Chapter 766: The Unexpected Is the Norm in Life

Chapter 766: The Unexpected Is the Norm of Life

House: "To sink in sweet dreams, to perish in madness... that is perhaps the truest portrait of the survivors in Dawn City. A fish-selling company has been bid up to 25 billion silver coins—the entire Alliance doesn’t have that much money. That’s far more expensive than the S-coins that destroyed Boulder City!"

"You can see they’ve learned nothing from Boulder City’s bitter lesson. Instead, they’ve taken garbage and cradled it like a treasure, while discarding true treasure as if it were refuse."

"Boulder City’s greatness was never about chips or tokens—it was about the hardworking laborers! But the Alliance pays those people... ahem, I mean, if people can earn without working, what fool would work? They’re using the wrong method to corrupt these diligent folks into lazy bums and drunkards!"

"I’ll say this outright: the Alliance will collapse sooner or later. Everyone with silver coins in their pockets now will regret it eventually—it’s only a matter of time!"

Host (applauding): "So, Mr. House, what do you think is the right approach?"

House: "Mr. Sigma is quite good. Even though Firestone Group monopolizes the most profitable industries in Bugra, that gentleman isn’t foolish enough to pay dividends to shareholders... Of course, I mean that’s a good thing. Firestone Group quietly spreads its benefits into the pockets of everyone in Bugra, giving back to the entire settlement rather than fattening the wallets of a handful of shareholders. The loss-making financial reports are the best proof—they’ve always been losing money, yet they keep running their business diligently! Unlike managers who buy people’s favor, Mr. Sigma is a silent philanthropist, a truly good man!"

Host (sound of drinking water): "I also think Mr. Sigma is doing the right thing, but that gentleman is not someone you can evaluate... Alright, our interview ends here. Today’s topic is Baiyue Company. Let’s welcome the next interviewee..."

Soft music began playing from the radio on the bar counter, and the host moved on to interview another victim of the Boulder City bankruptcy incident.

Recent events in Dawn City had stung the residents of Bugra. They needed to give these heartbroken children some blood-pressure-lowering mental massages.

After all, the Alliance and Bugra were too close—heaven and hell existed in the same province, and merchants frequently traveled between them, inevitably carrying gossip back and forth.

This was true for both sides.

For instance, right now, this broadcast could be heard on radios in Boulder City.

And that distinctive, raspy voice was all too familiar to Boulder City’s residents.

"Sometimes I don’t understand... does that guy actually listen to what he says?" A middle-aged man sitting at the breakfast table made a helpless expression.

It had been his suggestion to check on Mr. House’s condition, but now he regretted changing the channel.

Listening to that guy’s barking was worse than hearing frontline battle reports—the latter, though dull, was at least less tedious.

The waiter, carrying a tray, shrugged and placed a palm-sized grilled rib on the table.

"No idea, but it seems we’ve collapsed again—since it’s morning now."

"Ha ha ha ha."

The waiter got everyone laughing. The workers eating burst into hearty laughter, and a few nearly choked.

This was the Walnut Tavern near Boulder City’s industrial district. Its worn-out sign showed signs of age.

Workers who used to work at the canning factory once came here to pick up cigarette butts and drink watered-down cheap liquor. Now, before their shifts, they ordered a 3-silver-coin beef rib to keep their energy at its peak from 8 a.m. to noon.

Only a few were drunk at dawn; most people still needed dignity, especially now that they had savings and families.

It was only after gaining everything that they realized all that nonsense about quality, elegance, and dignity wasn’t the monopoly of the nobility. Those were just lies the idle rich spun to suppress them mentally.

They saw it clearest themselves: now that their lives had improved, they were far more conscious of shame and etiquette than the old aristocrats.

At least they wouldn’t use money to humiliate their fellow citizens or demand privileges that trampled on others’ dignity.

Though mainstream media in the Bugra Free State liked to call what happened in Boulder City the "Great Boulder City Bankruptcy," the residents themselves preferred to call it the "Great Boulder City Transformation."

For example, House, now invited to the radio to air his grievances, was a "victim" of that transformation.

As the workers laughed at House, only one person showed a hint of sympathy.

When Joey and Lovett led the occupation of the broadcast station, he had been among them. When they let House go, he clearly saw the expression on that man’s face.

"I don’t actually dislike him. That guy’s a pitiful soul, and even more so now. We were all hamsters in the same cage, barely breaking free to run outside the wheel. But he, just before dawn, panicked and crawled into a new cage... I admit, we really scared him back then."

That studio was just another assembly line, and the condescending host clearly didn’t respect House much—let alone the Sigma he praised.

The men at the table exchanged glances.

"I can’t agree with you. At least to me, he’s not worth pity. He never said a good word for us, only claiming at the end that he was forced. And now it’s clear he was lying then too—he’s never reflected."

"Right. If he really thought he was wrong, he wouldn’t have run away. Isn’t there a saying? Liars aren’t afraid of being exposed; they’re afraid someone remembers they lied. And everyone here remembers."

This view gained agreement, but not from all.

"...But for that reason, I think his escape is understandable. We made laws, but too many people hate him. Even if we don’t systematically persecute him, we can’t stop an emotional friend from throwing a bottle at him—or even putting a bullet in the back of his head."

The noisy debate continued until the chime of the clock. The workers left their messy plates and headed to work.

Before, they had to arrive at the canning factory exactly when the bell rang. But the Workers’ Association had argued, "Workers don’t have watches; after leaving home, they only know the time when they hear the bell," and "They need to eat well to work energetically," demanding either free meals or a 20-minute commute window.

Though the reasoning sounded absurd, the Industrial Owners’ Association chose the lesser of two evils, granting 20 minutes of "paid commute" on the condition that production plans weren’t affected and no drinking before work.

For the factories, getting these drunkards to drink less already boosted productivity significantly.

And for the workers, even just to preserve the dignity they’d fought so hard for, they’d put in a bit more effort on the job.

But no one expected that the biggest beneficiaries of the bargaining between the Workers’ Association and the Industrial Owners’ Association would be the breakfast vendors and cart-pushers around the industrial district. Some taverns that used to open only in the morning even started operating 18 or 24 hours a day.

Longer hours meant more staff, or else expensive overtime pay. So even Boulder City, which never lacked workers, faced a labor shortage.

Fortunately, the constant influx of survivors through the Great Wall filled the gap—especially immigrants from the Bolo Province and the Central Provinces. Most started as dishwashers.

But not all.

Niyang was an exception.

While most people got their IDs by washing dishes, he came up with the idea of paying to work—hiring Alliance citizens to be his bosses.

And that wasn’t all.

When the foolish wolf guards were still scheming to amuse the Duke, he had already thought of a brilliant plan: start his own newspaper, dedicated to writing what Duke Garava wanted to read.

It was easy—he didn’t even need to rack his brains. House had already done the thinking for him. Niyang just had to hold his nose, copy House’s ramblings from the studio onto paper, add some seasoning, and serve it on the Duke’s desk.

The newspaper was called *The Dawn Garden Street News*. "Dawn" naturally referred to Dawn City, and "Garden Street Station" was a historical place name in Clear Springs.

No one would know it was just a low-grade tabloid, because it was never publicly distributed.

This was another small loophole in Alliance law, just like when he first got his ID.

Only publicly distributed newspapers needed certification from the industry committee. His paper’s only readers were Duke Garava and the staff of the Xilan Empire Embassy. It was printed under the category of office supplies—without even needing an [Entertainment News] label.

In fact, *Dawn Garden Street News* wasn’t even registered as a newspaper. Its business category was listed as office supplies and infant products.

It just happened to be called a newspaper.

Of course, since Dawn City authorities mercilessly suppressed honest people who dared to tell the truth, *Dawn Garden Street News* was in dire straits, needing donations from kind souls to keep speaking the truth.

Niyang had the layout editor not only play up the sob story but also leave a bank account number for donations at the end of each issue.

Sure enough, his newspaper received one "anonymous donation" after another.

Sometimes the donations were signed "The Supreme Giant of White Elephant City," sometimes "The Kind and Loving Elephant Poet," or "The Boatman Fighting for Equality on the Eternal River." But Niyang knew better than anyone that all these aliases were the same person.

After all, only one person in the entire Xilan Empire Embassy read *Dawn Garden Street News* from cover to cover.

Besides, every time he went to the bank to make a deposit, it was on behalf of Duke Garava.

If not for needing the bank receipts, he could have skipped the money-sending step entirely.

Occasionally, when the Duke was delighted by the newspaper, he would have Niyang telegraph the news of the Alliance’s impending collapse to the Heavenly Capital in Bolo Province, sharing that pure joy with the esteemed Witch Hump.

But neither Duke Garava nor His Majesty knew that the entire newspaper was run by this loyal servant himself.

"You’re playing with fire, boss... Dawn City isn’t Boulder City. People here won’t tolerate anyone making jokes about their respected administrators. Even the most absurd Goblin Observer wouldn’t mock a living god." Looking at the increasingly outrageous content in the paper, the layout editor shook his head, turning to the man standing by the blinds.

He was a recent immigrant, hadn’t experienced the old days, and hadn’t even gotten his ID yet. His feelings for the administrators weren’t as fanatical as most—just ordinary respect.

After all, having seen Sigma’s hypocrisy, he had come to appreciate how good a truly considerate boss could be.

But the folks in Dawn City didn't see it that way. Their feelings toward the Administrator were just like those of the residents of the Falling Cloud Province toward the "Spirit of the Sand Sea."

Nyan didn't turn around. He merely peered through the slats of the blinds toward Embassy Row in the distance, speaking in a very soft voice.

"No one knows the Alliance better than I do. No one knows the Administrator better than I do... I'm his true fan. As long as we don't break the rules, nothing will happen to us."

The editor gave a wry smile.

"You must have never heard of the Sinderson case."

Before coming to the Alliance, he had heard of it, after all—the television stations of the Brugar Free State had made quite a fuss over it, mocking the state of freedom in the Alliance.

Nyan continued, unhurried and deliberate.

"Of course I've heard of it. I've even watched the court's verdict and studied the case file in detail. But you—you probably only know the name Sinderson and think you've seen through the entire Alliance. You're just like those folks back in your homeland, the Brugar Free State—drink too much sewage and lose your sense of taste, unable to survive without simple definitions and labels."

The editor was clearly unconvinced, but out of respect for his boss, he held back his temper and retorted,

"Isn't that the truth? He had the Praetorian Guard arrest that guy."

Nyan turned to look at him, smiling.

"Then guess what would have happened to that fellow named Sinderson if he hadn't done that? This is the Wasteland. The law can punish those who do wrong, but it can't bring the dead back to life. I'd bet my life that not only would he never have made it onto the train home—if the Praetorian Guard hadn't arrived in time, he wouldn't even have walked out of that inn alive."

The editor laughed bitterly. "So you're saying he was protecting that guy?"

Nyan chuckled.

"Protecting him? Hah, only I truly understand that gentleman... He wasn't protecting Sinderson, nor those who stirred up trouble in his name. He was protecting the order of the Alliance."

In fact, it was precisely because of the Sinderson case that the citizens of the Alliance erupted with unprecedented enthusiasm, spontaneously participating in the affairs of the Representative Assembly and perfecting a series of laws—such as measures to regulate the newspaper industry.

Unlike the Emperor of Xilan, or Sigma of the Free State, he channeled people's fervor and loyalty toward the right direction.

And that was what Nyan admired most about him.

Seeing the editor at a loss for words, Nyan continued.

"Just do as I say. That gentleman is not a petty man. I've told you before—our job is to deceive. And I need Duke Garava's money. I need him to keep being foolish. Besides that, I have many things to do—not just to improve my own life... but also to do a little good."

In truth, after spending some time in Dawn City, his mindset had shifted somewhat, especially after reading *The Awakener Bohr*.

He could never forget that line—

"Tangible Stephen can be destroyed, but intangible Stephen cannot be destroyed. We are their ghosts, and they are ours."

That line was like a sudden enlightenment, jolting him awake as he wandered lost and confused in a maze. What the Bahr Province truly needed was not the great man he admired.

Driving Duke Garava to death was meaningless. The Bahr Province had more than one White Elephant City, more than one duke. And this duke, in particular, had a swarm of wives and a brood of sons—he could pass down his title generation after generation.

If you want to wipe out a nest of cockroaches, you can't just fixate on one.

If he really drove the duke to his grave, the Xilan Empire wouldn't change at all. On the contrary, it might experience a fleeting revival from losing a fool whose only merit was his bloodline.

That was possible. After all, there weren't many people like Duke Garava who could draw so much hatred. He couldn't make the Alliance's Foreign Minister slam the table in anger, but that guy, without even trying, could make even the allied Bannott Chieftain grimace in disgust.

In the end, if Duke Garava died, he would lose the only tool he could use.

So instead of using *The Goblin Observer* to infuriate him, it was better to soothe him like a baby with a pacifier, letting him wallow in the sweetness of milk and honey.

Duke Garava would never know where his money was really going.

He would use that money to sponsor *The Survivor's Daily* in Fries Harbor, to sponsor those Moonfolk who escaped from Lowell Camp to set up more *Survivor's Daily* in Golden Port Harbor, in Westport Harbor, and in every place where a spark could ignite a flame.

Not just funding—he would also submit his own articles to *The Survivor's Daily* in Fries Harbor, just like Mr. Spberg, who wrote *The Awakener Bohr*.

To that end, he had specially visited Boulder City, met with those who had lived through the transformation, and even had a long talk with the white-haired librarian of Boulder City, Mr. Melvin. He had also seen the old man's draft chronicle of Boulder City.

Both he and the old man agreed that it was Hal's *The Survivor's Daily* that ignited the spark of enlightenment, and Spberg's *The Awakener Bohr* united the suffering poor of Boulder City.

The beginning of the transformation had already started before anyone realized it. By the time Lord Hyde tried to strangle it in the cradle, it was far too late. As for the chips, S-coins, economic overheating, and a series of crises—they were merely the fuses that finally lit the powder keg, accelerating the process and sparing a few lives.

Without that new cultural enlightenment, no matter how many died that night, it would have been useless. Boulder City would always be Boulder City.

After talking with that old man, he had found a way to change the Xilan Empire.

While Duke Garava, in his capacity as the "Supreme Giant of White Elephant City," generously poured money into *The Dawn Garden Gazette* and preened himself, Nyan had already written under the pen names "Mr. Rat" and "Great Horned Rat" in the Fries Harbor newspaper the very things the duke detested most—*The Emperor's New Carriage* and *A Thousand "Needles"*.

Compared to Spberg, he had an advantage. His literary talent and insight were far richer than those of a cannery worker. And most importantly, he didn't have to start from learning to read.

Thank heavens—whether out of aristocratic pride or sheer laziness in writing love letters for noble ladies, Duke Garava had hired tutors for all his servants. Even a simpleton like Babru could write, let alone him.

Watching the editor diligently working at his desk, Nyan stood by the blinds and took a sip of tea.

The article slandering the Administrator stirred no emotion in him. But then his eyes lit up with sudden inspiration, and he smiled faintly, musing to himself.

"Actually, House made a good point. The 'lazy' Boulder City is doomed to decline. Austerity is the true remedy for progress... Let me think. I'll call the next one *Red Earth*."

Nothing could touch the deepest souls of the survivors in the Bahr Province more than "Red Earth"—except perhaps the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars...

...

Since the "War of Heaven" was mainly fought by the residents of the Vaults on the front lines, and the costs were largely borne by the various factions of the Commonwealth, the Alliance's residents far in the rear hardly felt much impact on their lives.

On the contrary, the war orders had set the factories of Dawn City and Boulder City running in three shifts again, just like during the Battle of Falling Cloud Province.

But the difference was that the Alliance's productivity and material abundance were now far beyond what they had been.

To attract workers to their factories, each factory pulled out all the stops. They promised free housing and insurance, and wages kept climbing higher than the competition.

Especially for skilled and experienced workers, those factories were practically willing to cover their children's education. The benefits grew more and more extravagant, bordering on absurd.

As for factories that couldn't attract anyone no matter what they tried, they had to look into either "improving productivity" or "introducing foreign labor."

Some older production lines with high manual involvement were slowly being phased out, replaced by more electrified and automated lines.

Thanks to the controlled fusion reactor in West Continent City, the Alliance's energy costs were cheap. And for automation, they had experts from Vault 101 and the students they had trained.

Plus, with the Bahr Province serving as a "pond" to absorb outdated production lines, discarded sewing machines, steam engines, and other equipment found a place to go.

The Alliance's residents—especially those in Dawn City—had, to a certain extent, ended the wasteland around them through their own hard work and ingenuity.

Chu Guang didn't expect much more from them. He only hoped they would keep it up, live their lives well, and, within their means, influence other wastelanders on the Wasteland...

The front lines in the Haiya Province.

Today's front was still the same meat grinder as always. The only difference was that the newbies, now accustomed to death, were grinding more and more skillfully.

The change in them was obvious.

Players who once could only kill a dozen or two dozen mutants before dying could now easily rack up triple-digit kills, even if their levels hadn't changed much.

Stats were only one factor in combat effectiveness—not the sole determinant.

That was probably the most realistic part of this game.

Aboard the *Iron Heart*, Chu Guang received two reports from afar.

One came from Vault 101, written by Xiaoyu.

The report mainly covered the listing of Baiyue Corporation and the opinions of the Vault 101 expert team, including existing market issues and vulnerabilities that needed fixing.

Chu Guang was quite satisfied with this report.

Not just because it was written in a way that even someone with only half a brain could understand, but because he could see Xiaoyu's growth between the lines.

Thanks to the scholars of Vault 101, the girl hadn't wasted her talent for numbers and had found a career she was passionate about.

Indeed, sending her to Vault 101 for further study with Pai had been a wise decision.

After all, if she had stayed by his side, the most she could ever learn would be quadratic functions and a patchwork of economics.

As for anything more difficult, he himself would have to consult the opinions of professionals.

Gazing at the elegant handwriting on the tablet, Chu Guang let out a soft sigh of emotion.

“Time flies so fast. In the blink of an eye, Xiaoyu has grown up.”

Xiao Qi, perched on the pen holder, gently nodded, resting her chin on her hands as she spoke.

“Indeed… it feels like just yesterday you were teaching her arithmetic and reading.”

Chu Guang gave a light cough.

“…That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

Though he occasionally did feel as if an era had passed in a flash, her insensitivity to time was far too extreme.

With a swipe of his index finger, Chu Guang set aside this report for the moment and turned to the second one.

This report came from the Social Sciences Data Sorting Office of the scientific expedition team, authored by Ms. Han Mingyue, who was currently investigating local customs and cultural phenomena in Golden Harbor.

He wasn’t very familiar with the name; he only vaguely recalled that she was a “little popsicle” unearthed by the Thorn Corps near Expansion City, once belonging to Vault 288.

The situation in the Great Wasteland differed from other regions—it had endured the “Great Collapse” of the entire space elevator and even the orbital space station at its tip, making it the most complex area on the wasteland. The same applied to its vaults.

For instance, the administrator’s logs of Vault 288 had been lost, and there had been a series of incidents like premature door openings. Moreover, the circumstances surrounding Han Mingyue bore many similarities to those of Heya, and the report on her background spanned five pages.

In short, it seemed that something had occurred in places he knew nothing about, and this Ms. Han, influenced by Rama, the commander of the Thorn Corps, had developed an interest in the great survivor migration that had once taken place in the Brahmin Province.

Her work involved not only investigating past events but also observing the ongoing changes in Golden Harbor.

Since a wealth of valuable items had been found in the governor’s mansion of Golden Harbor back then, the scientific expedition team had consistently supported her project, and Chu Guang had always kept an eye on the reports she submitted.

The Brahmin Province had no vaults, yet it harbored a vast number of survivors.

In a sense, her research was filling in the missing administrator’s logs for them.

[……Under the influence of the Baiyue Company, the authorities of Golden Harbor have used the foreign exchange reserves of the Xilan Emperor to build a large number of schools and night schools for adults within the settlement, and have promoted compulsory education laws similar to those in Dawn City, improving local literacy to some extent.

As literacy rose and citizens of the South Sea Alliance came to teach in the region, novel forms of music, painting, and literary art began to emerge in Golden Harbor.

Local residents are not only actively pursuing a better life but also exploring new theories beyond the “thousand tribes, thousand gods” framework, attempting to critique and dismantle outdated feudal traditions and concepts. The idea that “gods do not exist” has gained popularity among some progressive individuals, which is what surprises me most.

By common logic, local conservative forces should be more deeply entrenched than those in the Lion Kingdom or the Camel Kingdom, but the reality I’ve observed is the opposite. In this “New Cultural Movement,” “looking eastward” quickly became a consensus across all social strata, just as they once looked westward. The conservative forces, which should have opposed the progressive ones, have not played their role at all; instead, they have been unexpectedly compliant. After judging that resistance was futile, the conservatives surrendered immediately.

I believe this is not out of some defeatism or pro-foreign sentiment, nor is it a true surrender. Rather, it resembles the “endurance” embedded in the cultural identity of the local survivors.

The tolerance of local survivors is something I have never seen in other settlements. Even the farm owners of Jinchuan Province would not treat their serfs this way, yet they take it for granted.

Not only that, but their “endurance” is as deeply rooted as the “stubbornness” rarely shown directly in their personalities. These survivors are by no means easy to change, yet they do not resist bowing their heads and putting on a facade of transformation.

Like the old nobles who learned to dress and eat like the Alliance, they immediately distanced themselves from the emperor and governor they once served, cooperating fully with your subordinates, and striving to appear more progressive and diligent than the pro-Alliance faction.

You might think this is a good thing, and your subordinates might find it irrelevant, but I must voice my differing view. That hidden, unexpressed force is more like pus disguised as blood hiding in the veins. They are waiting for an opportunity—once they find it, they will instantly transform and seal up the drafty window again, making it harder for the wind to blow in.

Of course… everything has two sides. Even with a series of hidden concerns, the innovative measures your subordinates have implemented locally are commendable, and the results they have achieved are evident to all.

My research is still ongoing; there may be omissions. I hope I am just overthinking.

]

Chu Guang read the report to the end, stroked his chin, and initially thought of replying with “Sociology +3,” but remembering it was a report written by an NPC, he ultimately responded with “Reviewed.”

His perspective on the issue differed from Fang Chang’s, and naturally from the Alliance’s scholars as well.

The problem she raised certainly existed—he could see it—but as she herself mentioned in the report, the local survivors were spontaneously seeking progress under the influence of the residents of Vault 404, and the progress they were exploring might well change the hidden dangers buried in their civilization’s character.

It wasn’t that he was speaking idly from a position of comfort; this was destined to be a difficulty the local survivors had to overcome on their own.

Even if Han Mingyue had pointed out the problem, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

His players had already done a great deal; any further step would be overstepping.

He believed Fang Chang had probably sensed something too.

Xiao Qi, perched on the pen holder, looked at him and teased playfully.

“Master, you used to say you weren’t too optimistic about those players’ methods, but they seem to be doing pretty well, don’t they?”

Chu Guang made a helpless expression, using his index finger to close the report that had just arrived.

“You’ve been with me for so long; you should know that my judgments aren’t always right.”

The unexpected is the norm in life; only gods are omniscient and omnipotent.

If he were really that divine, why would he need so many experts and scholars?

He could just do all the work himself.

Besides, it was still too early to draw conclusions.

Yet to his surprise, his casual remark somehow left Xiao Qi frozen in place, her swinging legs coming to a halt.

A glimmer of hope flickered in her pupils, though it might have been an illusion.

Seeing her stunned, Chu Guang frowned slightly and tapped her head with his index finger.

“What’s wrong? Did you freeze?”

“No…” Xiao Qi seemed to snap back to reality, looking at him before breaking into a smile. “Nothing… Master is truly impressive—you made my cognitive plug-in skip a beat; it almost burned out.”

With that, she resumed swinging her legs, gazing at him with sparkling eyes.

Chu Guang made a helpless expression.

“Burned out,” huh.

He felt like her flirtatious remarks were becoming more and more frequent.