Chapter 999: Fired

In the morning, a passenger ship from the Lianbang slowly docked at Zhuolan’s pier; as the gangway lowered, more and more passengers from the Lianbang stepped ashore with their luggage.

This scene was unfolding across all of Yalan.

Negotiations between the Yamen and the Lianbang were still ongoing; only part of the cooperation had been agreed upon, with more matters left to discuss.

For instance, the Lianbang was seeking mining rights to two oil fields in the Yalan region; extracting oil was no simple task, and only two small oil fields in all of Yalan had been confirmed and were currently being exploited.

All others—confirmed, unconfirmed, or even undiscovered—waited for their owners to arrive.

They could not produce the equipment needed to extract oil, let alone build storage tanks and pipelines meeting safety standards; they could only rely on the Lianbang.

The Lianbang government wanted to buy these oil fields for independent operation, but the Yamen insisted they should develop them jointly—even if they received a smaller share.

Capital groups dominated by several major Lianbang oil giants were still negotiating with them; a good outcome was unlikely in the short term.

Everyone understood one thing: oil was a massive profit engine.

The Lianbang conglomerates would never pay them based on proven reserves to buy these oil fields.

All they could afford to pay was a tiny fraction of the total estimated reserves—perhaps one-tenth, or even less!

Beyond oil fields, many other opportunities still existed here, drawing ever more “gold seekers” to this land in search of fortune.

The largest number of people were heading to the Jide Republic; as the strongest nation in the Yalan region, it already had some industrial infrastructure and welcomed investment.

As long as they found the right project, rapid class mobility was guaranteed—this unequal trade was always a goldmine for merchants.

Just as Christopher had previously run drug smuggling deals with backward nations’ royal families, a single dose of a Lianbang specialty drug worth a few yuan could be exchanged for its weight in gold—or even several times its weight.

That was why so many people were obsessed with smuggling between two civilizations of vastly different levels.

Everyone hoped to become the most successful, to reach the pinnacle of life.

Large capital groups or teams found greater prospects in the Jide Republic, while smaller teams or individuals were ill-suited to seek opportunities there.

They couldn’t negotiate supply and pricing terms or rules as deeply as capital-backed teams could; all they could negotiate were based on the foundation provided by capital.

They couldn’t compete with big capital or large teams; instead, relatively backward places like Lapa or similar neighboring countries suited them better.

One by one, faces filled with hope and longing appeared on the gangway, quickly merging into the crowd and blending into the city.

Perhaps they would realize their dreams here—but perhaps this would be where their next nightmare began.

Who knew?

Lans kept his gaze fixed on the gangway; from the initial crush of people to the now-empty stairs, his brow gradually furrowed.

But in the next moment, his brow relaxed, a smile appeared on his face, and he opened the car door and stepped out.

Haelam appeared on the gangway; he glanced down, saw Lans, and broke into a grin, jogging down the steps to embrace Lans, who was approaching.

He squeezed hard, making Lans feel suffocated; Lans had to pat his back and shoulders. “Get the hell off me!”

“Hahaha!” Haelam laughed and released his arms, stepping back two paces. He sized up Lans, and Lans sized him up.

Haelam had clearly gained weight; Lans pinched his arm. “Did Elvin feed you feed?”

“I think you’ve gotten a whole circle fatter than before.”

At this, Haelam’s smile faded; he began complaining, “I was bored stiff over there—nothing to do, just eat and sleep every day, God!”

Xinboming was not a fast-paced, lively city.

Although since last year’s second half, the city’s development seemed to be accelerating, as many gangs came here to buy whiskey, boosting local economic activity.

Even so, the city remained dull, nowhere near as vibrant as Jingang City; every day was just wasted in boredom.

“So I came to see if you’ve got a lot of work here.”

Several people trailed behind Haelam, each carrying square, rigid cases; their uniform attire gave them an intimidating presence.

Lans’s gaze lingered on each of them, greeted them, then walked as he answered Haelam: “Yes, you’ll find something to do in the next few days.”

Haelam instantly brimmed with energy. “Who do we kill?”

“That Diego guy?”

“I’ll shoot him full of holes!”

Lans rolled his eyes. “No. Some disobedient locals.”

He opened the car door for Haelam, then got in himself. “I need you to give them a Lianbang-style lesson.”

These Lapa people didn’t know a madman had just landed; they were still protesting to the factory.

They couldn’t adapt to over ten hours of high-intensity labor; they lacked the Lianbangers’ grit, perseverance, and endurance.

They couldn’t bear it, so they gathered, demanding the factory rescind yesterday’s decision.

Lapa people weren’t used to high-intensity repetitive work; most did short-term jobs—work a few days, lose the job, then wait for the next one.

So they found it impossible to sit still in one fixed position; after a while, the novelty faded, leaving only mental and physical exhaustion.

Anyone who never worked on a high-intensity assembly line could never understand how terrifying the pressure of just sitting there could be!

It was perfectly normal that these free-spirited Lapa people couldn’t take it.

If they accepted it immediately, that would be abnormal.

Watching the noisy crowd refusing to work, the factory manager, sweating profusely, called Roger. Roger then called Lans.

“Shall we go take a look?” Haelam sat on the spacious sofa, stroking the smooth leather; he was now visibly energized.

He hadn’t seen Lans in a long time; meeting him again made him feel as if he’d come back to life—he couldn’t describe the feeling, but he felt alive again.

Lans picked up the phone and looked at him, not hanging up. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

Haelam shook his head. “Since Richard was killed, I’ve been so bored I’m growing fur. Perfect chance to see what needs doing.” After Richard’s death, Jinbiao Group reversed his policies; the gangs ceased their confrontation with Lans’s family. Though state police still harassed them, losing a group of enemies made things noticeably easier.

Now that something needed doing, he was clearly eager.

Lans picked up the phone. “I’ll go take a look later.”

More than twenty minutes later, the convoy arrived at the cigar factory.

The cigar factory was in the suburbs of Zhuolan; they’d even planned an industrial zone here.

Whoever made this plan must have still held some hope for this country—but so far, only a few factories had been built.

Almost all the new ones belonged to Lans.

The car pulled up to the factory; many locals had already gathered at the entrance, shouting loudly, drawing more and more people until the area was packed.

Though few companies had moved into the industrial zone, its supporting infrastructure and personnel were abundant.

They hadn’t learned the advanced parts of those countries, but they’d mastered bureaucratic bloat.

An empty industrial zone still had its own police station and over two hundred officers.

Many police were present, but they didn’t interfere with the protesting workers—only stood on the periphery watching.

They’d arrived right when the disturbance started.

They immediately reported it to the industrial zone police station.

The station chief had clearly gotten his position through connections; he had more wit than mere lackeys.

He didn’t decide whether to act or not—he called his superior for instructions.

That question landed in Diego’s hands.

Since it involved “foreign guests,” some people didn’t want to bear the consequences, so they passed it up the chain to Diego.

After thinking for a moment, Diego asked one question: “Is this illegal?”

No one in his office understood; he repeated: “I mean, these people opposing unreasonable foreign work demands—is this legal?”

After brief thought, someone answered: “Not illegal.”

A clever answer—neither “legal” nor “illegal,” but “not illegal.”

Diego had already resented Lans after being threatened before; now, with this incident and legal backing, he ordered his subordinates to do nothing.

Didn’t the Lianbang love to talk about human rights, democracy, freedom?

Didn’t they claim protest and resistance were basic human rights?

Now they got what they wanted—Lapa people had these rights too!

The order trickled down; when it reached the industrial zone police, they stopped interfering and simply watched.

Watching foreigners’ troubles was rare in Lapa.

Lans’s car stopped on the road outside the factory; he didn’t get out or approach—just watched from afar.

Haelam whistled. “What’s your plan?” He turned to Lans.

Lans stared at the crowd. “Can you use a baseball bat?”

Haelam grinned, eyes narrowing. “I’m damn good at it!”

As the manager was worn down by the crowd, someone ran up and whispered in his ear.

He tilted his head toward the roadside, saw the line of parked cars, and his expression changed instantly.

He shoved the nearest workers aside, climbed onto a nearby crate, and shouted: “Listen up! Shut up!”

His shout earned no respect; instead, someone burst out laughing, finding him ridiculous.

The manager was a Lapa native, formerly middle-class; he’d worked in cigar production before and was hired for this role.

He’d never directly managed frontline workers before—this was his first time—and he was nervous.

It wasn’t that Lans or Roger didn’t want to hire local managers; it was that most local managers were tied to the ruling elite—hard to poach.

The manager could only turn red and shout: “This is the company’s decision—not mine or anyone else’s. You don’t have to agree—that’s fine.”

“We don’t expect everyone to comply. The gate is right there—you can leave anytime.”

“It’s your freedom!”

“But if you want to stay and keep working in our factory, you must follow our rules—do as we say!”

He was clearly furious—his boss was watching nearby; he had to show strength, prove he could handle these people!

The workers grew agitated, pushing forward, shouting what they wanted to say, regardless of whether it mattered!

Seeing the crowd grow restless again, the manager suddenly pointed at a few loud individuals in the crowd: “You’re fired!”

The entire scene fell suddenly silent; most assumed this might just be a “strategy,” but they hadn’t expected someone would actually be fired.

Some wore expressions of disbelief, and those fired clearly could not accept this outcome!

One man, after a brief shock, suddenly flew into a rage, shoved through the crowd, and shoved the manager hard—“What did you say?”

The manager tumbled off the crate; his junior staff caught him, and this made the manager feel his authority had been gravely challenged!

The way they looked at him no longer held the same awe as before!

He was utterly enraged—he stepped up to the guy who towered over him by a full head, jabbing a finger into his chest—“Don’t make me say it again!”

“You’re fired. Now.”

“Get out of the factory right now, or I’ll make your life hell!”

(End of Chapter)