Chapter 712.2: The Night That Decides The Fate Of Port Gallon
Chapter 712.2: The Night That Decides The Fate Of Port Gallon
As for people like Mandar, there was no need to even mention them. Watching them wag their tails like obedient dogs was utterly nauseating.
Blind fools! Can’t they tell who possessed truly noble blood?!
At that moment, light applause suddenly echoed from the center of the banquet hall.
“Please settle down for a moment. Before the banquet officially begins, allow me to borrow a little of everyone’s valuable time.”
Hearing the voice, the guests all turned toward the center of the hall.
A man wearing a blue coat stood there with a smile. Whether it was his handsome face, the intellectual elegance unconsciously revealed between his brows, or the iconic coat he wore, everything about him instantly became the focus of the entire room.
Shelter residents were famously attractive, but aside from the noblewomen and young ladies whose eyes practically burned with excitement, most guests were staring more at his coat.
Shelter 404!
Looking at the young face and the unmistakable coat, anticipation ignited in Dahlia’s eyes.
The main event had finally arrived!
...
Facing the countless expectant gazes focused upon him, Ample Time finally began to understand a little of the administrator’s enjoyment.
People eagerly awaited every word he spoke, repeatedly pondering each sentence and staking all their hopes and fortunes upon him.
It brought him even more satisfaction than the numbers in a bank account. He could feel an enormous power resting in his hands. With that power, he could not only turn filth into gold, but gold into filth. He could even turn his dreams the night before into reality.
Of course, that was merely an exaggeration.
Ever since obtaining the helmet, he had not experienced those bizarre dreams for a very long time.
“... Welcome, everyone, to Port Gallon. This banquet was prepared for you. You are the true hosts tonight, and I do not intend to steal the spotlight by occupying too much of your time.”
Beginning with a modest opening statement, Ample Time cleared his throat politely before he continued, “I’ll only say two things.”
“Our original purpose in coming here has not changed in the slightest. We intend to establish an order in Port Gallon that can endure long-term, and a normal order at that. Otherwise, all the blood spilled for this would be meaningless. Of course, we will not excessively demand that the local survivors eat the same food as us. We only insist on the most fundamental principles. As for what kind of life they wish to pursue in the future, that is something the local people themselves should decide.”
“Secondly, an order that cannot fill people’s stomachs is meaningless. While establishing this new order, we will prioritize economic development. Only when the local survivors become more prosperous and regain hope for the future will hospitals and schools spring up across this land like bamboo shoots after rain. Only then will the order we establish carry real meaning.”
“To that end, the new administration has approved a total of 37 infrastructure projects, including road construction, bridge construction, drainage system repairs, and slum redevelopment. Specific plans have already been posted on the city hall bulletin boards. Interested parties may consult the administrative offices directly, or if the answers there aren’t clear enough, you can come ask me personally at the governor’s office.”
“The total engineering budget is approximately 1,000,000,000 Gallons, and it is expected to leverage a market worth tens of billions... After all, this settlement has so many people. If you can help each person earn just 55 more Gallons a day, and then earn back even half their annual income from their pockets, the numbers will already reach that scale.”
Ample Time noticed that when he spoke those words, even the local nobles and wealthy elites who had previously worn expressions of dissatisfaction could not help showing signs of shock.
They might have been conservative fools, but that did not mean they could not do arithmetic.
10,000,000,000 Gallons! In other words, 1,000,000,000 silver!
Although the Xilande Empire did not use silver as its primary foreign reserve, judging from the attitudes of the Silvermoon Bay merchants, the widely accepted exchange rate between Dinars and silver was roughly around 3 to 5 Dinars to 1 silver.
In other words, this market was worth at least 3,000,000,000 Dinars!
Possibly even more than the emperor himself had stored!
After mentally completing the calculation, nearly every noble present revealed expressions of disbelief.
After all, even if they sold every single “livestock” in the settlement at an average price of 1,000 Dinars each, they still could never reach such an astonishing figure.
No, they would not even reach a fraction of that number!
Ample Time knew exactly what shocked those people. They were merely doing childish arithmetic, trying to use shallow understanding to comprehend something entirely unfamiliar.
Of course a million animals could not be sold for tens of billions of Dinars. But that was only because a group of idiots insisted on treating people like livestock in the first place.
In truth, any person’s needs could become fertile soil for another person’s creativity. The process of identifying needs and solving needs formed the very foundation of human civilization itself.
Even under the most extreme conditions, a debt laborer whose desires had been stripped down to nothing but food, clothing, shelter, and transportation could still create value far beyond that of a feudal slave.
And if that worker possessed dignity and education, he might even improve production tools and methods on his own, constantly seeking ways to become more dignified, even if he ate more, used more, and had countless demands and complaints.
Of course, Ample Time had no intention of explaining all of that to those people.
Resistance and hostility toward progress were practically instincts flowing through the veins of feudal nobles and conservative factions. Whether it was the advancement of productivity or anything else, their sense of superiority largely depended on the suffering of another group of people. No matter how much he explained, it would all be meaningless. They could always invent a bunch of excuses to fight back, for example, that their Ox God of the Sun represented the ultimate truth of all things, and that the sages of the Prosperity Era had all said so.
That respected administrator had never bothered explaining anything to slave owners who had lost their slaves, nor to slaves who still longed for their masters.
When the sun rose, the cold night would naturally retreat. If once was not enough, then they would let it rise several more times. Even within ashes, a faint glimmer of hope could always emerge.
After a pause, he continued.
“... To demonstrate support for the new administration’s infrastructure projects, and also to support the ongoing development projects in French Fry Harbor, the Baiyue Strait Development Company has decided to take the lead by investing at least 20,000,000 silver. We will import one steel production line and one cement production line from the New Alliance respectively, establishing a steel plant in Port Gallon with an annual output of 500,000 tons, as well as a cement plant capable of producing 1,000,000 tons annually.”
“We sincerely hope that the lives of the local survivors will return to normal as soon as possible. At the same time, we also look forward to a future in which Port Gallon plays a more important role upon the wasteland... and a role with positive significance!”
Looking at the guests listening in rapt attention, Ample Time’s expression softened into a smile as he continued casually, “That’s all! I’m talking myself dry, and you’re all probably tired too... Enjoy the banquet, friends from afar!”
“Oh, and one more thing. The wine served tonight comes from Governor Nihark’s personal collection that he was safeguarding on behalf of the emperor of the Xilande Empire. Though at the moment he himself is still sitting in prison praying for his emperor to rescue him. But honestly, compared to those mind-numbing drinks, I recommend the food carts more. They’re not exactly rare delicacies, just ordinary dishes commonly found back in our homeland...”
As his voice fell, attendants pushing food carts began appearing from both sides of the banquet hall, lifting the silver covers one after another.
Golden roast duck with crispy skin.
Braised pork coated in deep red sauce.
Mapo tofu sprinkled with Sichuan peppercorn and chopped scallions.
Sizzling grilled shrimp, roasted meat, charcoal-grilled scallops and oysters.
Alongside them were all kinds of fruits, steamed dishes, and pastries.
For players, those foods were nothing unusual. Take off their helmet and stroll downstairs in real life, and they could probably find similar dishes nearby. But for the survivors of the wasteland, especially those from the uncivilized land, the sight utterly shattered their view of the world.
What astonished them was not merely the food itself. Judging from the ingredients, most were common and ordinary. Yet the methods used to prepare them were entirely beyond anything they had ever heard of.
Dish after dazzling dish appeared before everyone’s eyes, irresistible aromas drifting through the banquet hall.
It was not only technology. Even the tiny shred of pride they retained as descendants of the “land of spices” had been utterly crushed before the immeasurably deep culinary culture.
Mandar swallowed hard. Compared to what they were seeing, what Prince Dilip had been eating was basically pig feed!
The same was true for the heavily drunk Laxi. Upon seeing the dazzling spread of food, he rubbed his reddened nose as though he was smelling the heavens itself, sobering up considerably.
Compared to the merchants from Silvermoon Bay, the ones truly shaken were clearly the old local nobles and wealthy magnates. One banquet alone was not enough to completely change their opinions of the New Alliance. After all, none of them went hungry in normal days.
Yet the endless rows of food carts still made them unconsciously begin doubting the sense of superiority they had carried for decades.
These were merely ordinary things in Dawn City? Even common people could enjoy them?!
Confusion spread across face after face. Some even began doubting themselves.
If that was the New Alliance, what exactly were they?! Were they beggars?
Once upon a time, they could still comfort themselves by saying that although the New Alliance possessed military might, they lacked material wealth and did not have servants attending to them in droves, thus knowing nothing of true luxury. But now they realized that compared to the New Alliance’s administrator, they were living worse lives than even the New Alliance’s most ordinary survivors...
“What bullshit, saying ordinary people can afford this. If you’ve got the guts, stop buying cattle from the Poro Province then! Let’s see if you damn mole-rats don’t starve to death... And absolutely no buying from Sunset Province either!” A wealthy cattle-tribe merchant muttered the curse under his breath so only he could hear it. Yet his mung-bean-sized eyes could not stop glancing toward the food carts, desperate to figure out what kind of meat that strange round things were made from.
Aside from the distinguished guests from Silvermoon Bay and the newly risen elites of Port Gallon already crowding around the carts, almost none of the nobles moved their “noble” legs.
It was not that they were not curious about the taste of those colorful-looking dishes. They were simply waiting for servants to bring the plates to them.
Only after realizing they actually needed to fetch the food themselves, and only after several people could no longer endure the soul-hooking aromas, did some of them reluctantly lower themselves to walk forward and pick up plates from the long tables draped in spotless white cloth.
A count worth over 100,000,000 Xilande Coins suspiciously used a fork to awkwardly push a piece of soft, sauce-drenched braised pork into a spoon before slowly placing it into his mouth.
The shock that filled his eyes in that instant resembled the awe of gazing upon the Emperor’s palace itself. Or the wonder the survivors of Clearspring City had once felt upon first seeing the colossal Pioneer from Ideal City.
Rich yet not greasy, melting instantly in his mouth.
It was soft, sticky, fragrant, and sweet...
What kind of meat is this?!