Chapter 785: Duke Nihark, Who Would Do Anything for His Friends

Chapter 785: Duke Nihark, Who Would Go Through Fire and Water for a Friend

"Respected Mr. Li Minghui, we are friends, are we not?"

Li Minghui, who was sipping tea and watching a drama in the presidential office, suddenly received such a strange "harassing call."

The reason he called it a harassing call was not because of the caller's identity, but because the guy used an internal line to ask such a nonsensical question.

It was no less than his bedmate suddenly messaging him during work hours to ask if he still loved her.

"Of course... did something go wrong in the exercise?"

He instinctively glanced at the schedule; today, aside from the Alliance's Burning Legion having a landing exercise on the northern beach, there seemed to be nothing worth mentioning.

However, Fang Chang's next sentence caught him off guard.

"Not at all, the exercise went smoothly. I just noticed you plan to sell a battleship similar to the Haiya to the Empire. Although this call might be redundant, I still want to confirm the issue with the main cannon. The Sanctuary is a relief organization; we don't want the technology we unearthed to be used for—"

"Oh—that matter," Li Minghui suddenly realized, then chuckled and said, "You don't need to worry about that. We have no interest in causing trouble for ourselves."

Wait, wasn't this guy a board member of Beidao Heavy Industries? How could he not know about such a major arms sale project?

Was it meaningful to ask knowingly like this?

Wait.

Li Minghui suddenly came to his senses.

Could it actually be the Alliance's administrator inquiring?

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. After all, with Mr. Fang Chang's intelligence, he wouldn't fail to see such an obvious thing.

This business wasn't something the South Sea Alliance could decide unilaterally. The authorities here just helped broker the big deal and took a cut (tax) from the advance payment. When to deliver, whether to deliver, and whether the ship's cabin leaked were all up to the shipyard.

And even if, hypothetically, the survivors of the Brahmin Province truly achieved unification, what harm would it do to ship it to them?

By then, the real headache would be the enemies of the survivors, like the Varantians still dreaming of world conquest, not the already united survivors of the Valley Province and even the southern seas.

Thinking this, he immediately switched to an official tone, cleared his throat, and said solemnly.

"For us, the Empire's reputation lies somewhere between Torch and Charas. We have no reason to deliver to the current Empire any equipment that might threaten us. But from my standpoint, it's hard to refuse money that comes knocking. We need money; it's as simple as that... Also, give my regards to your administrator. The survivors of the South Sea Alliance welcome him to visit the southern seas anytime."

Fang Chang probably guessed what he was misunderstanding but didn't expose it. He just smiled faintly and said.

"I understand. Wishing you a pleasant day. Also, I will convey your regards to the administrator. He has always wanted to visit here, but I'm afraid he'll have to wait until after the war."

The call ended.

Fang Chang smiled, picked up the newspaper with the exaggerated headline, and tossed it back to the stunned Mosquito. Then he tapped his VM with his index finger, ending the voice synchronization.

"The NPCs in this game are more realistic than you imagine, and much smarter... Of course, Duke Nihark is an exception; he's real in another sense."

Thinking that not all NPCs were smart, Fang Chang added a footnote to that sentence, clearing his throat and saying.

"Maybe it's an education issue, or maybe the slaves of the Brahmin Province spoiled him. In short, he can't yet understand that civilization is a product of gamesmanship; instead, he sees it as something taken for granted. He thinks no one can see through his little tricks, treating others as fools, but in fact, everyone sees through them, just too lazy to expose them, and quietly give him a taste of his own medicine... It's as simple as that."

He had recorded the call.

Although he felt the administrator must know everything, to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings, he decided to proactively report it.

After all, he really didn't want to be called back for questioning by Xiao Yu.

Mosquito was stunned for a long time before finally giving a heartfelt thumbs-up.

"Awesome! So damn dirty..."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Fang Chang smiled faintly, took the mojito handed by the waiter, thanked him, and then continued unhurriedly.

"To answer your earlier question, I never thought of being their godfather, but as you can see... at least until they grow their wings, they really have to call me 'Dad.'"

Just as the administrator declared that day, the Alliance's currency could buy all goods, but no currency could ever trade honor and dignity.

Feeling cocky again?

Then come and try.

...

For Nihark, three hundred billion Xilan coins and fifty million silver coins were trivial matters.

After all, even if he lost the Golden Port, he was still the esteemed Duke, just missing the governor's hat.

But for the survivors of Tiger Province and Leopard Province, especially the workshop owners who bought Alliance-brand sewing machines and the short-term and long-term laborers who worked the machines until they smoked, those two stabs were excruciating, bleeding from both kidneys.

The cloth market in White Tiger City.

The usually bustling stalls were now even more "bustling." An empty stall was crowded with middle-aged men and young lads in long or short gowns.

Some were owners of nearby tailor shops, some were tailors working for local estates, and others were workers from nearby garment factories.

They were tall, short, fat, thin, with differences in clothing, skin color, and temperament greater than between cattle and humans, yet their faces all bore the same expression—righteous indignation written in their angry eyes.

An old man who seemed quite authoritative walked at the front, pointing at the white characters written on the blackboard, his index finger and beard trembling with anger.

"Fifty Xilan per kilogram of cotton cloth?! Have you gone mad for money?!"

The people behind, seeing someone step forward, also started shouting.

"Yeah!"

"Too much!"

"We're all in business here; how can you be so unreasonable?!"

The clerk sitting behind the stall looked indifferent, glancing sideways at the old tailor and then at the crowd of troublemakers behind him, saying impatiently.

"Reasonable? Heh, today you think fifty is expensive; wait until tomorrow when it rises to sixty, and see what you say then. That's the price; take it or leave it!"

The crowd gathered in front of the stall erupted in uproar, but the clerk behind the stall wasn't afraid at all; he even picked his earwax.

Two burly men stood beside the stall, like two fierce tigers, glaring at the survivors, who dared not speak.

White Tiger City was the largest settlement in Tiger Province, and this cloth market in White Tiger City was the largest cloth trading market in the entire province. If you didn't have some connection with the Tiger Army big shots, could you open a business here?

Dream on!

But it was indeed strange. Originally, the price of cloth wasn't so exaggerated. A kilogram of cotton cost 10 to 15 Xilan; processing it into cotton cloth doubled the price to 20 to 30 Xilan, sold to traveling merchants in Golden Port for 16 to 24 Gallons, occasionally settled in silver coins.

That is, 1.6 to 2.4 silver coins per kilogram of cotton cloth.

The textile industry was the first to flow from Golden Port to Tiger Province, and Tiger Province's affordable cotton cloth propped up half the prosperity of Golden Port's export trade.

But recently, no one knew what happened. Suddenly, a large group of merchants rushed over from Golden Port, stuffing sacks of Xilan coins into his boss's hands, not only buying up all the textile factory's inventory but even pre-ordering next year's production.

Those guys were like madmen, as if the money in their hands wasn't their own but obtained cheaply somehow.

Although the merchants of Golden Port were notoriously wealthy in the eyes of Tiger Province survivors, they had never been this crazy before.

There was an unwritten but recognized exchange rate between Gallons and Xilan coins, usually 4 Gallons for 5 Xilan.

These people's Xilan coins were also exchanged with Gallons, unless they got a cheaper rate from banks or elsewhere.

He was just a clerk, naturally unaware where those merchants got so many Xilan coins; he only heard that the money was indeed issued by the royal family.

The traveling merchants, afraid they wouldn't accept it, even brought bank drafts from the lending banks, proving inside and out that the money was clean and problem-free.

Though strange, you can't turn down a business deal that comes to your door. So, the entire textile factory inventory of Tiger Province was bought out.

Generally speaking, the cloth that flows from textile mills to the fabric market is mostly leftover scraps rejected by garment factories, but this time the major mills were drained dry by the flood of Xilan coins, leaving not a drop, and the cloth circulating in the market naturally had to rise in price as well.

The crowd jostled and squabbled in front of the stalls, but in the end no one dared to make trouble on the warlords' turf, so they had to swallow their anger.

Some servants who made clothes for their masters paid up readily enough, since they weren't spending their own money, and their masters were hardly short of cash.

Other small shopkeepers, after counting on their fingers, realized that buying materials at this price to make clothes would only result in a loss, so they cursed and left.

Still others, hearing that cloth prices would rise further, thought they could speculate, so they quickly pulled out Xilan coins and bought first, asking questions later.

More passersby, local residents, gossiped among themselves, wondering if something major had happened in Mammoth City. Some even panicked, spreading news of Arayan's defeat, claiming that the front lines were desperate for burial shrouds and bandages, which was why cloth prices had skyrocketed.

Yet this analysis seemed too one-sided.

After all, it wasn't just cloth prices—sugarcane, white sugar, soybeans, corn, and all sorts of other things were shooting up too.

Some cursed the Moonfolk, believing their unclean blood had cursed the empire's fortune, and only by drawing a great array with their blood could the curse be lifted.

Others cursed the merchants of Golden Gulch Port, since those opportunists were indeed unscrupulous, and the origin of the Xilan coins was surely shady.

A few knowledgeable people, in their confusion, cursed Chu Guang, the Alliance administrator commanding from the front lines in the far-off Sea Coast Province.

They were called knowledgeable because those who hadn't read a few secondhand newspapers wouldn't even know the name of the Alliance administrator.

Such is the bitterness of living in a cocoon: lacking channels for information, sometimes you feel the slap but don't know where it landed.

You don't even know where the slap came from.

On the other side, in the suburbs of White Tiger City.

In a factory building covering about ten acres, hundreds of pedal-powered sewing machines were crammed together, their "whirring" sound echoing endlessly.

This garment factory, named "Farhan," was founded by a tiger-tribe merchant named Farhan. It was not only the largest garment factory in White Tiger City but also the earliest factory in the entire Tiger Province.

Two months ago, the supreme commander of the Tiger Army, Chieftain Jeha, bought this factory for a pittance, then added an investment of ten million Gallons, purchasing a batch of equipment from Golden Gulch Port to expand production.

And this factory did not disappoint General Jeha's expectations.

Now, one-fifth of the towels, curtains, bedding, and shirts used by residents of Golden Gulch Port are produced here.

That tiger-tribe merchant who sold the factory must be kicking himself now.

The entire factory was like a printing press, continuously supplying cash milk to the Tiger Army, so much so that the Tiger Army now, like the garrison of Golden Gulch Port, had swapped to the Alliance-flavored LD-47s, equipment far superior to that of the Gray Wolf Army.

While the long-term workers pumped the sewing machines as if trying to make them fly, the accountant in charge of the books was also clicking away at the calculator, meticulously tallying the accounts.

The goods exported from Tiger Province to Golden Gulch Port earned Gallons, which were foreign exchange, but these Gallons couldn't be used directly in Tiger Province.

Whether it was Dinars, silver coins, or Gallons, they all needed to be "settled" before they could truly be deposited into the factory's account at White Tiger City's money house or bank.

After all, the empire was not the South Sea Alliance with its collapsed local currency; neither Gallons nor silver coins could legally circulate within the empire, except for private use.

The factory could use its foreign exchange surplus to purchase equipment from Golden Gulch Port, but it had to convert Gallons into Xilan coins to buy raw materials within the empire and pay workers' wages.

Therefore, the accountant had a monthly routine: cross-checking with the bank's remittance records to confirm which portion of Gallons to settle, which to use for equipment purchases, and which to pay for externally hired technicians.

White Tiger City's bank was relatively lax on foreign exchange control, mainly because the warlords didn't understand it and left it to their underlings.

The underlings didn't understand either, so they copied the model from Golden Gulch Port, watching how those who got rich first did things and imitating them.

As a result, business owners could generally decide when and how much to settle, saving them the trouble of reporting to the bank whenever they needed silver coins.

But this month was quite bizarre.

First, the garment factory's received payments were forcibly settled into Xilan coins at last month's exchange rate. Then, the profit on the books plummeted from over ten million Xilan coins at the start of the month to negative two million, giving the old accountant a fright.

The first issue wasn't a big deal—the garment factory was the warlords' property, and the settlement money house was also run by the military men of Tiger Province.

Those lords were just moving money from one pocket to another; he couldn't care less. As long as he knew where it went, it was fine.

The ones who should really worry were the small workshops, since the Gallons or even silver coins sitting in the bank unsettled were their own earnings. White Tiger City's bank pulling this trick was essentially confiscating the silver coins from their accounts, showing they had no intention of keeping any credibility.

But the second issue was a matter of life and death for him.

How had the profit vanished?

"Strange... where did the money go?"

How could they be getting poorer the more they produced?

The old man was dumbfounded. He wet his index finger with saliva, forced himself to stay calm, and flipped through the account book again and again, finally spotting the clue in the raw materials.

In just one month, the price of cotton cloth had doubled, and even the most stable linen had risen by eighty percent.

The profit from the first half of the month was completely eaten up by the raw material price hikes in the second half. No wonder they ended up losing two million Xilan coins by month's end.

This was no small matter.

At least they had made a little profit in the first half; together, the loss was only this much.

If this trend continued, next month they might lose twenty million Xilan coins. At this rate, they'd be bankrupt within six months at most!

The accountant was sweating profusely, about to get up and find the factory manager, when the foreman on duty suddenly knocked and entered, looking at him cautiously from behind the desk.

"Sir... the workers are demanding their wages. Could you settle their pay first?"

Actually, delaying wages by a week or two wasn't usually a big deal. The long-term workers, free citizens, were hardworking and considerate of their masters.

But lately, no one knew what was happening—everything in White Tiger City had gone up except for red earth, even the soybean meal for feeding livestock.

The accountant's expression stiffened. He had just shifted his chair but sat back down, glaring at the foreman with a dark face.

"I haven't finished my accounts yet! What's the rush?"

The foreman said bitterly, "Sir, it's not me rushing you—I'm not in a hurry. It's the workers who are anxious."

The accountant waved his pen impatiently, pretending to be busy.

"Tell them to get back to work. General Jeha has such a vast estate—would he short them their pay? If they want to work, fine; if not, get lost. Don't bother me while I'm counting money."

The foreman looked aggrieved, his heart full of complaints, but he dared not say more. He lowered his head and left the office.

All day long, White Tiger City seemed bewitched. From the small-time fabric market to the big business factories, there was wailing everywhere.

Those who worked toiled from morning till night; those who counted accounts labored from night till morning. Yet no one could see where the Xilan coins had gone.

Except for the farm owners selling cotton, sugarcane, and other cash crops, and the nobles in their manors.

At the top of the industrial chain, or the source, they were the least affected—indeed, they could be called the biggest beneficiaries of this round of "active inflation."

Of course, that was only for now.

Soon they would discover that fertilizer, originally priced at 100 Xilan coins, would skyrocket two or three times, and the art and cosmetics bought by the second wife would also multiply several times over.

Because these things, for now, had to be imported from Golden Gulch Port with foreign exchange.

Beyond the plantations, further down were the weavers and sugar refiners.

These relatively upstream large factories were still okay; they could pass some of the costs onto the downstream weaving and food processing industries.

But this was a hardship for the downstream industries. The further down, the more biting the cold.

Especially for those small shopkeepers who needed silver coins to expand production and compete with Golden Gulch Port merchants for foreign trade orders—the period of pain would be especially long.

After all, the thirty billion Xilan coin loan was just the first cut of Duke Nihark's "self-castration." The fifty million silver coin advance payment for ship purchases was the most brutal cut, directly making the small shopkeepers of Tiger and Leopard Provinces, still in their primitive accumulation stage, waste half a year's work.

Nihark's benevolent act directly emptied the foreign reserves of the Imperial Royal Mint, with an estimated monthly expenditure of ten million silver coins.

The Imperial Royal Mint could not produce enough silver coins, so it had to tighten the faucet, cutting back on the quotas for exchanging Xilan coins for silver coins at banks and money houses along the Eternal River.

The banks in White Tiger City, unable to exchange Xilan coins for silver, could not even meet the exchange needs of the warlord’s own factories, let alone those of the small workshops and shopkeepers in Tiger Province.

They not only shut down the exchange channels for these little sparrows but also confiscated the silver coins in their pockets, forcibly converting them into Xilan coins.

Some small workshops with a bit of technical know-how were on the verge of evolving into factories, but before they could compete with the factories of Golden Harbor or be plucked by the warlords, they exploded on their own.

A few bankrupt operators turned their gaze toward distant Mammoth Province, where, like Golden Harbor, they were issuing their own currency and welcoming merchants from all over to invest.

If they brought equipment, they could use it as collateral for a loan with very low interest.

They could even borrow silver coins.

Though it was also warlord territory, the region had its own advantages: one was its proximity to Silver Moon Bay, and another was the presence of the Silver Moon Church’s diocese.

Those cat-loving folks not only opened churches in the diocese but also ran banks.

Even if Mammoth Province faced uncertainties from war and had just suffered floods, the ability to mortgage equipment for silver coins was simply too tempting…

In the end, the Empire’s foundation was too thin.

It had only been a few months since the embargo was lifted; if they had hoarded decades of wealth before stirring things up, it might not have exploded so quickly.

Even if it were to explode, it would take ten or twenty years to slowly unravel.

The impact on the industrial chain’s ecosystem was the same, and so was the turmoil in the “food chain.”

Big fish eat small fish when hungry, small fish eat shrimp, and in the end, it’s the microorganisms and mayflies that suffer.

Serfs could at least sip the soup with their lords, but free laborers working in factories couldn’t find land to farm even if they wanted to return.

Red earth, once nearly unsalable, became popular again, and more people were picking it up on the empty wastelands.

They were actually the lucky ones.

As for the situation in other provinces beyond Tiger and Leopard, even the residents of Golden Harbor at the end of the Eternal River might not know.

But all of this had no effect on the sunny and peaceful South Sea Alliance.

The generous Grand Duke Nihak became the most “hot” figure on North Island.

The newly opened *Survivor’s Daily* on North Island dedicated a column to him, praising the thirty billion in charity and calling his habit of living on a boat and refusing to come ashore a model of frugality.

Li Minghui called him the “Long Road Ahead” of the Brahmin Province, but after protests from the ID holder himself, it was changed to General McLennan of Brahmin Province in the newspaper.

Presumably, the Veylanders wouldn’t come all the way to the distant East to bother him over such nonsense.

Moreover, the survivors of Brahmin Province were utterly obsessed with the Veylanders, making this flattery even louder than before.

Before being laid to rest, a man must have his moment of glory, and the Empire’s Grand Duke was no exception.

Nihak was overjoyed these days, his face ruddy as if injected with stimulant, and he no longer feared even those who had once captured him.

Though winter had only just shown its tail, he felt that spring had come for both him and the Empire.

While the warlords of Tiger and Leopard Provinces scratched their heads in bewilderment, unable to figure out where the hell their money had flown, Arayan, far away on the Mammoth Province front, serving the Empire with filial piety, was equally dumbfounded.

But his confusion wasn’t over lost money—it was because his troops were being battered senseless by elusive guerrillas, unable to find their bearings.

Their fierce firepower made him think the Alliance had entered the fray itself!

It wasn’t just the firepower.

The resistance’s numbers kept growing, their spirits rising, their cunning increasing.

At first, they only skirmished along the borders of Mammoth Province, but later, traces of guerrillas appeared in Horse Province and Bird Province as well.

These bastards specifically targeted the supply lines of the Gray Wolf Army, making the transport convoys afraid to travel at night, let alone fly the imperial double-blade flag.

Worse still, his spies discovered that these rebels were building a deep-water port in Mammoth City, along with a railway connecting to it.

Arayan nearly spat blood in rage.

Where the hell did these country dogs get steel and cement?!

Was it also sent by the Alliance?

Was that damned Rasi the Alliance administrator’s bastard son?!

While he was fuming, his trusted aide handed him a secret letter, picked up by patrol soldiers on the front lines.

[To General Arayan:

With your talents, you could carve out your own kingdom. Why waste your prime years on a dying empire?

The Empire is now a dead end; everything is Wutu’s own fault.

If you come over to me, I’ll not only spare your life but make you a commander of ten thousand in the resistance. If you don’t trust me, you may choose any province and go your own way—as long as you don’t move against me, I guarantee my men won’t set foot in your territory.]

Arayan unfolded the letter and read it, his teeth grinding audibly.

“This dog thief!”

Just because he’d won a few battles, he was this arrogant!

He crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it onto the candlestick, but instead knocked the candlestick over, nearly setting the command tent ablaze.

The fire was put out, but unease spread through the Gray Wolf Army.

More and more incomprehensible puzzles tormented everyone from the front lines to the rear, while in Golden Harbor, the *Survivor’s Daily* grew ever more impassioned in its cries.

A mighty, unprecedented wave was brewing amid the clamor—a force more powerful than nuclear weapons:

The force of progress!

Even Yodu, who had once urged Rasi to stay, had to admit after reading the newspaper that perhaps he had misjudged this time.

That man who stood up when everyone else buried their heads and dared not breathe loudly, who reached for a gun while others cowered under oppression—how could he be a mere brute?

As the Alliance officers joked: “You gentlemen weep day and night—can your tears drown Wutu?”

In the end, it was he who stepped forward.

Perhaps I was too harsh on him.

Whenever night fell and all was quiet, Yodu couldn’t help thinking this, regretting that he hadn’t shared a drink with him at his farewell.

A province of four million square kilometers was already in turmoil.

But before that storm finally arrived, another, more violent and far-reaching storm came first.

After two months of preparation, the horn for the southern offensive sounded once more!