Chapter 713: The Night That Decided the Fate of Golden Gallon Port

Chapter 713: The Night That Decided the Fate of Golden Port

The evening sun gradually sank into the sea, the shimmering golden waves receding against the tide, fading farther and farther away.

A young man, draped in a sapphire blue shawl and clad in a gown woven from demon silk, strode straight out of the warehouse district. The most luxurious hotel in the port area came into his view.

The hotel was called "Triumph."

Rumor had it that the owner was a local citizen of Golden Port.

After the Alliance seized control of the settlement and confirmed property ownership, they returned this hotel by the harbor to its original owner and issued a new business license.

To thank the Alliance for their generosity and celebrate the liberation of Golden Port, the owner promptly renamed the hotel from "Empire" to "Triumph."

Word had it that the fellow initially wanted to call it "Alliance," but the municipal government rejected it on the grounds that "misleading signage is not permitted."

Dalia cared little about the hotel's origins, but what intrigued him was the Alliance's attitude toward this port.

Clearly, with the war at this stage, the Alliance soldiers were unlikely to withdraw from here—or even if they did, they wouldn't leave entirely.

After investing such enormous costs, even if they didn't plan to incorporate this port directly into Alliance territory, they would at least establish a puppet government under indirect control.

Otherwise, they wouldn't bother distributing food to the locals; they would have simply looted the survivors' pockets like the Vellantians did.

Or at least plundered those filthy-rich nobles.

Judging by what he'd seen so far, Dalia was almost certain the Alliance wasn't just freeing the slaves and leaving them to fend for themselves. They intended to govern this land seriously.

If that were the case, this settlement of over a million people would undoubtedly face a massive development opportunity—it might even become the next Silver Moon Bay!

As an armed merchant with his own cargo ships and private guard, if he lacked even this basic business instinct, he might as well sell his ships and go back to farming.

But he couldn't consider only the gains while ignoring the risks. If the money earned couldn't be taken away, it would be meaningless.

Doing business on land was entirely different from the sea. The latter was a one-off deal, requiring only a check of the weather and dealing with mutants and not-too-formidable pirates. The former meant constantly navigating complex local powers.

Especially in a place like Golden Port.

Once the largest slave-trading port along the Bhor Sea coast, the local situation was likely more complicated than he imagined.

He needed to figure out two things.

What kind of order did the Alliance plan to establish here?

And—

To what extent could they actually achieve it?

He believed he wasn't the only one curious about these questions. Every merchant docking here was filled with the same curiosity.

Just then, the Golden Port authorities had prepared a welcoming banquet at the Triumph Hotel for these guests from afar.

Word had it that all the important figures of this settlement would appear at this banquet.

He could take this rare opportunity to observe...

He stepped onto the red carpet at the hotel entrance.

He presented his invitation to the attendant standing nearby, who bowed slightly and gestured toward the inner door.

"This way, sir."

Sensing something unusual about the attendant's demeanor, Dalia couldn't help but ask.

"Are you a noble here?"

The attendant paused briefly, then smiled gently.

"Of course not. I was a noble's servant... but those 'Iron Men' returned my freedom. Now I'm employed by this hotel."

"Iron Men..." Dalia repeated the word, then continued curiously, "Do you know they're actually from the Alliance?"

The attendant nodded slightly, speaking with refined grace.

"I know, but I'm used to that term. Many here are the same."

Dalia stared into the attendant's eyes for a moment, trying to find the brand of a slave, but surprisingly found none.

The attendant's gaze didn't flinch. He met Dalia's eyes casually, neither overly fawning nor cowering in humility—just one person looking at another.

A flicker of surprise crossed Dalia's face.

From the warehouse district all the way here, every local he'd seen had kept their heads down. Even a chance glance would make them hastily look away.

Even though most of them were born free.

Clearly, the master this attendant once served must have been someone remarkable, or else even the household servants wouldn't have received such good education.

At least in the Bhor Province, such self-respect was extremely rare...

"...You feel completely different from the others. It seems your former master must have been an impressive figure."

Hearing this, the attendant smiled faintly and said softly.

"I am grateful to Governor Nihaq for his cultivation. Whether he did it for show or other reasons, he taught me to read and write. As for whether he was impressive—allow me to reserve my dissent. That's separate from my gratitude."

Amused by this intriguing remark, Dalia laughed.

"You shouldn't be a waiter here. You should take a ship out to sea and earn more money."

The attendant nodded slightly.

"It's been less than a month since I gained my freedom. I plan to start with work I can do well. Perhaps I'll consider your advice later... But we've talked too long. May I escort you to the banquet hall?"

There were other attendants at the entrance, but the banquet was about to begin.

Realizing he'd interrupted the man's work, Dalia laughed heartily.

"Please, lead the way... By the way, I'm Dalia. May I know your name?"

The attendant nodded.

"Of course. My name is Zaid."

Zaid...

Dalia silently committed the name to memory.

It seemed this land wasn't entirely hopeless.

Not all of those million faces wore the same look of despair. A faint spark still glowed like fireflies in the dark.

Following Zaid into the banquet hall, Dalia saw the spacious room filled with guests in splendid attire.

All kinds of faces gathered in the lavishly decorated hall, people clustered in small groups, chatting with one another.

He noticed two familiar faces.

One was the sausage magnate from Silver Moon Bay in Bugara—every sausage in the Hump Kingdom came from his meat-processing factory!

The other was even more impressive: Ikab, the chairman of the Silver Moon Bay Merchant Association! The textiles produced by his companies held 30% of the Hump Kingdom's market and 23% of its textile exports. For contributing massive tax revenue, he had been received by the Hump Kingdom's king and granted an honorary knighthood.

Surprise spread across Dalia's face.

He hadn't expected this fellow to be here too!

He only just found out!

What surprised him even more was the content of their conversation.

While I was still hesitating, they seemed to have already started mulling over investing in a factory here?!

"I heard Baiyue Company plans to build a steel mill and a cement plant here."

"Oh? Who did you hear that from?"

"I just took a stroll near Knight Road; there's a recruitment notice posted there—1,500 gallons a month for a worker."

"1,500 gallons... Isn't that 150 silver coins?!"

"Cheap, isn't it? In Dawn City, even a dog wouldn't glance at that wage, but for the locals, it's a high salary. If import taxes aren't too steep and the port's supplies stay stable, that money could buy over a hundred kilograms of corn—they probably don't eat that much dirt in a month."

"Hiss... When you put it that way, I suddenly feel this wage is too high."

"I'm just afraid the Alliance will push their labor laws here too."

"Not impossible, but they'll probably consider local conditions. Dawn City didn't start with its current rules on day one... And if they really followed Alliance law, paying them 7,200 gallons a month, I'd bet they'd spend it all on food the first chance they got."

"Haha, that would be a disaster... But with a monthly wage of 150 silver coins, if they could spend a third of their income on clothes, beds, and curtains, that'd be a pretty sizable market."

"Are you planning to open a textile mill here?"

"Why not? This place is already a source of flax and dye. The Empire's embargo might be a problem, but once the ceasefire agreement takes effect, things should improve."

Though eavesdropping was improper, Darya still absorbed every word of their conversation, and the business opportunities it hinted at made his heart itch with curiosity.

He was in the grain import-export business, and expanding his old trade on shore might be tough; crossing over into other fields would surely fail against these veterans who'd spent decades honing their crafts.

But then a thought struck him—

It was that waiter he'd seen at the hotel entrance earlier.

The first and second industries would likely see brutal competition, but the tertiary sector, especially services, seemed overlooked for now.

He didn't have much capital, but with the hot money in Golden Gallon Port still scarce, investing in one or two hotels was more than enough.

If so many big players saw bright commercial prospects here, making money off them seemed like a decent idea.

Darya's mind began to stir.

Maybe after the banquet, he could find that interesting young man for a chat...

The conversations weren't limited to the Silver Moon Bay merchants; there were also local traders and nobles from Tulip Street.

Perhaps because they'd been dragged out of their homes recently, many minor nobles still forced smiles to maintain dignity, but a fair number of major nobles, whose interests had been harmed, wore their discontent plainly on their faces.

It wasn't entirely dissatisfaction with the Alliance.

It was also resentment toward those "new nobles" who'd been "stirring up trouble."

Take that militia leader, Lassi, for instance—drunk before the banquet even started, like a baboon that couldn't find its way home.

Even more detestable was Sheriff Bihari, once just a dog of Governor Nihaq, now with a new master, his nose practically in the air!

As for Port District Sheriff Mandal and his ilk, no need to mention them—the way they wagged their tails was nauseating.

Blind fools!

Couldn't they see who truly had noble blood?

Just then, a light but deliberate clapping sound came from the center of the banquet hall.

"Everyone, please quiet down. Allow me to take a moment of your precious time before the banquet begins."

At the sound, all eyes turned to the center of the hall, where a man in a blue coat stood smiling.

Whether it was his handsome face, the unintentional intellectual elegance in his brow, or the iconic coat he wore, he instantly became the focus of the entire room.

The residents of the shelter were all good-looking, but aside from the passionate gazes of noble ladies and young women, most guests' eyes lingered more on that coat.

Vault 404!

Looking at that young face and that all-too-familiar garment, Darya's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

The main event was finally here!

...

Watching those expectant eyes fixed on him, Fang Chang finally began to grasp a bit of the Administrator's pleasure.

People looked up to him, hanging on his every word, pondering each syllable, and staking all their hopes and fortunes on him.

This gave him even more satisfaction than his bank balance.

He felt a vast power in his hands.

With it, he could turn dirt into gold, gold into dirt, and even make last night's dreams come true—

Of course, that was just an exaggerated metaphor.

Since getting his helmet, he hadn't had many bizarre dreams.

"...Welcome to Golden Gallon Port. This banquet is for you; you are the hosts here. I won't overstay my welcome by taking too much time."

With a modest opening, Fang Chang cleared his throat and continued politely.

"I have only two things to say."

"Our original intention remains unchanged: we aim to establish a lasting order here in Golden Gallon Port—a normal order. Otherwise, the blood shed for it will mean nothing. Of course, we won't force local survivors to eat the same rice as us. We only make basic demands on matters of principle. As for what kind of life they want in the future, that's for the locals to decide."

"Secondly, an order that doesn't fill stomachs is empty talk. While building a new order, we'll focus on economic development. Only by improving the lives of local survivors and restoring their hope for the future will hospitals and schools spring up like mushrooms after rain, giving real meaning to the order we establish."

"To that end, the new administration has approved a total of 37 infrastructure projects, including road building, bridge construction, drainage repairs, and shantytown renovations. The detailed plans are posted on the municipal hall's bulletin board. Interested parties can inquire at the government affairs office, or if unclear, come directly to the Governor's Office at the port to ask me."

"The total budget is around 1 billion gallons, expected to leverage a market worth tens of billions... After all, this settlement has so many people. If you can make each person earn an extra 55 gallons a day, and then take half their annual income from their pockets, that sum would be enough."

Fang Chang noticed that when he said this, even the local nobles and gentry who had been frowning with discontent now showed moved expressions.

Though old-fashioned, they weren't bad at arithmetic.

Ten billion gallons!

In other words, one billion silver coins!

Although the Xilan Empire didn't use silver coins as its main foreign reserve, judging by the attitudes of the Silver Moon Bay merchants, the widely accepted exchange rate between the Dinar and silver coins was 3 to 5 to 1.

In other words, this market was worth at least three billion Dinars—even more astonishing than their emperor's local deposits!

After doing the math on their fingers, almost every noble wore an expression of disbelief.

Even if they sold all the livestock in the settlement at an average price of 1,000 Dinars each, they could never fetch such an astronomical sum.

No—

In fact, it wouldn't even cover a fraction of those three billion!

Fang Chang knew exactly what they were marveling at—just childish addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, trying to grasp something beyond their shallow understanding. A million beasts couldn't sell for tens of billions of Dinars, but that was because a bunch of fools sold people like cattle.

In truth, anyone's needs could become the soil for another's creativity. Proposing needs and solving them ran through the entire thread of human reproduction and civilization. Even in the most extreme case, a debt laborer whose needs were reduced to mere food, clothing, shelter, and transport could create far more value than a feudal lord's slave.

And if that worker had dignity and education, he'd even find ways to improve tools and methods, striving to make himself more dignified... even if he ate more, used more, and had as many demands and complaints.

Of course, Fang Chang didn't intend to explain all that.

Aversion and resistance to progress ran in the blood of feudal nobles and conservative forces—whether it was productivity advances or anything else. Their sense of superiority largely came from others' suffering. Any explanation would be wasted; they had ten thousand ways to quibble, like claiming the Sun-Bearing Divine Bull was the ultimate truth, as the sages of the prosperous era had said.

That esteemed Administrator never bothered explaining to slave owners who'd lost their slaves or slaves who missed their masters.

When the sun rises, the cold night will naturally fade. If once isn't enough, do it again. From the ashes, a glimmer of hope can always sprout.

He paused, then continued.

"...To demonstrate support for the new administration's infrastructure projects, and also to back the infrastructure initiatives in Chipstick Port, Baiyue Company has decided to lead by example, allocating a budget of at least twenty million silver coins to import a steel production line and a cement production line from the Alliance, investing in the establishment of a steel plant with an annual output of five hundred thousand tons and a cement plant with an annual output of one million tons in Golden Galleon Port."

"We sincerely hope that the lives of the local survivors can get back on track as soon as possible, and we also look forward to Golden Galleon Port playing a more significant role in the wasteland in the future... and a role of positive significance at that!"

Watching the guests who were holding their breath and listening intently, Fang Chang's face softened into a relaxed smile, and he continued in a lighthearted tone.

"That's all, nothing else. I've talked myself dry, and you all must be tired too... Enjoy the banquet, friends from afar!"

"By the way, the fine wines at the banquet are all treasures that Governor Nihakh kept on behalf of His Majesty, though he himself is still in prison praying for His Majesty to rescue him. But honestly, compared to those head-spinning drinks, I'd recommend the food on the serving carts. It's not some rare delicacy, just ordinary things from our hometown..."

As his words fell, a line of waiters had already pushed serving carts into the hall from both sides and lifted the silver domes.

Crispy golden roast duck, braised pork glazed in a dark red sauce, Mapo tofu sprinkled with Sichuan pepper and scallions, sizzling grilled shrimp and meat, charcoal-grilled scallops and oysters, and besides these, all kinds of fruits, steamed dishes, and pastries.

For players, these foods would certainly be familiar—just take off your helmet, go downstairs for a stroll, and you might find them.

But for the survivors of the wasteland, especially those on this uncivilized land, their eyes were truly stunned.

What amazed them wasn't just the food itself; it was clear that the ingredients used were all common things, but the methods of preparation were something they had never heard of.

One dazzling dish after another appeared before their eyes, and tantalizing aromas lingered at everyone's nostrils.

It wasn't just technology—

Even the last shred of pride they had as the Land of Spices was utterly defeated by that unfathomable culinary culture.

Director Mandal swallowed hard.

Compared to these, what Prince Dilip ate was practically pig slop!

The same went for Lassi, who was dead drunk; when he saw the dazzling array of delicacies, he reached out as if seeing paradise, rubbing his reddened nose, and sobered up quite a bit.

Compared to the merchants from Silvermoon Bay, it was clearly the local old nobles and wealthy gentry who were more profoundly shaken.

Though a single meal wouldn't change their attitude toward the Alliance—after all, no one here lacked for a meal—the endless line of serving carts still made them doubt the superiority they had felt for decades.

These...

Were just ordinary things found in Dawn City?

Even commoners could enjoy them?!

Faces filled with bewilderment, some even began to doubt themselves.

Then what were they?

Beggars?

Once upon a time, they could console themselves by saying that although the Alliance was strong in arms, it lacked resources and had no throngs of servants, so it didn't know what enjoyment meant.

But now they realized that not only did they live worse than the Alliance's administrators, they even lived worse than the most ordinary survivors of the Alliance...

"What a load of crap... saying even commoners can afford it, then don't buy cattle from the Brahmin Province! Starve, you bunch of ground squirrels..."

Of course, and don't buy from the Luoxia Province either!

A cattle-race wealthy merchant muttered a curse in a voice only he could hear, but his beady little eyes kept darting toward the serving carts, trying to get another look at what kind of meat that round, strange thing was.

Except for the distinguished guests from Silvermoon Bay and the new elites of Golden Galleon Port, who had already gathered around the serving carts, hardly any noble moved their dignified legs.

It wasn't that they weren't curious about how those flashy-looking foods tasted, but they were waiting for servants to bring the plates to them.

Until they realized they had to fetch the food themselves, until a few could no longer resist the soul-stirring aroma, did some finally deign to step forward, reach out, and take plates from the long tables covered in white tablecloths.

A count worth hundreds of millions of Xilan coins, with a mix of doubt and curiosity, clumsily used a fork to scoop a piece of braised pork, soft as soup, onto a spoon, and slowly brought it to his mouth.

In that instant, the shock in his eyes was like gazing upon His Majesty's palace, or like the survivors of Clear Spring City first seeing the towering Pioneer.

Rich but not greasy, melting on the tongue, soft and sweet...

What kind of...

Meat was this?!

A look of utter defeat appeared on his face, and on the faces of many others of the same station.

It felt like they had lost...

Fang Chang, satisfied, watched the varied expressions and the people wolfing down the food. He took a glass of champagne from a tray handed by a waiter.

This was one of the treasures of that Wutu Xilan, from the distant Triumph City.

Those Vlandians really knew how to brew.

He raised his glass in a toast to the guests, but it seemed like a salute to another distant friend, gently clinking it against a beam of light falling from the chandelier in the center of the hall.

"Cheers!"

...

The banquet had officially begun.

The first-floor buffet was mainly for NPCs, while the second floor was opened to players active around the port. Shareholders, employees, and partners of Baiyue Company could enter for free, and independent players just needed to pay a symbolic 50 silver coins for a ticket.

As the guests feasted heartily, Tomato Scrambled Eggs walked out from the back kitchen, plopped down exhausted into a chair, and cursed.

"Damn, this is killing me."

A level-thirty-something Constitution-type player like him was worn out to this state; if he weren't an Awakened, he'd probably be dead tired.

To be fair, this place was indeed the salt flat of civilization. The local survivors' understanding of food was to mash ingredients into a paste, then throw everything edible into a pot and boil it. The richness and flavor depended on the household's economic status—generally, the richer the family, the stranger the food, and the more varied the taste.

Even this hotel, which mainly served foreign guests, was the same.

Though the locals ate with relish, the brothers of the Burning Legion all said they couldn't take it. After staying here long, they'd rather eat canned luncheon meat than eat out, or they'd go every meal to the camp cafeteria near the port's save point.

To improve the local garrison's meals and to give the locals a little taste of the Alliance's shock, Fang Chang had called him over to teach the chefs here how to cook.

But just teaching those clumsy idiots how to chop vegetables nearly gave him high blood pressure from anger.

He finally understood a bit how the brothers of the Cattle and Horse Group felt when teaching those militiamen to fight.

Several of his senior apprentices saw him sit down and rushed over to massage his shoulders and beat his back. Even the boss of the Triumph Hotel came out with a flattering smile and personally poured him a cup of tea.

"Hard work, master... oh no, sir, hehe." He suddenly remembered these people didn't like the word "master," so he changed it on the fly.

The "Iron Man" himself teaching his chefs to cook—if word got out, it would probably keep his Triumph Hotel buzzing until the year after next.

And these days, he had truly seen the light.

Ordinary ingredients could be turned into so many strange and wonderful dishes; just one piece of pork could make hundreds of recipes.

Even if these Iron Man bosses hadn't paid him to rent his hotel, even if they used his kitchen for free, he'd still think it was worth it!

Tomato Scrambled Eggs took the water, drank a sip, and couldn't help but complain.

"How did your previous guests even stomach that stuff? Those things?"

The boss was taken aback, scratched his head in confusion, and had no idea what he was being asked.

After a long pause, he finally blurted out in a aggrieved tone.

"Sir, before... before, we never served anything raw."

Tomato Scrambled Eggs: "..."

So that's all it takes—just cook it through!

...

Glasses clinked and clattered, dishes lay in disarray, and before anyone knew it, the banquet was drawing to a close.

One by one, the guests waddled out of the Triumph Hotel, their bellies round and taut, their dazed, overstuffed expressions a testament to their satisfaction with the meal.

Sitting by the window on the second floor, watching the crowd of guests stagger away from the hotel with their swollen stomachs, Rourou couldn't help muttering under her breath.

"If those guys ate a little less, more people could have their fill."

"!"

Tail instinctively pulled the skewer from her mouth, but seeing Rourou's gaze fixed outside the window, she quietly slipped it back in.

Taking a gentle sip from her teacup, Sisi set it back on the saucer.

"No, they wouldn't. More people would starve."

"Even we can't do anything?" Rourou withdrew her gaze from the window. Zhimahu, who had been staring blankly at the moon, also turned to look at her curiously.

Sisi said casually.

"Not even the administrators can. Maybe the planners who can directly tweak the data could, but we obviously can't manage that."

Rourou asked, puzzled.

"Why?"

Sisi thought for a moment.

"Have you ever fed a groundhog?"

Zhimahu raised her hand with a smile.

"I have! They're tiny and really cute."

Rourou nodded too, but her furry face still wore a look of confusion and bewilderment.

Adding some sugar to her teacup, Sisi continued.

"Those creatures are anything but tiny, and far from cute. They're the most vicious toward their own kind. Even when food is plentiful, they'll fight over it. If the strongest one doesn't eat its fill, the other groundhogs have no chance to snatch food from the tourists; they can only wait for the zookeeper to feed them."

"And humans are far more cunning than any other animal. Even if we, like zookeepers, handed out food to every survivor on the ground, there would always be someone taller, fatter, stronger—who, through threats, bribes, or even methods we can't imagine—would take the grain from the weaker ones."

"No matter what kind of production relations we establish, we have to choose between the formal result and the substantive result. Either we use 'correctness' to regulate their overt behavior, letting them test the edges of vague rules, or we set clear rules and let them fully unleash their instincts within those boundaries."

Rourou still didn't quite understand and mumbled a question.

"Can't we have both?"

The two things didn't seem contradictory, at least in her eyes.

Why not just write all the correct things into the rules?

Like how Kelly attached magic to bullets.

Hearing this, Sisi couldn't help but press her forehead, racking her brain for a simple way to explain this profound problem. Just then, Tail, having gulped down a mouthful of delicious food, let out a satisfied burp.

"Burp—! Rourou's already an adult, huh? Good, good. Only kids have to make choices. But reality's a different story—this is a game. A-Guang won't hand you that kind of good deal for free. Who knows, maybe the price was already quietly paid the moment you made your choice."

"Huh?!"

Seeing Tail's serious expression and Rourou's dumbfounded stare, Sisi paused, then smiled gently.

"That's right, exactly."

Come to think of it, games really are a great invention.

No wonder, before calendars and arithmetic, primitive people first learned to dance around a campfire...

...

It wasn't just the NPCs who were stuffed; the players were also greasy-mouthed. The line for the second-floor restroom stretched long, and some who couldn't hold it in simply went downstairs.

The appetites of Awakened were astonishing, especially for fourth-stage Constitution and Strength types. Their daily metabolism wasn't too extreme, but if they really let loose, they could eat half a cow.

As for the extra mass...

It could only be expelled continuously through their powerful digestive systems.

Down in the first-floor banquet hall, slightly tipsy and teetering on the edge of disconnection, Fangchang waved his index finger, rambling and boasting to Laobai beside him.

"This meal alone has pulled in investments worth hundreds of millions of silver coins for our plan. Once those guys return to Silvermoon Bay, that number might multiply several times... Then not only Golden Gallon Port, but the building materials for Fries Port will be sorted too."

Supporting the staggering fellow as they headed toward the save point, Laobai joked.

"Earn in Gallon Port, spend in Gallon Port—not a single coin to take home, right?"

Fangchang chuckled and tilted his neck.

"Right! Ahem, not including us, of course... But we don't want that pile of useless paper. We want something more valuable. Why not turn it into something even more valuable and bring it back? The locals won't hate us for smashing their emperor's pot; they'll be grateful to us!"

Laobai joked again.

"Back in the day, you'd probably have sold their kidneys."

Fangchang rolled his eyes.

"What nonsense. I've never sold any, thank you. And even if I considered it, it was only the renewable kind. And when did this idea become mine? It's those bastards on the forum every day clamoring to sell Rourou's and Lajijun's skins and the Constitution-types' kidneys for cash. I just happened to find them a buyer while doing a quest."

Of course, in the end, that buyer also took jobs from raiders, so they ended up treating him like a monster and farming him.

That was ages ago.

Pausing, he let out a burp and continued.

"Honestly, compared to the 'foreign merchants' from Silvermoon Bay and the life-skill players active in that area, I'd rather spend the hundred billion Xilan coins piled up in the bank. Relying on that sneaky, petty stuff, we'll never finish spending it before the empire itself goes bankrupt."

"Sneaky?" Laobai looked at him doubtfully.

If he remembered correctly, the empire had imposed an embargo on them—no goods could come in through the inland ports of the Eternal River anymore.

"You don't know?"

Fangchang gave him a similarly puzzled look, then lowered his head and muttered to himself.

"I thought you knew."

At the same time the two were heading toward the save point, on the ceasefire line between the Alliance and the Empire, a group of furtive figures, under the cover of night, was quietly approaching the Imperial Army's positions...