Chapter 977: What Cannot Be Seen Does Not Exist

Before this team arrived, Congress had already assigned them tasks; their work ran parallel to Lans’s but was subject to his control, with Lans remaining the primary authority.

Given the current situation, Lans had no need for them to do anything, so after a brief mutual introduction and receiving their operational details, he ended the meeting himself.

He set the documents he held onto a nearby low table, “Though not far from the Federation, it still takes most of a day to get here.”

“The constant rocking makes you feel awful!”

He glanced at his watch, “Go rest for a while. Congress has lunch arranged—I’ll introduce you to my colleagues then.”

Albert immediately stood up, and the others followed suit, rising to take their leave.

Lans had Ma Duoer see them off.

They were currently staying at the Lamen Grand Hotel, where Lans himself still resided.

His “castle” in the suburbs wasn’t finished yet, so moving there would take more time.

As Albert opened the door and prepared to close it, Andy unexpectedly stood outside and stopped him.

Albert looked at Andy in surprise, “Something wrong?”

Andy nodded, “I want to talk with you.”

Albert studied him for a moment, then opened the door wider and invited him in.

Their room was also a high-standard standard room: one bed, one living area—but certainly nowhere near as luxurious as Lans’s penthouse suite.

After Albert closed the door, the two sat on the sofa. Andy spoke with a tone tinged with reproach, “You shouldn’t have handed over our operational plan to him so easily.”

Albert’s hand froze mid-motion as he reached for a cigarette, staring at Andy for two or three seconds without reacting.

After two or three seconds, he continued, pulling out the cigarette pack and lighting one for himself.

The Federation didn’t have a habit of sharing cigarettes; people usually smoked their own. Of course, if someone offered one, others would accept—but only among close friends.

“Lans has always handled operations here. Before I came, they told me the mission here was under Lans’s command.”

He pulled out a lighter, lit his cigarette, and added an explanation.

Andy shook his head, “I looked into Lans’s background. I don’t think he’s capable of handling this job well.”

“He’s a gang leader with no higher education and no relevant work experience.”

“If we rely on him too heavily, problems will arise—and our work must remain confidential.”

Albert frowned, “You think he can’t do it?”

Andy didn’t deny it. “I’m just worried he’ll mess up our mission.”

He looked at Andy, who met his gaze without flinching. After a moment of locked eyes, Albert broke the stare, using the act of smoking to look away.

A faint, barely noticeable smile touched his face. “Did you two know each other before?”

“What do you have against him?”

Andy shook his head. “I have no prejudice against him. I don’t even know him. I just believe the right person should do the right job.”

“You handle your work. I handle mine. He handles his.”

Albert didn’t press further or elaborate. He understood Andy’s thoughts—even his emotions. “I get it. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Andy’s expression softened, having gotten what he wanted. “I’m not blaming you. We all need to take responsibility for our own work.”

Albert offered no rebuttal, no argument—only a smile. “Yes. You’re absolutely right.”

These words satisfied Andy. “Alright, I just wanted to remind you—nothing more. After all, you’re the team leader.”

He stood up. “I’m going back to rest. This damn ship’s rocking has turned my brain into mush!”

He rubbed his temples, a gesture that made Albert chuckle. Albert walked Andy to the door. “Same here.”

“See you at lunch?”

“See you at lunch!”

Once the door closed, Albert’s smile vanished. He shook his head, walked to the sofa, and slumped onto it with no dignity, his whole body relaxing.

He, too, harbored doubts about Lans’s competence—but upon arriving, he’d been surprised by how skillfully Lans had provoked the outbreak of conflict, and how well-chosen the entry point was.

If he’d tried to intensify tensions between the people and the government through other angles—like income inequality or social issues—he might not have drawn everyone in.

You say incomes are low, but someone always earns more.

You mention other social problems, but not everyone faces them.

In Albert’s own planned approach, there was no single entry point capable of sweeping across all classes.

He’d been thinking of a bottom-up movement that would engulf every class except the ruling elite.

To achieve that, he might have needed several coordinated actions.

But Lans simply made one simple move: hunger.

The food shortage is even spiraling toward famine. Once famine sets in, masses will starve, and their hatred toward the Lamen government and ruling elites will peak.

Then, with the lightest push, the opposition will crystallize.

So he believed Lans was capable—highly capable.

As for Andy’s resentment, he could guess why: it was a matter of identity.

It was understandable.

He didn’t know what department Andy had worked for before, but a government official suddenly “fired” and forced into a non-official organization, likely bearing heavy responsibilities, was clearly a demotion.

This also meant Andy had no one behind him—no one had told him who the real “boss” was.

He’d be at a disadvantage, because Lans wasn’t a pushover.

So far, no conflict had erupted, no open tension existed—they could still coexist peacefully.

He was certain that if Andy kept doing foolish things, Lans would make him look foolish.

He wouldn’t warn Andy. Warning wouldn’t help. He’d seen people like this before: warn them, and they’d think you looked down on them. Better to say nothing.

He finished his cigarette with a smile, took a shower, and threw himself onto the bed.

Lunch was held in a private hotel restaurant. Lans summoned Roger and the others—all of them were introduced to one another.

After all, they’d be working together for a long time.

The lunch wasn’t lavish—it was just lunch.

After lunch, Roger walked with Lans. “That Mr. Andy seems a bit… I feel he’s distant from us.”

Lans had noticed too. He shook his head. “Don’t care about him. Just a minor player.”

He paused. “Are things getting chaotic farther out?”

Roger nodded. “Everything’s falling apart. Just as you said: a few hoard the food meant for the many. Food circulation is shrinking. A major famine is brewing.”

At first, Roger might have felt uneasy, but after working this long, he’d grown used to it.

Now, he spoke of it with calm detachment.

Lans gave a slight nod, studying Roger. “I heard you’ve been enjoying yourself lately.”

Roger’s face flushed slightly—he was over sixty, and the women sent to him had initially been seventeen to nineteen. He’d refused them.

But soon, they sent women in their thirties—right in his sweet spot. His life was excellent now!

It felt like he’d been young again.

Seeing his embarrassment, Lans laughed twice, clapping his arm. “Just don’t let it interfere with your work.”

“Especially now—watch your safety…”

Several more days passed. Finally, refugees began arriving in Zhuolan.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, temperatures kept dropping.

But Zhuolan’s temperature remained stubbornly high—it was closer to the equator, so even in December, it stayed at 14 to 15 degrees.

Hunger, and a touch of cold, forced people to make choices.

People living in cities near Zhuolan had heard Zhuolan’s situation was better, so they came with their families.

More people flooding into Zhuolan should’ve been a good thing—the city grew lively.

But once they arrived, they began buying food in bulk, gradually alarming Zhuolan’s locals.

Locals started hoarding food too. Supplies quickly ran low.

When Diego heard this, he grew furious. To him, these “hungry people” felt like a slap across the face.

He’d just completed a food deal with the Federation—less than a month ago—and now Lamen was facing food shortages.

What would the Federation think? Would they mock him?

What would leaders of other Alliance nations think? Would they laugh at him?

It made him furious!

After all, he was the president of a nation, a leader. To face famine right after buying food? He couldn’t save face.

So he made a decision—he would bar anyone outside Zhuolan from entering the region.

If refugees couldn’t get in, his reputation wouldn’t be damaged. No refugees in Zhuolan meant no refugees in Lamen.

He called his subordinates, mayors of other regions, ordering them to fix this quickly.

It’s just hunger—not death.

There are so many resources in the wild. Why not use them?

Food is everywhere. How could anyone starve to death?

Such insolent peasants!

(End of Chapter)