Chapter 835: Dong Shi Imitates Xi Shi (Blind Imitation with Ludicrous Effect)

Chapter 835: Blind Imitation

The news of Tindu's fall had not only stirred up a storm in the Bahl Province but also within the Cohesion Council building in Dawnbreak City, shocking everyone present.

The most amusing part was that this disgraceful affair was not brought to light by the Alliance, but by the Brugra Free State, which the Empire considered to have "fairly good relations."

Though the connections were somewhat convoluted, they could still be explained.

Since the Free State had always had good ties with the Legion, and the Empire was the Legion's "ally," Duke Garav had long treated the Free State's representative as one of his own.

And the profiteers of the Free State were notoriously fond of making a quiet fortune.

They never picked clients based on anything but profit, so naturally, they wouldn't go out of their way to expose the Empire's dirty laundry, instead hiding behind the Legion and the Alliance, quietly developing the Bahl Province market.

If not for a few senior salesmen from Firestone Group being caught by the thugs in Tindu, and the overwhelming public pressure on the authorities, this Free State representative would never have spoken up.

As for Duke Garav, he had been kept in the dark from start to finish, only recently learning that Wutu was no longer in Tindu but had fled to Golden Gallon Port.

And when he learned that the Empire's Tindu had fallen into the hands of a mob, he sat in the conference seat, his eyes wide open.

He looked like a beached goldfish.

"Nonsense! Tindu... in the hands of rebels? How come I haven't heard of this? What are you implying by saying this now!" He stood up angrily, but only managed a disjointed retort.

The hall buzzed with whispers, faces etched with surprise.

These were representatives of other small survivor factions, like Rubbish City and Dam City. They neither knew nor cared about what happened in the Empire, only finding it strange.

But the expression on Duke Garav's face was worth savoring.

That was his own home—how could he look like he'd just heard about it?

Staring at Duke Garav, who wore a look of righteous indignation as if betrayed, the Free State representative simply shrugged.

"Fine, take it as me talking nonsense... Though I never expected you to help, seeing how clueless you are, I doubt you even know what's happening in your own backyard."

The respectful "you" had subtly become a blunt "you."

After a pause, he added.

"We'll just use our own mercenaries to rescue our people."

As his words fell, murmurs rippled through the room.

Duke Garav, publicly humiliated, was so furious his nose twisted, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably as he pointed a finger at the insolent man.

"You—do you know what you're saying! Sending troops into the Empire's territory is a violation of its sovereignty! It's an invasion! If you dare let those mercenaries set foot on Imperial soil, don't expect them to return alive!"

"Tsk... You're the one who doesn't know what he's saying, Mr. Garav."

The Free State representative's tone turned sarcastic, even mocking.

"Even if this is a violation of sovereignty, we'd be violating the sovereignty of the illegal regime known as the 'Yanush Empire.' What does that have to do with Xilan? To us, employees are valuable company assets. Since we've insured them, we intend to make that insurance work."

He paused, then looked around the room, especially at Cheng Yan in the Alliance seat and the Legion's Bannott Chiliarch.

These were the ones who truly had a say.

"Isn't anyone going to escort this 'irrelevant person' out? The Xilan Empire is already a historical term. What can he do here besides shout and scream?"

Bannott, seated in the Legion's spot, remained expressionless, his sunken eyes as if he hadn't slept in days, utterly indifferent to the Free State representative's proposal.

He had plenty of his own troubles to deal with, no time to mind his lapdog.

Cheng Yan glanced at Bannott, then at the Free State representative and the livid Duke Garav. After a moment's silence, he gave a measured cough.

"The Cohesion Council's seats are granted to the residents of the Bahl Province, not to any individual or organization—not even a royal family... However, I don't agree with revoking the Xilan Empire's seat due to political upheaval. That would violate both the spirit of the Cohesion Council and the rules we've established."

A glimmer of hope flickered in Duke Garav's eyes.

Though he disliked the Alliance and loathed this "manager's lackey," hearing the man speak in his defense made him involuntarily smirk, shooting a defiant look at the sneering Free State representative.

But his triumph lasted barely two seconds before Cheng Yan's next words plunged him back into the abyss...

"However, given the Empire's current state, it is indeed unfit to continue attending Cohesion Council meetings. Even if they vote on resolutions, they lack the capacity to fulfill obligations... Therefore, I propose temporarily freezing their seat until the survivors of the Bahl Province elect a new organization or individual that truly represents their will, at which point we may consider unfreezing it."

This was entirely based on normal, reasonable procedure.

After all, the Cohesion Council was a research body for slime molds, discussing collective matters of the wasteland. The Empire, unable to clean up its own mess and posing a risk of dragging the entire wasteland into its internal strife, was nothing but a troublemaker.

Letting such a meddler disrupt the meetings would harm both themselves and everyone else at the table.

Before fulfilling their duty to end the wasteland, the survivors of the Bahl Province should first resolve their own troubles.

Not wanting to see Duke Garav's pleading face, Cheng Yan stared straight ahead and said.

"Let's vote."

Almost all representatives lit up green lights, with only the Academy abstaining.

Aside from the Alliance, it seemed only the Corporation voted in favor out of pure goodwill. The other affirmative votes carried a hint of ill intent.

After all, Duke Garav had always been arrogant, offending many on behalf of the Empire.

The voting situation was precarious for the Empire.

Though Garav was dissatisfied with the Cohesion Council, withdrawing voluntarily and being expelled were two entirely different things.

Losing face hurt him more than losing his life...

Sweating profusely, Duke Garav looked desperately at Bannott Chiliarch, his pitiful expression like a drowning man grasping at the last straw on the water.

If the Legion exercised its veto power... all the setbacks would be reversed!

But to his despair, his dear friend and ally didn't even glance at him, sitting coldly in his seat.

That red light signifying opposition...

Never lit up.

The Legion abstained.

The Empire's closest, dearest ally had abstained!

Duke Garav felt the world spin, his vision darkening as he collapsed into his chair.

He won't help me.

It's over.

All of it...

...

The meeting ended.

As the Free State representative had wished, Duke Garav left the hall—carried out.

His heart had always been weak, but he preferred spending money on wine and women rather than getting surgery.

Many in the conference room whispered, wondering if he'd survive this time.

But even if he didn't, it didn't matter.

The Empire's seat had been frozen, and it would no longer participate in future agenda discussions.

The most pleased, of course, were the newly joined representatives of the South Sea Alliance.

The hundreds of billions of Xilan coins they had borrowed had long been cashed out into silver coins at a discount.

If this empire went bankrupt, those debts would naturally never need to be repaid...

After the meeting adjourned.

Benoit stood by the window in the corridor, pausing for a moment to gaze at Dawn City outside.

Hearing footsteps beside him, he didn’t turn around, only spoke casually.

“Got a cigarette?”

“Yeah.”

Cheng Yan pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed one to the man.

Flicking a lighter, Benoit lit the cigarette but held it in his mouth without smoking, squinting out the window, his face half-worried, half-lost.

After a long while, he finally spoke.

“…There’s something I can’t figure out.”

Cheng Yan, standing beside him, thought for a moment and then said.

“I think I can guess.”

Benoit glanced at him, then let out a dry chuckle, smoke drifting from his nostrils.

“To be honest, I actually borrowed from your methods…”

“You mean those rebels?” Cheng Yan was slightly taken aback, then said with a wry smile, “How is that borrowing? We never did anything like that.”

“Whether you did or not, you know in your hearts. I can’t exactly say it outright.”

Benoit snorted, his eyes fixed on the window, a sudden bitterness flashing in his pupils.

“But why?”

He clenched his fist so hard it seemed he wanted to smash the windowsill, forcing the anger buried in his chest through gritted teeth.

“I gave them so many benefits and so much aid… Money! Arms! And the experience and techniques of struggle! Yet they turned around and stabbed us in the back!”

“Can you understand that feeling? Like when Laxi left the city, instead of rushing to teach the empire a lesson, he first set fire to Golden Garen Port! If that happened, what would you think?”

He had indeed discussed some things with Huye.

Including tipping off certain bigwigs in Triumph City, especially civil officials with higher ranks than his.

The whole plan was simple: retired Wolf Clan soldiers and officers would use the unrest at West Sail Port to rebel, kill a batch of imperial nobles as a sacrificial flag, seize all the arms stranded in Lion Province, and then take Sky Capital directly via the roads and railways they had built.

If things went well, the empire might not even have a chance to react, and this “blood transfusion” could be completed without shedding much blood.

After all, the empire was defenseless against the legions—their reliance and hope for them bordered on fantasy.

As for West Sail Port, no problem there.

The Lion Clan nobles there were all a bunch of useless scum; they didn’t even need to pick carefully to find plenty of incompetents, and those people were no match for the old Gray Wolf soldiers.

To create opportunities for them, Governor Huye even deliberately took his personal guard away.

And the opportunists mixed among the wolves had promised them that once they got the guns, they would only purge the imperial nobles, never touch the empire’s Valiants, and after it all ended, use this “restraint” as a symbol of mutual friendship…

But the result was that those ingrates betrayed him without hesitation, refusing to trust him, who had been fairly trustworthy, and instead chose to cooperate with this even less trustworthy man to gamble big—first build a broken ship to draw all the hatred, then bet they could swap for a new ship before it sank.

Now he only had one consolation: his daughter Penny wasn’t there.

Though she hadn’t boarded Governor Huye’s ship, he had managed to persuade her to go to Eternal Night Port before things happened.

Cheng Yan looked at him.

Though he didn’t spell it out, the gist was clear.

This guy wanted to replicate a “Laxi” at West Sail Port.

But clearly, he had misunderstood something.

While the emergence of Mammoth Province did align with the Alliance’s interests, the Alliance had never actively exported anything to the people there.

Including the Survivors’ Daily in Golden Garen Port, including the “Red Earth” anthology serialized in the paper—wasn’t every bit of it the voice of the local survivors themselves?

“Do you think Laxi hates us? Do the residents of Golden Garen Port hate us? Or… does Laxi hate the residents of Golden Garen Port?”

“…” Benoit was silent for a long time, unable to answer.

Cheng Yan continued.

“Then what if I told you that we never supported Mammoth Province or the Moon Clan Resistance? We even advised them not to rush, that everything must be taken step by step… Would you believe that?”

The Administrator was a man who disdained using schemes.

Most of that gentleman’s decisions were indeed open strategies—Cheng Yan was perfectly clear on that.

Though rumors said Laxi had received guidance from some big shot, or had some backing before resigning and heading north, the truth was the opposite.

That guy did something that caught everyone off guard—gambling his own life and a group of others’ on a nearly impossible victory.

But it was precisely that event that woke many in the Alliance.

Not everything would unfold slowly as they had planned.

They could no longer act recklessly as before; they had to be cautious with every choice they made.

Benoit still wore an expression of disbelief, but it was less certain than before.

“…Laxi wasn’t your doing?”

Cheng Yan looked at him seriously.

“I can swear to the Administrator.”

“…”

Benoit said nothing, just stared out the window, smoking to himself.

So it wasn’t…

No wonder he couldn’t replicate it.

Birds of a feather flock together; gamblers can only keep company with gamblers, only to be targeted by bigger gamblers, losing the chips they barely won.

Though not yet at the end of his rope, Benoit suddenly felt exhausted, even thinking of retiring early, all his former aggressiveness and high spirits gone.

His desolate eyes made him seem to have aged a dozen years in an instant…

Just as Benoit was chain-smoking, Duke Garava, who had been carried into the hospital, finally drifted back to consciousness under the Alliance doctors’ rescue.

“…Lucky you came five minutes earlier; any later and no one could have saved you.”

Hearing someone speak faintly, he forced his eyes open and saw the doctor’s face.

Though his stubborn temper never bowed to anyone, he couldn’t help softening his tone and lowering his gaze to the doctor who had saved his life.

“Thank you…”

“You’re welcome. Saving lives is my job and my mission,” the doctor in the white coat said, glancing at him and then at the monitor beside him, adding a bit more, “If you have the means, I’d still suggest you get a bionic heart… At this rate, you’re done for sooner or later.”

Galava's gaze was somewhat conflicted, fine beads of sweat glistening on his pale forehead, as if he were hesitating.

A heart transplant...

Didn't that mean cutting open his chest?!

Of course.

He wasn't afraid of pain, naturally.

But... what if that administrator wanted his life, and arranged for someone to stab him in the back while he was under?

Seeing this man scaring himself again, the doctor quickly spoke up.

"We'll administer anesthesia; the whole process won't hurt..."

"No need, Doctor," Duke Galava said with a weak smile, cutting him off. "I'm fine... thank you for saving my life."

"..."

The doctor stared blankly at this stubborn old man, finally shook his head, and turned to walk out the door.

As the doctor left, Niyang, who was waiting by the door, quickly asked.

"How is His Grace?"

The doctor replied succinctly.

"His condition is basically stable... If you truly care for him, you should persuade him to have the surgery as soon as possible."

"I'll talk to him." Niyang nodded, bid the doctor farewell, and then entered Duke Galava's ward.

When he entered, the duke, lying on his back in bed, was staring blankly at the ceiling.

Hearing the footsteps at the door, he turned his head slightly, then shifted his dazed gaze back, looking at the ceiling and speaking dejectedly.

"I don't think I'm sick... I wasn't like this before. I used to be healthy, but ever since I came to the Alliance... everything seems to have changed."

Seeing the duke's sickly appearance, Niyang couldn't help but sigh sympathetically, but in the end, he placed the written resignation letter on the bedside table, poured the duke a glass of hot water, and spoke in a tone like coaxing a child.

"Indeed, the Alliance is utterly rotten."

"They shouldn't have ended the Wasteland Era, nor given the people of the wasteland hope for a new century."

"Everyone dies eventually. Drowning in reality is no different from drowning in a dream... it's just a matter of different choices. We all want to leave something behind in this world."

Duke Galava stared at him blankly, suddenly finding this servant unfamiliar.

Was this... his Niyang?

"For the sake of our acquaintance, I advise you to get yourself a new heart. Even if you always think the Administrator wants your life... now that the Empire is finished, and soon you'll no longer be a diplomat, there's no one left to harm you."

You no longer have any value worth harming...

Niyang looked at him with pity, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to say the most hurtful words.

"Shut up...! You rat, what do you know?!" Galava, lying in bed, widened his eyes, staring intently at this familiar yet strange servant. His peripheral vision suddenly caught sight of the paper on the bedside table.

"And what's that... a newspaper?"

Niyang answered truthfully.

"It's a resignation letter."

Galava's eyes were bloodshot, his rims reddening as he glared at him.

"Resignation?!"

"Yes," Niyang nodded. "Thank you for your care all this time, but one thing is another. Once a person gains the ability to distinguish right from wrong, they no longer settle for being a slave. I choose to follow my own heart."

Galava, furious, sat up in bed, grabbed the resignation letter, tore it to shreds, and threw it at his legs.

"A slave resigning? Unheard of! Let me tell you, Niyang, I am your master! What I give you is yours; without my nod, you're not leaving!"

The hysterical voice was both a roar and a plea.

Niyang thought he would say something harsh at the end, to repay the humiliation he had suffered.

But now, looking at this old man who had lost everything, those harsh words wouldn't come out.

He was a pitiful man too.

Born with a silver spoon, he had heard endless flattery in his life, yet no one had ever truly respected him. They either blindly followed his foolishness or pretended to be ignorant to fool him.

Niyang bowed his head slightly, as a final sign of respect.

"You misunderstand, Mr. Galava. I am not resigning as a slave, but resigning from all positions in the Empire..."

He paused, pulled out his ID card from his pocket.

"The Alliance has no slaves. I was never a slave, so there's nothing to resign from."

An Alliance ID card...

His dry Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Duke Galava was utterly despairing.

As if he had lost all reason to be angry.

This time, for once, he didn't lose his temper. He just watched dejectedly as the man turned to leave.

"Where are you going..."

Niyang stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around.

"To the Brahmaputra Province."

"To where I'm needed."

...

[Yesterday, our editorial office received a telegram from the direction of the Celestial Capital.

The telegram claimed that the remnants of the old Empire had been completely wiped out by the Heavenly King's Army, and the new Empire would be led by Heavenly King Yanush, adopting a constitutional monarchy, abolishing imperial privileges and slavery, promoting the idea of equality for all, and leading the residents of the Brahmaputra Province toward a brighter future.

Currently, the identity of the telegram's sender cannot be confirmed, but based on the content, it is likely someone from the Heavenly King's Army, or at least acting with the approval of its high command.

Since our newspaper has no branch in the Celestial Capital, we cannot yet ascertain the local situation.

However, according to information gathered by our correspondent in Elephant Prefecture from refugees fleeing the Celestial Capital, the situation there seems grim.

The Heavenly King's Army is conducting a "systematic" purge of the old Empire's remnants, and this purge is not bound by written law. Most of the time, it relies on the "intuition" of senior or mid-level officers in charge of their respective jurisdictions, and Yanush himself seems disinclined to intervene.

Our reporter attempted to contact the Governor's Office of Golden Harbor, but the office had no further information.

Nevertheless, from the limited clues available, Yanush's proclaimed "abolition of slavery" and "equality for all" appear to have nothing to do with the Sun Clan or the old imperial nobility...

Wasteland Era 214, January 15, Survivor's Daily, Golden Harbor Branch, reporting for you.]

Golden Harbor.

In a noodle shop in the port district, a group of diners were reading the newspaper over their meal.

A dockworker who couldn't read listened to a literate clerk finish reading the paper, then frowned, slapped his thigh, and muttered a curse.

"This Yanush is no good either... This is too extreme!"

The crowd gathered around, watching the commotion, nodded in agreement.

"Yeah."

"A bit extreme..."

"I don't think this Janusz is any good either... Lucky I haven't donated yet."

Watching these turncoats, the clerk holding the newspaper couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Aren't you a supporter of the Celestial King?"

The short-haired dockworker gave an awkward smile, deflecting the topic by looking elsewhere.

The coworker sitting next to him coughed and offered a defense.

"I support him fighting the Empire, but I don't support him massacring cities... nor the Wilant people."

This remark drew another round of agreement.

"True..."

"One thing at a time—praise what's done right, criticize what's wrong!"

"Exactly!"

The newspaper reader shook his head and folded the paper away.

"I'm not against it, but shouldn't there be a standard for good and bad? Calling it good one moment and bad the next—what kind of logic is that?"

A bystander watching the fun chimed in with a laugh.

"You people are really hard to please. Finally someone thinks like you, and you still demand they think exactly the same. Why don't you just do it yourselves? Getting your hands dirty beats shouting orders from the sidelines."

The crowd was about to argue again when a shout came from the doorway.

"There's something in the sky!"

At that cry, the diners dropped their topics and chopsticks, ignoring the noodle shop clerk's attempts to stop them, and surged to the entrance.

"What is it?"

"Let me see!"

"Holy crap!"

They all looked up at the sky, where a row of pale blue arcs streaked across it.

Those in the know immediately recognized them—the plume of plasma engines!

"Planes! Alliance planes!" an expert pointed upward, shouting in surprise.

At his words, almost everyone on the street who had stopped to look up wore expressions of unexpected joy.

The Alliance had come!

They were back!

...

A pulse-pounding BGM filled the cabin, trying to drown out the roar of the plasma engines.

Sitting in the cabin, [Mistaken Identity] pinched his ear with his pinky and couldn't help complaining.

"Damn... I remember the Enterprise's orcas weren't this loud."

[No Family] grinned cheekily.

"You're right, but the Tyrant transport is a large aircraft independently developed and produced by the Alliance—"

[Half a Year of Wasted Time] reached over and covered his mouth.

"Alright, I know you've played *Wasteland OL*."

[One Step to Heaven]: "?"

As the four were bickering, Old White, clad in power armor, called out over the comms.

"Brothers, we've arrived over the east coast of the Boro Province—Golden Gallon Port!"

"The Legion wants to show off, so let's give them something to remember, so they don't forget their pain once the wound heals. They may have forgotten, but I haven't—how they ran with their tails between their legs in the desert!"

"Hahaha!" Laughter filled the cabin. Old White grinned along, then his expression turned serious as he continued.

"Remember, we represent the Alliance's strongest brigade! Keep the *Player Handbook* and brigade discipline in mind—don't take a single needle or thread from the people. I don't care what crazy ideas you have; since you chose to sit here, remember the rules!"

His resolute words were met with a roar of high morale over the comms.

"Yes!"

The Burning Brigade had the highest benefits in the entire server—not just gear and leveling, but salaries too. Basically, once you joined, you didn't have to worry about your gaming career or life outside it.

But in return, the entry standards for the Burning Brigade were also the highest in the server. Level alone wasn't enough; you had to follow orders and maintain discipline.

Though the rules were strict, even harsh, few complained.

After all, if you enjoyed the benefits, you had to bear the responsibilities—it was only fair.

If you wanted fun, you could form your own group.

Take Brother Mosquito, for example. He used to be in the Burning Brigade but found it too serious and boring, so he left to form a more relaxed Goblin Brigade. They were still buddies, often cooperating, and differing game philosophies never hurt their friendship.

Or the White Bear Knights, who split off from the Storm Brigade and had grown steadily.

The Alliance's original brigades were like starter villages—many strong solo players had come from them.

Seeing that the boss had finally finished his spiel, [No Family] shouted with a grin.

"Chief, can we parachute down? I just want to show off—that's not against the rules, is it?"

He saw people below waving at him; it would be a shame not to make a flashy entrance.

Old White laughed and called back.

"Go ahead and jump—I'll open the hatch."

No Family quickly said, "No! Bro, at least pull the plane higher—I'd be paste if I jumped now."

Mistaken Identity: "Hahaha!"

The cabin filled with laughter and mock curses, adding a different hue to the stirring BGM.

Fang Chang couldn't help but smile, looking out the porthole at the thriving settlement.

It had been a while since he was last here.

The place had changed so much that even he, its designer, almost didn't recognize it...

The Golden Gallon Port authorities had built them a new military base on the outskirts.

As for the original Lowell Camp near the port district, it had been turned into a museum, even importing two service-type androids from the Enterprise to serve as guides.

"Speaking of which, do you remember what this place looked like a year ago?"

Hearing Fang Chang's voice, Old White grinned.

"Don't remember. You know me—I'm a forward-looking man. Rather than a year ago, I'm more curious about a year from now."

Fang Chang smiled softly.

"Oh? And what do you think this settlement will look like in a year?"

"Haha, that depends on what the local survivors themselves think. All we can do is lend them a hand—we can't exactly carry them on our backs."

Squinting out the porthole, Old Bai added another line from behind.

"...Anyway, no matter what it becomes, just don't let it slip back to how it was."