Chapter 716: The World Where Only the Empire Gets Hurt

Chapter 716: The World Where Only the Empire Gets Hurt Is Achieved

Xilan Empire, Celestial Capital Palace.

These days, Wu Tuo's mood was somewhat gloomy.

The Alliance made exorbitant demands in the ceasefire negotiations, requiring the Empire to recall the governor of Golden Gallon Port and a host of noble officials appointed by the Celestial Capital.

Not only that, they also demanded that after the ceasefire agreement took effect, control of Golden Gallon Port be handed over to the local survivors until the risk of raiders in the area was completely eliminated.

To be honest, he could make appropriate concessions on tariffs and reparations, but these two terms he absolutely could not agree to.

Especially the latter.

This was even more painful for him than if the Alliance had simply carved this land off his map.

After all, it meant that on the territory of the Xilan Empire, there would for the first time appear a land where imperial authority could not shine. This would not only shake the authority of the royal family, but even the legitimacy of his rule would be questioned by the nobility and the citizen class.

Wu Tuo could now only hope that the embargo imposed by the 300,000-strong army on the border against the entire Golden Gallon Port would crush the fragile economy of this settlement.

If it turned into a scorched land breeding famine, plague, and even death, perhaps the Alliance would discard that tasteless chicken rib.

He had heard from the front lines.

The Alliance people were paying out of their own pockets, shipping boatload after boatload of corn purchased from Silver Moon Bay to Golden Gallon Port.

If this trend continued, either the red soil of Golden Gallon Port's outskirts or the Alliance's purse would be the first to be drained.

Taking a bite of the grape a beauty brought to his lips, just as Wu Tuo was narrowing his eyes and about to doze off, hurried footsteps came from outside the hall.

A steward entered the great hall and knelt at the foot of the steps.

"Your Majesty, Chiliarch Huye has arrived."

Wu Tuo, reclining on the beauty's lap, sat up in surprise, pushed aside the beauties and fruit platters around him, and rose with his beard trembling as he stepped forward.

"He has come to the Celestial Capital?"

The steward kneeling at the foot of the steps looked slightly embarrassed, but still spoke hastily.

"For now... not yet. After disembarking at West Sail Port, he summoned the nobles from the vicinity of West Sail City."

Wu Tuo was slightly taken aback, feeling a vague unease in his heart, but still showed a gratified smile on his face.

"Not bad, a man who gets things done."

The steward pressed his forehead to the ground, his expression bitter but daring not to say more.

Everyone in the court knew that the Verlanders were His Majesty's honored guests; who would dare speak ill of the Verlanders?

Especially in recent days, when Duke Garava's negotiations with the Alliance were at a critical juncture, His Majesty needed the Legion's power to intimidate the Alliance and the corporations behind it. Even if a Verlander officer slapped a Sun tribesman on the street or slept with some noble's daughter, it would still be applauded for the eternal friendship between the Legion and the Empire.

"Where is General McLenn?" Wu Tuo asked.

The steward stammered softly.

"He took a carriage to West Sail Port yesterday."

Wu Tuo frowned.

"Aaron is still here, I suppose?"

The steward, sweating profusely, said.

"...He went with General McLenn."

Wu Tuo remained silent, pacing before the long chair for a long time, frowning as if in thought, but after a moment he relaxed his brow and sat back down.

"Send a telegram for me, saying that I appreciate the general's efforts on behalf of the Empire's affairs. Also, in a week there will be a selection examination for palace officers. I hear the general is very interested in the Empire's war games. If the general happens not to be busy, he may come to my court to observe."

That was roughly the gist.

As for the specific wording of the telegram, the subordinates would naturally figure it out.

Seeing that His Majesty was not angry with him, the steward finally breathed a sigh of relief and knocked his head on the ground.

"As you command!"

...

At the same time, in front of the dock at West Sail Port, carriages of fine decoration crowded the already narrow muddy road.

A group of people in luxurious attire stood on the open ground before the dock, looking somewhat uneasily at the tall, strapping Verlander soldiers around them.

Who knew what magic potion these big-noses had fed their Majesty, that he would wave his hand and directly cede West Sail Port to the Legion, and warn all the nobles of Nasit Province to cooperate fully with all the Legion's demands, or else be deemed traitors to the Empire.

Although this place was nominally still His Majesty's territory, in reality it had become Verlander territory. They had not only driven away the original governor but even sent a new "governor" here.

Standing at the bow of the ship, Huye looked down at the ants on the dock. His contemptuous gaze was less about disdain and mockery, and more about not even considering these creatures as human.

A bunch of fellows who didn't even care about their own compatriots were utterly unworthy of Verlander respect. Even if dressed in silk and brocade, they were nothing but a few dogs leading the herd.

Not missing this opportunity to show off his power, he cleared his throat, raised his voice, and shouted loudly.

"Listen, no matter whom you served before, now I am the one riding on top of you. I am your master, and the rules here will be as I say. If anyone has objections, better speak up now, so as not to waste everyone's time."

Watching the crowd stir with faces of disbelief, Huye waited quietly for half a minute. Seeing that no one spoke, he continued.

"I want you to pick a batch of able-bodied workers from your estates... Let's say, at least one male from each slave household."

The moment his words fell, the crowd on the dock erupted in uproar. The nobles, who had previously not dared to utter a peep, were now as agitated as dogs with their tails stepped on.

Huye wondered if his demand was too excessive. Aaron, standing beside him, coughed lightly.

"General, the slaves here have no families."

Huye was taken aback and looked at him in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Aaron explained patiently.

"It's exactly what it sounds like. You can think of them as weeds growing from the red soil. Plants have no concept of kinship... Even if those weeds themselves know who their fathers and mothers are, the nobles who raise them don't bother much."

"Then how do they know who gave birth to whom?" Huye couldn't help asking. "They must count how many people they have, right?"

"They're all born of mothers. What does it matter who gave birth to whom?" Aaron shrugged. "Every year they take a head count, or maybe every two or three years. As long as the number of workers doesn't change much, no one cares. If there are too many, they sell a few to save costs. As for too few... that situation hasn't seemed to occur yet."

Huye pinched his brow, apparently troubled by this unexpected situation.

McLenn, meanwhile, stood with arms crossed, watching the man with interest, curious how these civil officials would handle the problem.

In the Falcon Kingdom, General Kras's approach was to abolish slavery for locals and establish a military nobility system tied to military merit, encouraging them to plunder land and servants from the outside world. General Griffin, on the other hand, used the freedmen released by the former to set up a Legion-style industrial center for the locals, securing logistics for the expeditionary forces in the Far East.

Accomplishing these tasks required a strong army and executive power, and the civil officials of Triumph City happened to be a bunch of "weak and incompetent" fellows.

Sure enough, after thinking for a moment, the governor finally came up with a compromise. He cleared his throat and shouted at the native nobles.

"Silence!"

The volume from the loudspeaker stunned the whole scene. The crowd packed on the dock indeed fell silent.

After a pause, Huye slowly spoke again.

"Your management methods are too inefficient. Let's do this instead: you provide me with slaves regularly, and I'll pay you per head. For each head that works a full month, I'll pay you 50 dinars."

The moment his words fell, the atmosphere at the port instantly boiled over.

The previously fearful faces were suddenly filled with joy, as if they couldn't wait to empty their pockets of everything they had.

"No problem, my Lord!"

"I—I have over a thousand at my manor! I can migrate them all here tomorrow!"

"Is everyone paid that much? Or is it only the able-bodied men?"

Fifty dinars a month meant six hundred dinars for a full year of labor!

In the Xilan Empire, even the most petty noble commanded hundreds of souls, while the grand estates and plantations of the high aristocracy tethered tens of thousands to their soil.

The seasons did not keep them busy with farming year-round; during the idle months, most of those people merely lingered on the land, staring blankly into the distance.

If they were driven into the factories of the Wilanthians instead during these times, they could bring in ten thousand or even a million dinars of extra income a year!

This was even more lucrative than the entire output of their plantations!

A few were already beginning to ponder how to raise land rents or engineer other schemes to reduce their rent-paying tenants into outright slaves.

Or perhaps they could find a way to make them sell off their sons and daughters.

"Quiet! Quiet!" Huye roared twice in succession, finally shutting the mouths of those chattering crows, before straining his throat to shout onward, "When we need to recruit, we will post the requirements right here. If you don't want to miss it, have your servants keep an eye on this spot. For now, go back and count how many people you have at home, their ages, and whether they are male or female. I don't want a horde of old men leaning on canes delivered to me when the time comes!"

With the announcements finished, Huye had the soldiers drive away the nobles crowding the pier, while ordering others to assign work to the laborers the Emperor had allocated to them.

Truthfully, if they were merely producing the light industrial goods needed by Triumph City, there would be no need to mobilize the slaves from the plantations; the wretches currently living in the shanties of Westsail Port would suffice.

However, regarding the future of this "treaty port," Huye harbored his own designs and arrangements.

He was not content to merely reap petty profits from exporting clothes and canned food; he wanted to earn far more for the civil bureau bureaucracy behind him and the citizens of Triumph City.

Barred from military command, this was their only avenue to amplify their influence within the Legion.

"...The Alliance produces steel and cement at Golden Galleon Port; we must produce those things too, and in greater abundance than they do."

Maclen asked casually.

"To what end?"

Huye smiled faintly.

"Mining, road building, there will always be a use for it. If we really can't use it all, we can always sell it to the local Emperor."

Maclen shrugged noncommittally. He understood little of commerce, but he harbored a feeling that the Emperor residing in the "Flying Palace" would have no need for such things.

Aaron cleared his throat softly, offering a reminder.

"Respected General, I must remind you that Mr. Wutuo is only interested in guns and artillery. We only need to sell them weaponry, and that will suffice."

He spoke with great subtlety.

The steel and cement needed to build factories in Westsail Port could easily be shipped from the ports on the western coast of the Midcontinental landmass, just like the manufacturing equipment.

Building steel mills and cement plants here would in all probability result in unsellable stock. The locals already possessed enough shanties, and until those docile beasts began to complain, there was absolutely no reason to replace the livestock sheds with structures of steel and concrete.

Yet it was evident that Governor Huye held his own counsel.

"How much coin can guns and artillery really make? Besides, they are about to enter a ceasefire with the Alliance; the arms trade cannot be sustained forever."

Aaron made a helpless gesture, abandoning his attempt to persuade the man.

In any case, their labor costs were practically nonexistent. Producing those goods would at most waste a few resources, and it was highly unlikely they would suffer a loss.

Maclen picked up the thread of the conversation.

"There is only one thing I do not quite comprehend... no offense intended, but since you lack the means to seize them by force, why not simply buy those slaves outright?"

Huye chuckled softly.

"That is far too inefficient. Furthermore, if we buy them, do they not become our own slaves? Eight square meters, three meals a day, living healthily until fifty... I would even have to bloody well provide pension for these lowlifes! Better to let the local nobles deal with them, and consider the fifty dinars a month as a management fee."

If they shirked their duties, he would simply return them. Witnessing the fate of those sent back, the other slaves would naturally work themselves to the bone!

Maclen, however, stared at the man in astonishment.

He was certainly no stranger to the "Eight Square Meters" law decreed personally by the Marshal.

But was someone truly enforcing that mandate in a place beyond Triumph City?

Unmoved by the surprise written across Maclen's face, Huye smiled and continued.

"Of course, besides relying on the nobles to govern them, I will provide a glimmer of hope for their lives, encouraging them to labor even harder while maintaining their diligence. For instance, I can credit a monthly bonus to their accounts, and once they amass one thousand dinars, they can use that sum to buy their freedom."

If they could work for two full years, they would be considered skilled laborers; sending them back to the plantations would be rather wasteful.

Yet Aaron shook his head.

"For slaves capable of generating six hundred dinars a year, those nobles will never sell them to you for a mere thousand dinars."

"Then we write it into the contract, or give them a bit more," Huye remarked with utter indifference. "This is not a negotiation; it is an order."

"And after they buy their freedom?" Maclen pressed, watching him closely. "They will be freemen then, with no nobles to manage them for you."

"They will be freemen who have passed vocational skill screening and possess no land," Huye corrected his imprecise phrasing, his smile unyielding as he continued. "Do you imagine I have granted them freedom? There is no such charity. They have merely moved from one cage into another."

"There are no screws for them to turn in the plantations. With nowhere else to go, they will only become more dependent on us, bound to toil even harder than the slaves... and we need only grant them a meager wage just enough to survive."

Only then did a thoughtful expression dawn upon Aaron's face, finally understanding why the grandees of Triumph City had dispatched this gentleman here.

Maclen likewise stared at the man in astonishment, his initial stereotype completely overturned.

This fellow was a rare talent.

While Maclen was still reeling in surprise, the Governor suddenly turned, walked up to him with a smile, and patted his arm.

"General Maclen, you are the sole officer here who graduated from an orthodox military academy. Unlike us who hold ranks but have never set foot on a battlefield, and most crucially, you have actually clashed with the forces of the Alliance... no offense intended, I know that battle suffered a minor mishap, but it was not your fault."

Maclen's brow twitched involuntarily, and he squeezed out a sentence through a darkened expression.

"Is there a problem?"

Seeing the shift in his countenance, Huye quickly explained with a smile.

"None at all! You are precisely the talent we require most at this moment. I would like to trouble you to help train some semblance of proper officers for our friends. After all, as you know... we are entirely laymen in this regard, and our friends have only just learned how to fire a rifle."

Hearing this self-deprecating remark, Maclen finally relaxed his brow slightly, though he could not help but mock.

"So you have finally remembered what it is I do?"

He had been bored to tears here for nearly two months, spending his days watching that herd of swine play with sand in the imperial palace. He would have been better off learning how to swim.

Yet to think of him only after suffering a defeat was far too late.

Hearing this, Huye froze for a moment, then laughed in spite of himself.

"You... may have misunderstood something, General Maclen. We have never intended to neglect you; you have always been the most vital link in our plan. In fact, from the very moment you stood upon this soil, you have been playing a considerably significant role. And the fact that I can stand here is actually all thanks to your contributions... for that matter, I must express my gratitude to you."

With that, the flamboyant man placed his right hand over his heart and offered a slight bow.

Maclen stood utterly bewildered, suddenly seized by the sensation of having been kept in the dark, and hastily looked toward his adjutant, Aaron.

Yet he saw the latter nod gently.

"Just as the Governor said... had we not feigned intimacy toward the Empire, they would not have been 'overjoyed' to the point of proactively striking out to 'teach a lesson' to the Alliance just to curry favor with us."

Pausing briefly, Aaron continued.

"As for the defeat of the Grey Wolf Army, it was entirely within our expectations. It was merely the speed of their rout that somewhat exceeded our predictions... we did not anticipate Wutuo would be foolish enough to dispatch a prince to oversee the front lines, let alone that the prince would directly usurp General Alayan's command, resulting in over ten thousand men being captured."

"But the outcome is no different," Huye took over Aaron's words, smiling faintly. "I still obtained the portion we desired."

Maclenn squinted, glaring at the group who had used him, a surge of anger rising in his chest, yet he could find no reason to lose his temper.

As they had said, the outcome was ultimately good.

Acting in the interests of the legion, they had devised a strategy and achieved the desired results at minimal cost...

He ought to be pleased.

But at this moment, he couldn't muster any joy.

"...No wonder Legion Commander Saren dislikes you." Maclenn gave a hollow laugh, snorting through his nose.

Hu Ye's face took on a troubled expression, and he spoke with a hint of regret.

"Is that so? Still, I am grateful that he carved out a vast territory for our legion and planted our banner in the Province of Falling Sunset, east of the Great Desert... If you have the chance, please convey my respects to him."

"I will," Maclenn said, casting a meaningful glance at Hu Ye. After a pause, he continued, "Also, I hope this is the last time."

Watching Maclenn turn and walk toward the cabin, Hu Ye nodded willingly.

"I give you my word."

...

Elsewhere, in distant Golden Galleon Port.

After a full month of effort, under the supervision of Sheriff Bihari, the police station of the entire settlement had finally completed the registration of identity information for all residents within its jurisdiction.

The final tally shocked Fang Chang.

If newborns who hadn't yet learned to speak and the half-dead lying on their bedboards were counted, the actual population of this settlement had reached an astonishing 1.7 million!

He had been amazed enough when he first heard that a million people lived here, but now it turned out the actual number was even higher than the rumors suggested!

"I originally thought that a settlement with no industrial base could have at most 900,000 people, but the actual population is nearly 70% higher than my estimate..."

Pinching his aching brow, Fang Chang gazed out the window at the dusty construction site, muttering to himself in thought.

"Is it the Red Earth?"

He suddenly recalled Ms. Han's research.

In studying the civilized ecosystems of various settlements on the wasteland, the technology left behind from the Era of Prosperity was undoubtedly a variable that could not be ignored.

For instance, the Province of Baiyue, though vast and sparsely populated, seemed to have nothing left from the Era of Prosperity, yet it suffered from "ecological contamination" by singularity-level technology, making industrialization nearly impossible at low cost, forcing survivors to migrate to the sea.

In the Province of Brahman, Red Earth, though not particularly advanced technology and born of considerable chance, was actually the most easily overlooked yet most crucial variable on this land!

It was like natural nutrient paste.

Though it couldn't replace every meal like the nutrient paste developed by Boulder City, even if it could substitute 50% of the food supply, it would have an undeniable impact on the local ecosystem and social structure.

Many survivors who would never have survived elsewhere on the wasteland not only survived here but, with incredible adaptability, quickly eliminated the first-generation survivors who couldn't adapt to the Wasteland Era, establishing a unique survivor civilization ecosystem.

And the Red Earth born in Lowell Camp was both a gift from their ancestors and a curse...

At that moment, a soft knock came from the door.

Putting the research report he was holding into a drawer, Fang Chang looked toward the door and cleared his throat.

"Come in."

The door opened, and a young man carrying a thick stack of documents hurried in from outside the office.

He was thin, with prominent cheekbones and deep bags under his eyes, but his bright eyes sparkled with vitality, giving off an energetic vibe.

His name was Yodu, one of the two hundred new civil servants hired by the city hall, and one of the few Snake Clan members who had passed the literacy exam.

According to him, he had previously worked as a casual laborer at the port, often dealing with merchants and sailors from Silver Moon Bay, running errands and guiding them, which taught him some characters.

Literate Snake Clan members were rare, especially self-taught ones, so Fang Chang immediately transferred the young man from the city hall to the Governor's Office as his secretary, grooming him as a key talent.

And the guy hadn't let him down; he was diligent and meticulous in his work, communicating well with both Rasi and Bihari.

Fang Chang had only recently realized this.

Those who had been trapped at the bottom of society by factors beyond their talent, once liberated, displayed a passion for life and work far exceeding those who had already been doing well under Governor Nihaz's rule.

"...Respected sir, the household registration work is basically complete, including the port district and the various complex neighborhoods. I have organized the materials for you, but setting up individual files for each resident will take some more time."

"Moreover, from my personal observation, aside from the port branch, the police stations in each district are extremely unfamiliar with their own jurisdictions. While this isn't entirely their fault, there will inevitably be omissions in the census of survivors in the slums. A second screening may be needed before filing."

Looking at the stack of documents piled on his desk, Fang Chang nodded approvingly.

"Good work. I understand the situation, but what we have now is enough for the time being. I'll have Sheriff Bihari make ID cards based on these rolls later... Actually, why don't you go inform him for me?"

"I'd be happy to serve you, sir." Yodu gave a slight nod, paused, and continued, "Also, regarding the refugees along the Eternal River that you mentioned earlier, I've sent people to inquire. According to the refugees themselves, they originally lived upstream of the Eternal River. The Empire's army drove them out of their villages and violently seized their grain and livestock."

Fang Chang frowned slightly.

"Which side of the ceasefire line do they live on?"

"The Empire's side, outside our actual control zone," Yodu said seriously. "If we let them flood into the port, it could disrupt the order we've worked so hard to stabilize. But ignoring them is no solution either. Unless we completely close the shadow crossing on the Eternal River, those people will always find a way to swim across."

Fang Chang looked at him with interest.

His intuition told him this guy already had an idea.

"So, what do you suggest?"

As expected, Yodu, standing before his desk, continued respectfully.

"I've already discussed it with the city hall. They agreed to allocate some budget to build a shelter next to the prisoner-of-war camp on the outskirts, to provide temporary housing for the refugees fleeing the Empire to Golden Galleon Port. But this needs your approval."

As if afraid Fang Chang might disagree, Yodu quickly added,

"The threat of famine in Golden Galleon Port has passed. We only need to provide some inexpensive food to keep them docile outside the settlement, waiting for our resettlement, and they can help us with road and bridge repairs... Actually, taking in these refugees isn't a bad thing. The Eternal River has already filtered out some; those who can swim to Golden Galleon Port are all strong young men."

"Once the ceasefire agreement takes effect, we can merge the POW camp into part of the shelter, combining them into a new district. By relying on industries expanding from the settlement to the suburbs, we can gradually absorb this population."

Fang Chang looked at the young man standing before his desk with slight surprise, or more accurately, with a pleasant shock.

It was like drawing an SSSR card.

Good heavens.

Well done.

Coming up with an idea isn't hard, but thinking through the sequence of steps—what to do first, what to do next—takes some brainpower.

And being able to arrange things so neatly, simplifying the leader's job to just signing a document, made having this guy as a secretary almost a waste of talent.

But pleasant surprise aside, whether he truly had skill would depend on how things turned out.

Not letting his thoughts show on his face, Fang Chang simply nodded.

"I'm very satisfied with your plan. Go ahead and do it as you said. I'll inform the city hall and the militia to cooperate with you within their capabilities."

Yodu's face lit up with joy, and he nodded knowingly.

"Please leave it to me, sir. I won't let you down."

Hearing the phrase "cooperate within their capabilities," he already had a rough idea of how to handle the matter.

Just as he was about to bow and leave, he suddenly remembered something and paused.

"Oh, and one more thing. Though you may have already heard, just in case, I think I should report it to you..."

Fang Chang leaned back in his chair, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

"You speak."

"Regarding Westsail Harbor on the western coast of the Bolo Province," Yodu said, carefully weighing his words for a moment before continuing cautiously, "I heard rumors at the port that the Legion dispatched a governor there a few days ago, and he should have arrived by now. Perhaps this is none of my concern, but as things stand... the Legion seems intent on meddling in Bolo's affairs, which might cast unknown shadows on our ceasefire negotiations with the Empire."

A Legion governor?

Fang Chang frowned slightly, but his brow soon smoothed as he spoke softly.

"Mr. Yodu, you are my secretary and a survivor of this settlement. When it comes to matters affecting the safety and vital interests of the local survivors, I believe nothing is beyond your concern."

"You are right, sir."

Watching Yodu bow his head, Fang Chang gave a slight nod.

"I understand the situation. Go ahead and attend to the tasks I've assigned you."

He had indeed heard of the Legion's doings; he had even asked Captain Chen to take the nuclear submarine *Dolphin* for a look.

What had landed were merely some industrial equipment and a handful of Valorian infantry and officers—worthy of vigilance, but not excessive attention.

Against the backdrop of the "Unification Nations" negotiations underway in Dawn City, the Legion was unlikely to clash directly with the Alliance; at most, the Valorians would train two more Gray Wolf Corps for the Empire.

In comparison, the burgeoning warlord forces along the border merited more of his notice.

"As you command."

Yodu bowed respectfully, turned, and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Fang Chang glanced at the time on the upper right of his VM; less than ten minutes had passed from Yodu's entry to his exit. In those ten minutes, he had not only reported the necessary work but also presented a solution to the problem.

It was clear he had come well-prepared.

Working with such a man was a pleasure; perhaps he could shed his role as "Acting Governor" of Golden Harbor sooner than expected.

"...Seems this place isn't entirely devoid of capable people—just takes time to find them."

His gaze fell on the dusty construction site outside the office window, watching the busy laborers and the foremen directing them. A faint smile crept onto Fang Chang's lips.

In truth, the situation here wasn't as dire as they had first imagined.

The curse the red earth had laid upon the local survivors wasn't entirely a debuff.

Though the trait of "docility"—even "obsequiousness"—had turned these people into born slaves, to the point where they would carve a pig into a totem and hoist it above their heads as a deity, they were not without a chance to end their wasteland plight.

Like those outside the window, sweating as they rebuilt their homes.

If someone were willing to point them to a path more reliable than reincarnating into a royal family, they would be willing to move their feet.

And if someone were willing to give them a tug, or push them forward a step or two, once they opened the door to a new world, they might run faster than Boss Xia of Boulder City.

Take the Moon Tribe girls building a new home across the Baiyue Strait—their performance after coming ashore was the best example.

Their extraordinary endurance allowed them to survive ordeals most couldn't bear, and the trait of docility, in a different context, became hard work and diligence.

The notion of a "born slave" was a false premise; no slave was ever born that way.

And thinking of the thighs on the Baiyue Strait beach—ah, no, the girls—Fang Chang suddenly realized that this "self-defense counterattack" had been going on for nearly two months.

"Time sure flies like hell..." he couldn't help muttering.

In another two days, the freshwater pipeline in the southern sea would probably be finished...