Chapter 781: Maybe We Should Borrow Some Too?

Chapter 781: Should We Borrow Some Too?

On the North Island of the Southern Sea, seagulls flapped their wings, cooing and frolicking above the construction site, scattering bird droppings everywhere.

It wasn’t just the residents of North Island who were well-fed.

As the battle to land on the Haiya Province was about to commence, a flood of players poured into North Island, and every kind of bird on the island grew plump and sturdy.

Some had even grown too fat to fly.

Watching the diverse faces on the construction site, [Wolves of War] leaned on his shovel and muttered with a strange expression.

“Is it just me, or…?”

[Duct-Taped Dog], who was mixing cement, looked up at him.

“What?”

Wolves of War rubbed his chin and mumbled.

“Am I imagining it, or are there more people competing with us for work?”

Originally, there were only about thirty people on this site—aside from him and his three civil engineering buddies, there were fewer than thirty NPCs.

But in the past few days, for some unknown reason, the number of workers had shot up, doubling and redoubling until it was now pushing two hundred!

In real life, that number would be normal, but the problem was that this was the Southern Sea region of *Wasteland OL*, with a total population just over a million.

Where the hell were all these people coming from?!

“It’s not your imagination,” [Eagle of Foresight] squinted and said flatly. “The war is over. Logically, there should be a baby boom. A baby boom leads to population growth… No problem.”

Duct-Taped Dog: “Holy crap! Your babies grow up that fast?!”

[Stirring Stick]: “…”

Though the players couldn’t figure out the reason, to be fair, the number of people on North Island had indeed increased in recent days.

Not just at the construction site, but also at the docks, supermarkets, and restaurants.

These people seemed to have spawned out of thin air, and most of them were unfamiliar faces.

Aside from their scrawny builds and timid eyes, they somewhat resembled the residents of the Luoxia Province.

According to the boasts of early-game veterans, many survivors in Luoxia Province had migrated from the Great Wasteland in the early days of the Wasteland Era.

Of course, back then, the Great Wasteland wasn’t called that—it was known as the four major industrial zones: East, South, West, and North.

Curious about where these NPCs had come from, Wolves of War, egged on by his bunch of troublemaking friends, stepped forward and stopped a man.

“Hey, where are you guys from?”

The man clearly didn’t want to talk to him, but seemed afraid to offend him. He hemmed and hawed for a moment before muttering.

“Mammoth Prefecture.”

Wolves of War blinked.

“Where’s Mammoth Prefecture?”

The man explained.

“Brahmin Province.”

Wolves of War nodded blankly.

“Oh, that place… That’s really far.”

The man said nothing, eager to get back to hauling bricks. He mumbled an “excuse me” and hurried off.

Wolves of War didn’t stop him. Instead, his gaze followed the stooped man to the crowd in the distance.

Their appearances varied—some young, some old, some handsome, some ugly—but their demeanor was oddly uniform.

He couldn’t find the words to describe them, but instinctively thought of oxen.

That was the strangest part.

He remembered that the Ox Clan were nobles in Brahmin Province, yet these people seemed more like the sacred oxen that carried the sun.

It was as if an invisible rope was tied around their necks, their backs turned to the blazing sun. No one led them, yet all of them seemed to be led by the nose.

Not far away, Stick let out a sigh, took off his mining exoskeleton, and walked over to stop a man who looked a bit too old for the work.

“Old… sir, you’re working too hard hauling bricks. Wear this gear of mine.”

He wasn’t on the site for the money, but to grind regional reputation and contribution points, and to level up his strength sequence and “social practice.”

That was the game mechanic of *Wasteland OL*, established long ago.

When players wanted to use the VM and its attached systems to operate in a certain area, they had to start with grassroots tasks, grinding regional reputation to over 1,000 (Friendly).

The man, taken aback by the sudden approach, hastily declined.

“I, I don’t know how to use it.”

Figuring he’d go all the way, Stick said warmly.

“No problem! I’ll teach you!”

“No, no, sir, I’m afraid I’ll break it. I… really can’t afford to pay for it.” The man looked panicked, waving his hands frantically, refusing to take it.

“It’s fine! This thing isn’t expensive—just 2,000 silver coins. If it breaks, no big deal; I’ll just get a new one.” Stick opened the VM’s translation function and repeated the words in his non-standard Common Tongue with a smile.

The man just gave a bitter laugh and said nothing.

Two thousand silver coins.

He earned barely over a hundred a month…

But even a hundred silver coins was much better than what he got farming in Mammoth Prefecture.

On the noble lord’s estate, he only got beans when the harvest was too plentiful to sell, and normally he had to eat dirt at least once every three days.

Here, they provided room and board, and he only had to work eight hours a day. He could save all hundred silver coins and send them home.

He’d heard that some quick-handed young men could earn five to eight silver coins a day hauling bricks, maybe even over two hundred a month!

Two hundred silver coins was two thousand gallons—even in Golden Gallon Port, that was a high salary, and here, room and board were free.

Thinking of the hungry mouths back home, he wasted no more time with this stranger who clearly had ulterior motives. He muttered an “excuse me” and hurried off to his next load…

…

Sometimes fate is truly strange. A problem that seems unsolvable, that you rack your brains over, finds a perfect solution in the most unexpected place.

Mammoth Prefecture, huh?

What a fine place.

Once trade relations are established between Mammoth Prefecture and the South Sea Alliance, perhaps the South Sea Alliance could really consider investing there.

Li Minghui never imagined that he had been ready to give up, but before he even started to doze off, someone handed him a pillow.

And not just one—a hundred thousand of them.

These able-bodied young laborers from Mammoth Prefecture were all between eighteen and thirty, all married, with at least two children at home, and some with elderly parents to support.

The Mammoth Prefecture authorities had assured him that these workers, brought in through labor dispatch companies, would not run off, would not commit crimes, and would leave with their pay once the work was done, without taking a single bit of public resources or social welfare from the South Sea Alliance.

The only request was that the South Sea Alliance provide the ships to transport these people and take responsibility for their training.

In other words, they would only supply the personnel and handle their management.

Li Minghui, hearing such a good deal, immediately agreed without hesitation, even diverting the newly launched nuclear-powered cargo submarine to pick up the workers.

As of now, fifty thousand laborers from Mammoth State were working in the South Sea Alliance, and the construction sites on the Northern Islands were rising as if rockets had been strapped to them.

Though he didn’t want to do too many unnecessary things in the remaining days of his term, passing up such a purely beneficial bargain would be a disservice to the people of the southern seas who supported him.

But what Li Minghui hadn’t expected was that even so, the South Sea Assembly would still find fault with him.

It was a fine, sunny afternoon. He was sitting in his office, sipping tea and reading the newspaper, when suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.

He had just set down his paper when Secretary-General Si Wen of the Assembly pushed open the door, walked in, and glared at him, demanding,

“What’s the deal with those people on the Northern Island construction site?”

The South Sea Assembly, much like the Alliance itself, consisted of general representatives and a committee elected from among them, with the Secretary-General typically representing the committee’s consensus.

Though Li Minghui disliked these noisy individuals, the law was ultimately in their hands, so he had to take it seriously and explained,

“They’re refugees from Mammoth State.”

“Why are refugees from Mammoth State appearing in the southern seas?” Si Wen stared into his eyes, pressing aggressively. “The Assembly hasn’t passed any relevant resolution—how dare you make a decision on your own!”

Li Minghui didn’t answer his question but instead countered,

“Has the Assembly banned labor dispatch?”

Si Wen frowned, unsure what hidden agenda lay behind this shell, but he followed procedure and replied,

“No.”

Li Minghui continued,

“Has the Assembly banned Alliance companies from working on the Northern Island?”

Si Wen said impatiently,

“No. What are you trying to say? Are those people all Alliance members?”

“Is there a problem with a labor dispatch company registered in Fries Harbor sending ten thousand workers to the Northern Island?” Li Minghui’s face broke into a smile of triumph, spreading his hands as he looked at the stunned Si Wen. “This doesn’t violate any law. If I had refused their goodwill, you’d accuse me of abusing my power… Sorry, I’m not that foolish. Or you can go back and discuss it, then re-regulate the status of workers dispatched by labor companies—but that’s your business.”

A president who neither can nor wants to seek re-election is invincible.

Watching Si Wen, speechless and deflated, Li Minghui felt an immense satisfaction.

These bastards, emboldened by the Alliance’s backing, had grown used to lawlessness, always finding excuses to pick on him.

When he once aspired to be Charas, they guarded against him daily; now that he no longer wanted the role, they still nagged him every few days.

This time, he had finally held his head high, making them eat humble pie on his turf.

“Anything else?”

Taking a sip of tea, Li Minghui leisurely eyed the Secretary-General, who couldn’t muster a word, and teased,

“Maybe you should go back and hold a meeting to discuss it?”

Si Wen shot him a fierce glare and was about to turn and leave when another person suddenly appeared at the office door.

But this time, it wasn’t from the Assembly—it was the secretary from the Presidential Palace.

Seeing the door open, the secretary walked straight in, looked at Li Minghui behind the desk, and spoke rapidly,

“Mr. President, Duke Nihak from the Xilan Empire requests an audience! On behalf of the Xilan royal family, he offers the South Sea Alliance a loan for post-war reconstruction—ten billion Xilan dollars, interest-free, to be repaid within twenty years.”

Li Minghui was taken aback. He racked his brain but couldn’t recall what a Xilan dollar looked like, so he asked instinctively,

“How much is that in silver coins?”

The secretary paused, looking embarrassed, and said,

“Uh, direct trade between the Alliance and the Empire is minimal—it usually goes through the port of Jingalong… The current recognized exchange rate is about 4 Gallons to 5 Xilan dollars, pegged mainly to cotton for textiles and beans for feed.”

After the embargo ended, a pound of beans in Tiger State and Leopard State cost about 5 Xilan dollars, while the average price at Jingalong Port was around 4 Gallons, used mainly for oil pressing and feed.

Though earlier, due to the “massive borrowing and dumping” of Xilan dollars by Jingalong Port banks, the currency had become worthless in Lowell State and even Tiger and Leopard States, the Empire was no Boulder City. With its vast population and hardworking nature, the sweat of nearly a hundred million serfs flowed down the Eternal River into Tiger and Leopard States, propping the Xilan dollar back up.

Not only that, but whereas the Xilan dollar’s value was once determined solely by exports of slaves and livestock, the bustling import-export business at Jingalong Port had transformed it from “no outsider interest” to “a relatively stable exchange rate.”

Using the data from his secretary, Li Minghui roughly calculated on his fingers. He hadn’t expected the result—when he did, he was stunned.

Eight hundred million silver coins?!

If the exchange rate was reliable, that meant the Xilan Empire was lending eight silver coins per person to the South Sea Alliance?!

Was this empire so wealthy?!

Li Minghui felt his hands trembling—more than when he was shelled on Anle Island.

Si Wen, standing by the desk, was also dumbfounded, mouth agape, staring at Li Minghui as if he wanted to snatch the pen from the desk and sign the loan agreement himself!

Eight hundred million silver coins…

Every citizen of the South Sea Alliance would get an average of eight hundred!

In fact, without needing the Assembly’s frantic hints, Li Minghui simply swallowed his saliva and stared at his secretary, asking hastily,

“How will they pay? No, I mean, when will they deliver the money?”

The secretary said quietly,

“Duke Nihak didn’t say… But he’s on the Northern Island right now. Don’t you want to meet him and discuss it face to face?”

Li Minghui quickly turned to Si Wen, who had become as docile as a well-fed seagull, retreating to the office door on his own.

“I have no further business. Wishing you smooth negotiations, esteemed General Li Minghui. May you lead us from one victory to another.”

This man had never once called him “General,” especially not in this Presidential Palace.

Watching Si Wen step out the door, Li Minghui felt a surge of pride but couldn’t help muttering under his breath,

“These money-grubbing bastards!”

Then he cleared his throat and looked at his secretary.

“Invite Duke Nihak to dinner… the highest standard. Don’t neglect our distinguished guest.”

…

On the front lines of Haiya Province, the fighting remained as fierce as ever.

With the Beta 0.7 update raising the cap for closed beta players to one hundred thousand and a flood of new players joining the game, the Alliance had recently seen the rise of several new player corps that caught Chu Guang’s eye.

One was the “Mimic” of the Burning Corps—the Hellfire Corps.

As the Alliance’s second player-formed airborne corps, its ranks had already swelled to a thousand.

But unlike the Burning Corps, they weren’t equipped with power armor. They were more like light paratroopers, favoring W-1A unpowered gliders and an airdrop motorcycle vehicle produced by Goblin Tech.

Though veterans of the Burning Corps often teased them as “ghost fire youths,” this corps performed quite well on the northern front, edging into T3 tier, even surpassing the Silver Corps, which had been the backbone of the motley troops since the Alpha phase.

At least they were more reliable than corps like the Abstract Corps, which focused on gimmicks.

Another new “mountain corps” stood out—the Climber Corps!

The northern part of Haiya Province was hilly, and this corps of over a thousand players, after dozens of deaths in countless skirmishes, had developed a unique combat style. They also worked with NPCs from the Dawn City industrial zone to develop a special set of mountain warfare equipment.

Including a grappling hook gun and short military boots with claw attachments, among other things.

Without exoskeleton suits, relying on these simple, cheap pieces of gear, they could even unleash combat prowess rivaling exoskeleton-equipped soldiers.

Moreover, the zealot who delights in preaching and the one who just wants peace and quiet founded the Raptor Corps.

The level-99 scavenger, originally part of the Blaze Corps but never tagging along, finally retired from the Blaze Corps and officially joined this newly formed unit.

For now, the corps’ actual combat performance remains a question mark, but the future holds promise.

Thanks to the players being overly capable, Chu Guang recently felt more and more like an NPC.

His daily job was to stand at the respawn point and watch the frontline players charge forward with wild cries, shelling away as if ammunition cost nothing.

The current state of the northern front was a meat grinder—tactically there was room for maneuver, but strategically, almost none.

This applied to the ten thousand-man reinforcements from the Empire, the Alpha Task Force from the Academy, and the mercenaries and rookies sent to the front by the Corporation.

Yet, what was heartening was that under the siege of the allied forces, the Torch Church’s exhaustion grew increasingly apparent; perhaps it wouldn’t be long before this protracted war came to an end.

The Haiya Province covered less than 1.5 times the area of Mammoth State, and the fact that this war had dragged on so long was truly due to the Torch Church’s relentless troublemaking.

On the first weekend of November, Chu Guang had planned to take half a day off to browse Earth’s internet for inspiration, to see how other “operators” harvested their players, when suddenly a video call came in from Cheng Yan, the Alliance’s foreign minister.

“…Respected Administrator, though you may have already noticed, I still feel obliged to remind you: the Empire seems to be up to its old tricks again around our borders.”

Chu Guang raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Oh? What tricks?”

Cheng Yan chose his words carefully as he continued.

“…They granted the South Sea Alliance an interest-free loan of ten billion Xilan dollars, with only a simple requirement on the use of funds—that the goods must be imported from ports within the Xilan Empire itself. Additionally, they negotiated a steel and cement export deal worth one billion Xilan dollars at 50% below market price.”

Chu Guang was stunned into silence for a long moment.

It wasn’t that he was intimidated by the Empire’s grand gesture; he simply couldn’t fathom what kind of bizarre move this was.

Usually, situations that left him baffled only happened with the players; it was rare for an “NPC” to leave him scratching his head.

The last time was when the Gray Wolf Legion raided Fries Port—he stared at the map for ages, unable to figure out what the Empire had gained besides a beating.

This time was no different; he simply couldn’t understand what new trick that Wu Tuo was trying to play.

Objectively speaking, debt, as a lubricant for the economy, wasn’t inherently flawed—lending out local currency could stimulate exports of domestic goods, and exports were one of the three pillars of the economy. Under certain circumstances, lending to outsiders was more useful than lending to one’s own people.

Especially when the domestic money supply fell short of actual market demand—that is, facing deflation—actively “importing” a bit of inflation from a smaller economy was standard practice, particularly for a wealthy economy like the South Sea Alliance.

However, the problem was that the Bolo Province itself was still a serf economy, with many survivors classified as “livestock” by *Stellaris* standards. Clearly, this wasn’t a matter of deflation or inflation; there simply wasn’t a market in the classical sense. Why force a market-based solution?

If one had to stand in the Imperial court’s shoes, Chu Guang mused that adding a supplementary clause like “repayment in equivalent dinars or silver coins” or requiring the South Sea Alliance to accept Xilan dollars when selling goods to the Empire might at least make it less absurd.

But even setting aside the “benefits,” the whole operation was riddled with puzzling aspects.

Earlier, when the Alliance borrowed from Boulder City, Boulder City agreed partly because they had guns and partly because there were mutual investments of considerable scale, stacking the anti-default safeguards to the brim. Even from the Alliance’s own interest, outright default was unlikely.

Just as the South Sea Alliance couldn’t default on its debts to the Alliance.

In fact, Boulder City had employed a similar economic control model over the various farms in Jinchuan Province, including Lister’s early investment in a Kamu tree plantation there.

But the inner-city nobles were too greedy and arrogant, stacking their chips too high until they collapsed under their own weight.

As for the Empire…

It might indeed have thicker blood than Boulder City, but it lacked every other condition—at least in his outsider’s view.

Chu Guang thought long and hard but couldn’t figure out what scheme the Empire was playing. Logically, charity wasn’t done this way; it felt more like someone was feeding Wu Tuo bad advice.

Still, someone giving away free money was ultimately a good thing for the Alliance’s little brother.

After all, the South Sea Alliance wasn’t dealing with inflation anymore—it was a direct collapse of its local currency, with even government employees paid in Alliance silver coins.

Now, if someone was willing to buy air even cheaper than “beer bubbles,” the locals would be fools to refuse.

Chu Guang couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—besides the Academy, there was now another entity on the wasteland he couldn’t fathom.

The Conclave and Golden Port had given the Empire a sum of money, but he never expected the emperor there to use it this way.

“Why don’t you ask Duke Garava if we could borrow some too?”

Cheng Yan was taken aback.

“This… probably isn’t a good idea.”

He wasn’t in charge of economics, but he always felt that too much debt was bad, and besides, Xilan dollars seemed useless.

But Chu Guang thought differently and just encouraged him with a smile.

“What’s wrong with it? Just go and ask… Of course, if they really don’t want to, don’t force it.”

Seeing that Chu Guang wasn’t joking, Cheng Yan could only reply with a wry laugh.

“Alright.”

After the call ended, Chu Guang intended to put the matter aside, but in the end, he couldn’t resist the itch. He logged into the forum on his main account and posted an announcement, revealing the news of this huge loan to the life-skill players active in the southern seas.

Every bit counts, and besides, the South Sea Alliance might not be able to digest this chunk on its own—why not let the players operating there help the locals consume it?

For instance, by cashing out their surplus Xilan dollars at a 50% discount into silver coins.

Though Xilan dollars were useless elsewhere, they were quite useful for the life-skill players active in Golden Port.