardened, with simple factories and accompanying warehouses.”

“If you set up a factory here, you only need to pay us rent.”

“This part, however, is untouched raw land. If you want to acquire it, you must first pay the city hall the listed price for the land.”

“Second, your factory must comply with Jincheng’s Industrial Management Regulations.”

These regulations meant fulfilling basic “social responsibilities” when opening a factory—such as hiring workers.

“I heard you plan to open a clothing factory?” The bald man seemed outgoing, chatting beside Lans as he studied the maps.

Lans handed him a cigarette. “Any advice?”

Each plot had a different price—the cheapest cost only twenty dollars per acre, yet the same area elsewhere required nearly four hundred dollars. The price difference was enormous!

Lans didn’t understand these things well, and the bald man before him seemed able to offer some guidance.

The bald man lit the cigarette immediately. “If you don’t plan to open a massive factory with thousands of workers, my advice is to directly rent one of our basic factory plots for small businesses.”

“This one here—you pay only ten to twenty cents per square meter monthly, and you get all the infrastructure. We even give you a hundred-square-meter warehouse free.”

“Until your factory exceeds two thousand square meters, I personally recommend renting.”

Two thousand square meters might sound small, but at two square meters per job, that space could support at least five hundred positions.

If you use the factory’s warehouse and facilities, eight hundred positions are guaranteed.

And your monthly expenses would be just a few hundred dollars.

“If you want to buy land and build yourself, these plots at around two hundred dollars per acre are ideal.”

“They’re moderately distant from main roads and already included in the city’s near- to mid-term planning—the Planning Bureau has already laid out basic road designs. You just need to hire contractors to follow the blueprints.”

“Ground preparation here is relatively simple—no large boulders. Any construction company can clear it all within a month…”

He spoke at length, explaining how a barren plot becomes a factory.

Many issues were involved—for example, road construction wasn’t as simple as buying land and building a road to connect to the main highway.

There might be other planned developments between your factory and the main road—you’d have to ask the Planning Bureau if such construction was permitted.

If you’re lucky, they’ll say it’s fine. If you’re unlucky, they’ll tell you to detour several kilometers because other plans already occupy the space between you and the main road.

Then there’s the issue of utilities—electricity poles, water pipes. In planned areas, service providers build them for free. If not, they’ll suggest you pay for construction yourself.

Once the area thrives, they’ll buy your power and water networks at market price. But if the area remains deserted, they’ll never do it—

The bald man told Lans that in practice, they’d likely slash the price drastically.

The cheaper the land, the more time and investment it takes to turn it into a factory zone. If Lans wanted to reclaim wasteland, the city hall would charge only one dollar per acre at the farthest edge of Jincheng—fully his own!

For large, well-funded corporations, it didn’t matter—they’d buy hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of acres, and the cheaper, the better.

But for small businesses, especially startups, the bald man’s advice was clear: rent space in already-built industrial zones.

Of course, you could buy—but the price was very high.

Lans extended his hand again. “Your help means a lot to me. Let me reintroduce myself—I’m Lans, Lans White.”

The bald man quickly crushed his cigarette on the floor and eagerly shook Lans’s hand. “John Brown.”

He saw Lans place a five-dollar bill in his palm, and his mouth hung open in disbelief.

With this unexpected windfall, he became even more enthusiastic in explaining the area to Lans.

“Your advice is extremely valuable. If I plan to rent a one-thousand-square-meter factory for now, and might expand later, where should I choose?”

Moved by the cigarette—not the money—the bald man marked several plots on the map. “This one is ideal—close to the main road, near the public warehouse.”

“Everything’s convenient. It’s only a ten-minute walk from the bus station.”

“And future expansion is easy, though rent is slightly higher—eighteen cents per square meter monthly, with other fees totaling about two hundred and twenty dollars per month.”

Lans made his decision quickly. “This one. What’s next?”

John filled out a form for him. “Take this form to the City Services Bureau…”

Lans’s head began to ache. He hadn’t expected so many gatekeepers in the Federation’s government offices. “This is my first time—this is complicated. Is there any proxy service available?”

John smiled. “Yes, usually there are intermediary companies that handle this. Few people do it themselves.”

“I don’t have time to go now. Listen, John—I think we’ll become good friends. Could you run this errand for me?”

John looked confused. “But I have work to do.”

Lans closed the office door and pulled out ten dollars. “Coffee on me.”

John couldn’t take his eyes off the ten dollars on the desk. After a long pause, he shrugged and smiled at Lans. “I’m just doing my duty as a friend!”

Lans smiled back. “Of course—who could blame you for that?”

Soon, John took leave. That was the advantage of being a civil servant—if the reason was reasonable, the boss would almost certainly approve.

John’s excuse for leave? A stomachache—two hours off.