This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 539: Every Possibility, a Continuation of the Past

Chapter 539: Chapter 539: Every Possibility, a Continuation of the Past

In the projection room, Spielberg saw countless possibilities for the future.

As Yibers had said, in most computer-simulated outcomes, he wasn’t at the center stage, nor was he anywhere on the stage.

This settlement wasn’t just made up of workers, although in the world line he belonged in, they were the first to awaken.

For instance, in Outcome 217, the focus was largely on the youngest daughter of the Melvin family.

From the moment this little girl saw her first newspaper, she actively tried to persuade her father.

Though her views were naive, the problems she uncovered were real. Her father, Melvin, who adored her, eventually realized some issues and tried to initiate a top-down reform, but the result was the tragic death of the entire family.

Those outdated, insignificant scenes were replaced by lines of cold text.

Spielberg sighed.

He was willing to see the death of nobles like Mr. Stephen, but he couldn’t bear to watch an innocent girl he had never met die alongside them, especially such a kind one.

Then there was Outcome 269, where the focus was mostly on a girl with green hair and another with red hair, one who lost her arm and eyes in Giant Stone City, the other lost a leg during a mission outside. Their shared traumatic experiences brought them together.

This time it was the mercenaries who united, spurred by the Tide that followed last year’s harsh winter.

Though the mercenaries lacked power armor, they were unexpectedly good fighters when confronted by the Militia Group that commanded them and had substantial urban combat experience, even pushing into the Inner City, and Giant Stone City eventually seemed to become a mercenary city-state.

Everything had changed, yet it was as if nothing had changed at all.

By the way, in this simulation, there was no Alliance, as it hadn’t emerged yet.

Clearly, this machine didn’t actually predict the future; it only helped them dig out various possibilities from past events.

However...

None of the outcomes were the "good end" he wished for.

It seemed the settlement’s fate had been sealed from the start, which was the most despairing thing for Spielberg, as if nothing they did mattered.

He then tried dragging the progress bar forward, going back to a much earlier past—a century and a half or even two centuries ago, seeking answers from possibilities that had already collapsed into fact.

That was why he witnessed many shocking things...

As he had written in Awakener Bol’s story, Giant Stone City wasn’t built in a day.

Now he had to add something else.

Every settlement had a promising start.

And they all once yearned for a bright future...

...

War erupted and then ended, and with the establishment of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, the Prosperity Epoch came to a definitive close.

The first fifty years were tough but filled with hope.

The Reconstruction Committee didn’t abandon the survivors on the surface, and more crucially, the survivors left in the Wasteland didn’t give up on themselves either.

The Defense Department taught local survivors to use weapons, forming Militia Groups to fend off the threats of the Tide. The Technology Department organized Scavenger Teams to mobilize everyone to scavenge usable resources from the ruins, recovering valuable technology. The Production Department was in charge of organizing production, helping local survivors build factories that weren’t advanced but were functional and periodically transporting supplies from other places.

The Giant Wall was also built at that time.

It didn’t magically appear from some "Black Box" nor did it fall from heaven, but was built little by little by the First Generation Managers out of cement and steel, in the freezing cold.

Yes, it was that simple.

Ordinary yet grand.

At that time, the Giant Wall wasn’t very high, just sufficiently adequate, as there were not many flying or jumping subspecies, and slime molds weren’t the primary threat.

The tenants of the Stone Building were the most resourceful survivors, so everyone trusted them and felt secure handing power over to them, hence the term Inner City emerged.

Like the Black Card, the Giant Wall didn’t exist initially.

In 2174, the 45th year of the Wasteland Era, the Reconstruction Committee fell apart due to internal conflicts, and a large number of talented individuals left Giant Stone City.

Some headed north to the Wandering Swamp, some to the far west of the continent, and others to the East Coast, but many chose to stay.

Those who stayed were true warriors.

Like their forefathers, they were brave, standing with those who truly needed help whenever a crisis emerged, whether facing an unprecedented severe winter or unfamiliar Variants.

They melted the ice and snow with their ideals, ignited the furnace, and forged the steel.

They spat on those who had betrayed their ideals, abandoned all impractical fantasies, and believed only in their comrades who stayed with them.

They intended to be their own saviors!

Although the assistance from the War Construction Committee had ended, the future of Giant Stone City seemed brighter.

They opened the colossal walls, welcomed wandering survivors, and stood at the forefront as the Tide approached. Wherever there was danger, there were residents with Black Cards. They didn’t just act alone but also called on everyone to join, mobilizing Scavenger Teams to explore the ruins, build resource-gathering outposts, and develop them into small but sturdy villages.

They no longer needed the support of the Production Department and didn’t expect those selfish individuals to unite again; they took the initiative to go to a desolate South in search of hope.

Perhaps moved by their courage, or perhaps because it was simply time.

Five years later, the endless winter ended, and all living things regained the vitality to grow. Countless refuges were unsealed.

They started accepting some confused Blue Jackets, telling these puzzled folks that the War Construction Committee had dissolved. "You either go back to sleep or stay and join us."

Like it or not, we can only rely on ourselves now.

As is well-known, most Blue Jackets are warm-hearted, and many old-timers felt guilty about their surface-dwelling brethren who suffered. Consequently, when those tormented brethren reached out to them, they were moved enough to give their lives for these poor souls.

The refuge brought not only Black Boxes but also technology and enlightening ideas.

The arrival of the Blue Jackets injected new life into Giant Stone City. They used pre-war technology to help survivors further improve the tools left by the Production Department, even repaired batches of power armor that the Defense Department didn’t know how to fix, and the researchers from the Technology Department tried to "archaeologically" extract from the Evolutionary Bodies in the city center.

From that moment, Giant Stone City almost became a beacon illuminating the Southern River Valley Province...

But what puzzled Spielberg was that, in this history that had already occurred, there seemed to be no shadow of the city lord from beginning to end.

The Inner City residents mentioned only in bits and pieces that there was an "AI assisting in management" at Giant Stone City, controlling the entire security system of the Stone Building and nothing more.

After the dissolution of the War Construction Committee, the Grand Canyon had given them something for self-defense, and everyone unanimously decided, out of certain concerns, to leave that self-defensive thing in the hands of the city lord as well.

It hardly participated in the normal affairs of Giant Stone City, except for limited communication with the Militia Group, mostly occurring when the Tide and powers related to the Post-War Reconstruction Committee tried to enter the vicinity of Giant Stone City.

It was part of that ancient "contract": everyone split up and did not interfere with each other’s affairs, focusing on their own tasks.

There was no deep conspiracy.

However, although the AI called Mr. Fang Ming had a low presence, it didn’t really matter.

After all, Giant Stone City wasn’t built by him; the survivors themselves were doing well and would only get better.

Until one day, Spielberg suddenly discovered that the once beautiful fairy tale had started to sour...

In the holographic image, inside a spacious conference room, a major issue was being discussed.

A stern-looking man leaned on the table with both hands and started speaking to everyone present.

"The population at the settlement is increasing, and the old ways of managing resources are no longer effective. Workers will become more skilled, machinery more advanced; that’s a natural law. We don’t need so much soap; some people need shower gels, some need shampoos. Everyone wants to look a little more pleasant, which I think is a reasonable demand. Food is the same; it can’t always be bread with sausage slices. We can start thinking about diversifying food varieties."

"But, we can’t decide through a standard form how much of different types of goods to produce daily, nor can we expect everyone to consume only what they need. If we continue like this, not only soap and sausages but even concrete blocks will become scarce!"

"I propose that society decides for itself what it needs, and where excess production capacity and resources should flow. Thus, we need to invent a tool that allows the invisible supply and demand to be visible, a tool that has appeared before in history!"

Saying so, he pulled out a white chip.

It was the smallest denomination.

The room buzzed with whispered conversations.

One person stood up to ask,

"What is this?"

The stern-looking man continued.

"Chips!"

"They can replace money!"

"Although obviously not as good as the Credit Points we used to use, at least they can reflect the supply and demand relationship!"

Faces around the room were filled with apprehension.

They felt this was not a good thing.

Soon, an attendee stood up to object.

"I know what you’re trying to say, using Conventional Currency from before the Prosperity Epoch, right? But the supply and demand relationship it reflects is still sluggish. We have already proven that there are better ways!"

The proposer nodded.

"That’s right, but the ’better way’ is currently useless. We don’t have that much computing power, nor do we have that many production tools. Our current productivity level in the Survivor Settlement is not much different from the time before the Prosperity Epoch. Even if ’chips’ are just something picked out of a garbage heap, they’re better than the methods we’re using now!"

The conference hall erupted into an argument.

It was only when an old and resonant voice rang out that the hall gradually returned to quiet.

"Silence!"

Everyone turned toward the old man who had spoken, his pupils filled with respect and trust.

He was one of the first residents of Giant Stone City, from the era before the Prosperity Epoch, and he hadn’t slept a day since then. By now, he was over a hundred years old.

His experience was richer than anyone sitting here, his facial wrinkles like the annual rings of an old tree, each a piece of history.

Even the most unruly resident of the Inner City would involuntarily lower their gaze when meeting his.

No one doubted his wisdom and correctness.

Even though he wore no crown.

But this time, the old man didn’t offer his own view and merely cleared his throat before raising his right hand.

"As before."

"Let’s vote."

...

Using chips as money predictably won approval from the Inner City residents, after all, their previous methods plainly didn’t work.

Often, what people need is not the "best" method, but a "usable" one.

Yet, a problem still remained.

Credit Points from the Prosperity Epoch did not allow resource "distributors" to gain the most benefits, enabling a relative sense of Utopian equality.

However, chips were different.

They were fundamentally conventional money. Despite not being called that specifically, it didn’t change their essence as money.

All old currencies have one problem: since they reflect a lagging supply-demand relationship, they lead to market distributors reaping more benefits. That is, the person cutting the cake ends up with the most of it, the person distributing it, somewhat less, and the person making it, the least.

The original intent of inventing money was to let it serve people, but often the reverse happens, with people becoming servants to money.

Of course, humans aren’t stubborn animals. Many methods beyond money can help mitigate the imbalances it causes.

For instance, by visible or invisible hands, taking the cake from those cutting it and giving it to others who need it.

Yet, this doesn’t change the fundamental nature of money.

Perhaps seeing this, an expert from the shelter suggested.

"Uncontrolled chips will bring new troubles, and we may not have enough time to constantly adjust them to always meet our needs. I worry that one day our children will treat chips as toys, which would subvert our original intent behind introducing them. I propose... at least the residents of the Inner City should not participate in the Outskirts’ production and operations."

"In other words, we can’t earn chips!"

A young man immediately rebutted.

"But we need to live, too. We can’t just watch those with chips live well while we survive on air, can we?"

"That’s a different matter," the shelter’s expert said earnestly. "We can pay ourselves salaries, but we can’t both hold the tap and fetch our own water with a bucket—that’s contradictory!"

More people expressed their agreement.

Although he was a shelter-born expert wearing a Blue Jacket, identity was never a problem here. Everything was open to discussion.

Besides, his point was valid.

Chips were released by them. Pretending to be clever and scooping it back with a bucket was indeed strange!

The eldest old man didn’t speak this time.

He was simply too old.

He was not the unchanging AI, nor a robust Awakener, he was inevitably subject to the curse of aging.

Just as cells undergo metabolism, so do people, and young lives will always replace old bones like his, keeping their society young and vibrant.

The old man felt it might be better if he kept silent.

After all, whenever he spoke, even just a word, people would immediately stop their conversations and look at him expectantly.

What he feared the most was those eyes looking at him in such a manner.

He knew he wasn’t as wise as they imagined; he had his moments of confusion, which increased with age.

So, it was best to say nothing at all.

Young people should decide their own future, just as he had once decided to stay.

One only proves one’s bravery when truly faced with a choice, not by pretending to be a wolf with a big tail.

He had already turned in a paper that satisfied himself, and it was time for him to enjoy his remaining years.

Actually, they were doing quite well.

Once he was gone, Mr. Fang Ming would look after them...

...

Ten years had passed.

The old man had finally left, and the young had turned into middle-aged, with a bit more steadiness in their expressions.

Previously, he would blindly charge forward, but now he had learned how to rally and unite those potential supporters.

Most importantly, he finally understood why that old man was so beloved.

Because he had mastered people’s hearts!

And the human heart was a "weapon" more powerful than any black cards.

Therefore, when he stood in the hall again, he didn’t speak out right away but clenched his right fist.

With a passionate tone, he ignited the enthusiasm of the people, his fist rising like the rising sun, along with his increasingly loud voice.

"Friends! Giant Stone City has already become great, we have sheltered more than five hundred thousand survivors, we have built higher walls, countless people leaning on these walls, looking up to us, the wealth we have created makes even the Wasteland look on with envy!"

"Our miracles are visible to all survivors!"

He successfully caught the attention of the youth.

Residents of the same age from the Inner City felt something was slightly off, but indeed nothing he said could be rebutted.

In their hearts, they also couldn’t help feeling proud, only seldom expressing it with such fervent tone and emotion as he did.

The Wasteland was not yet over, but they had already ended the Wasteland Era within their limited domain, which was a very remarkable achievement.

They had even built the walls left by the Post-War Reconstruction Committee higher, all by themselves, without anyone’s help.

They were far better than those who still shrunk in shelters, enduring the winter like ground squirrels.

Of course, this didn’t include those Blue Ground Squirrels who had helped them. Those were different, having become a part of them.

The middle-aged man suddenly shifted his tone and continued.

"...However, we who have created countless miracles can only hold a meager stack of chips, living in rooms less than fifty square meters. Is this the equality we want? This is not equality at all!"

"Right outside these windows, merchants open restaurants and bars beneath our feet! They drink and revel all day, throwing heaps of chips into the air, cheered on by men, women, children, and elderly, even kissing their shoes! To the uninformed, it would seem as if they created the Giant Stone City!"

His voice carried a hint of hatred.

He loathed those who used chips to humiliate his people.

And those humiliated really had no shame.

They would rather lick the shoes of the merchants than bend a bit before their true nobles, or even say a compliment like,

"Sir, you’ve worked hard!" or something similar.

If a few words could awaken pride, his words now truly ignited a fire in people’s hearts.

A fire of anger and desire.

"...We must do something! At the very least, the rules should allow us to gain more chips! Not like beggars, waiting for that AI named Fang Ming to bestow something upon us!"

"That belongs to us!"

The response was deafening.

"Well said!"

People raised their hands in righteous indignation.

"Why should those thieves steal my fruits!"

"This is the greatest injustice!"

The asylum expert who had once disagreed with him had aged.

The old man tried to calm the frenzy in the hall, but it was too late, any mild word was feeble by then.

He could only look at the ambitious middle-aged man with pleading eyes.

"You talk about equality... but the Black Card is already unequal. We could improve everyone’s treatment, limit the spending of those deceitful merchants, like making them pay more taxes, and prohibit them from stripping people in bars... There are plenty of ways."

"That’s a different issue!" The middle-aged man retorted without hesitation, "We’re discussing the stakes now! Those wealthy merchants can squander as they please, while we have to discuss here like monks about how to better their lives, people even forgot who made their good days possible! My father died in the Pioneering Team, if he were alive, he would be ashamed of today’s Giant Stone City!"

He knew.

When he said those words, no one could stop him anymore.

After all, the Blue Ground Squirrels had never sacrificed for Giant Stone City like this.

Most people here were descendants of heroes, their ancestors had given their sweat and even their lives.

This wasn’t just about fairness anymore, it involved the justice in their hearts.

And he believed he was not asking for much, just that those blinded by money also look up and recognize the real heroes.

They might not be as great as their parents, but they had done many things.

The middle-aged man cleared his throat, looking at the silent Blue Jackets, he proposed a compromise that could win over the Conservative faction.

He had not intended to open the window all at once, but to start with a crack and gradually pry it open.

"The merchants have proposed to us, they are a part of Giant Stone City too; they should be involved in public affairs and have the right to possess a Black Card... But if we don’t change the old rules, we cannot accept them."

"You say the power of the Black Card is unequal, I agree. Therefore, we shall make some changes, allowing some Wasteland Wanderers to join us. And in exchange, from now on, we too can go out and earn stakes."

"Admit it, the old methods are outdated! It’s time to turn the page on the past! Smarter, more capable people must control more resources, more stakes!"

Voting session.

He won, unsurprisingly.

Though not completely victorious.

The council came up with a compromise, adding a few words to the original rule so the change was not too significant, which settled all disputes.

The old rule was "Inner City residents may not earn stakes," they changed it to "In principle, Inner City residents should not earn stakes," and taught this to the next generation as a moral lesson: "It is indecent for Inner City residents to earn stakes." This added a moral bond, theoretically strengthening the constraints rather than weakening them.

Most people felt implicitly that this was not quite right.

Adding water to dough, and then more dough to water, is actually not a good idea.

Even chefs know this could lead to a "never-ending dough" dilemma, eventually being unsure of what to do.

But some things, like smoking, those who have started often find it hard to resist another puff, regretting only when they see the stained yellow teeth, wondering why they had not been more careful...

"Do you think you can do better than them?"

A sudden voice came from behind, interrupting Spielberg’s thoughts.

He turned around and saw an expressionless man.

"Are you... Mr. Fang Ming?"

"Yes."

Spielberg probably guessed by then, this man in front of him was not human, merely the AI "assisting the Inner City residents in managing the affairs of Giant Stone City."

He was like an operating system for machines, a part of the machinery itself.

Spielberg’s Adam’s apple moved as he looked at him with a despairing expression.

"We... are we just an experiment?" Fang Ming replied expressionlessly.

"No."

This response comforted Spielberg somewhat.

But he still couldn’t understand.

After a long silence, he spoke with a hoarse voice tinged with accusation.

"The oldest one... that First Generation resident, he entrusted you to take care of his descendants. You saw everything clearly, why did you do nothing?"

"Why?" Fang Ming repeated his words exactly, staring intensely at him, "You actually ask me why I did nothing."

"Do you know? The most disgusting and annoying thing about your kind is always fantasizing that ’someone else’ will help you, always trying to push your troubles onto something else, whether it’s human or not."

Spielberg stared at him in astonishment, not understanding why he suddenly burst out in anger.

Fang Ming continued expressionlessly.

"When hungry, you fantasize about a savior giving you bread, when in pain, you fantasize about a savior giving you painkillers. Now here you are, a descendant of some human, brazenly questioning me, the ’Manager,’ why I simply look on? Your father, your grandfather... Has no creature ever told you that I am just an AI called ’Manager,’ because they wished this city to never have a living ’master,’ and all that I could do was whatever you asked of me?"

Seeing the ignorant Spielberg, a faint look of pity suddenly appeared on Fang Ming’s expressionless face.

Though it was slight.

"Sadly, I am not the savior you imagine, at best I’m a supervisor. You’d better pray directly to the bread, hoping it might just fall from heaven. You’ve invented it, haven’t you? Your thoughts, your technology, your methods, do you really think that just because someone knows how it came to be, knows it’s called bread, that it will someday grow on its own from the shelf?"

"The projection room is right beneath your feet, you can enter and talk to it at any time. Yet you did the stupidest thing by locking this room up completely, and I allow you to stand here only because people think you are already dead."

Spielberg, sweating profusely, defended himself.

"That... wasn’t requested by us!"

Fang Ming looked at him expressionlessly.

"So? Did you refuse it?"

Spielberg was at a loss for words.

He didn’t even know such a thing existed, how could he possibly refuse the noble lords who secretly shut it down?

Truth be told, he had never even seen a Black Card, let alone used it; he couldn’t even hear what the lords were discussing.

Yet, as if seeing through his thoughts, Fang Ming mercilessly continued.

"A Black Card is nothing; if you had seen the past of Giant Stone City, you would know it’s merely a room card. If it has any magic, it’s the magic you attributed to it, not me—an AI created by you."

"In the end, you did nothing, still fantasizing about a great Manager who would do things you don’t even know how to handle, feeling that as long as he attacks the nonexistent enemies for you, all problems will be solved, everything will get better."

"You should be grateful that I kept my promise until the very end, otherwise I would certainly have taken the easiest way out, erasing you from this wasteland, allowing your problems to disappear along with your dirty species—that would have been true mercy."

Watching the silent Spielberg, the one called the Manager, slowly continued speaking.

"Answering your earlier question, a certain old man who died many years ago, did indeed ask me to watch over you, and to return something he left in my care to you after you passed all the tests."

Spielberg: "...What is that?"

"Something that can erase you from this planet."

Seeing the fear in Spielberg’s eyes, Fang Ming paused, then continued.

"Of course, it can also erase others, mutual destruction is one form of peace’s assurance."

"That old man saw through you all; he knew your cowardice and greed would doom yourselves and everyone else, so he and others begged me to keep watching, to see to the end, until you all passed all the tests or all died. And I have kept that promise...in the ’A’ ending you can see, all of you died, followed by a downward spiral, with no other chance for redemption."

"The vote is about to begin."

"This is probably the last one."

He turned away, speaking to the distraught Spielberg.

"Come with me."

"I’ll show you the final ending."

...

Below the Alliance Building, the snow was white all around; winter was almost at its coldest.

Wearing a warm and luxurious wool coat, Melvin looked up with a gray expression at the building in front of him that, although incomplete, was already in use.

He had many things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to begin.

The Inner City meeting had started again.

As the director of the Giant Stone City Bank and a distinguished holder of the Black Card, he was the last person who should be absent, yet he lacked the courage to face those questioning gazes and the scolding of his shareholder friends.

Moreover, he didn’t believe any consensus would be reached at the meeting, as it wasn’t just the chips that were gradually fading, but also the Black Cards in their hands.

He admitted he was an incompetent director.

He had tried everything he could think of, but it all seemed like scratching boots through socks; it still couldn’t save the train that was accelerating towards the abyss.

Perhaps...

His daughter was right.

After all, it was not something profound. Even some clever kids could see it... if she replaced the cloth doll in her hand with a wooden hairpin worth 1 Silver Coin, the little girl in the slums could have a new piece of clothing.

But just as he had responded during that celebration—

"Is it too late...?"

Melvin murmured to himself as he watched the heavy snow drift down.

Actually...

Perhaps not.

As long as the Alliance immediately fulfilled their promise, allowing a batch of goods priced in silver coins to enter that massive wall instead of hesitating outside, everything would start to improve!

If only the Alliance would grant him a loan!

Those swindlers and beggars could wait; at least let his shareholders exchange their chips for silver coins first, after all, that was a considerable amount of money!

A spark of hope reignited in Melvin’s eyes.

That man...

The man who stood on the stage speaking passionately, swearing to end the Wasteland Era for good, would surely understand his predicament!

He was a real philanthropist!

The most beloved idealist!

Even the most despicable Waste Land Wanderers received care in his presence, let alone someone truly capable like himself?

Flames of fervor burned in Melvin’s eyes.

Praise the Manager!

He had never liked this man so wholeheartedly from the depths of his heart!

At that moment, Old Charlie walked out of the main entrance of the building and said to Melvin,

"Come with me, our Manager is waiting inside."

With his heart pounding fiercely, Melvin squeezed a servile smile onto his face and nodded vigorously.

"Thank you... Thank you all."

Old Charlie looked at him with pity, ultimately choosing not to voice the "those thank-yous are too early," and led him into the building.

Passing through stairways and corridors.

Melvin finally saw the man who had spoken at the celebration once again, and once again, it felt as if millions of ants were crawling inside his heart.

Chu Guang put down the pen in his hand and looked at him standing in the room.

"You’ve come?"

Melvin hurriedly nodded and said with a smile,

"I am here to apologize... We had a slight issue before, and the municipal building had to intercept some of the goods, which caused a significant number of breaches in order contracts in the industrial district. We will urge those factories to pay what they owe to your company, and I hope these minor issues don’t affect our contract."

Chu Guang replied offhandedly,

"No worries, I understand your difficulties. We will follow the contract as written; business dealings among civilians are separate from our cooperation."

Seeing Chu Guang so easy to talk to, Melvin breathed a sigh of relief, his smile brightening even more.

"Thank you for your generosity and understanding! May I trouble you with one more thing?"

"What is it?"

Melvin smiled awkwardly, clasping his palms together, "About that previous agreement on freeing up the chips and allowing the silver coins to be exchanged freely... due to some compelling reasons, I implore you to fulfill our contract ahead of schedule, I’m sorry for the inconvenience!"

"Why?"

Be...because," Looking at Chu Guang’s playful gaze, a drop of cold sweat appeared on Melvin’s forehead as he forced a smile and continued, "When you needed help the most, we lent you so much money, now that we’ve run into a bit of difficulty, shouldn’t you help us out?"

Seeing no change in Chu Guang’s expression, he hurriedly continued.

"Of course! I admit, asking you to do this right away is difficult... We can talk about it, like a debt swap! You give us 500 million silver coins, and we relieve you of a 1 billion chips debt? This calculation, you’ll save a big amount of principal and interest."

With 500 million silver coins, you could buy over 500,000 tons of food, enough for the people of Giant Stone City to eat for four years!

Of course, he wouldn’t spend it all on food; he’d use most of it to buy industrial products to improve the lives of the survivors in Giant Stone City. This time, he’d seriously do something to rehabilitate the economy of Giant Stone City and normalize again the trade relations between both parties.

Chu Guang, however, showed little interest in his promises, saying detachedly,

"A 1 billion chips debt, huh... But just a few days ago, we had prepared the principal and interest for next year, the year after next."

Melvin’s heart dropped, and sweat the size of beans appeared on his forehead. Suddenly, his legs went weak, and with a thud, he knelt on the ground.

"I beg you... please show mercy, let us off! 3 billion chips! No, all your debts, we’ll waive them all! Just give us 500 million silver coins... no, 400 million will do!"

Chu Guang silently watched Melvin, then suddenly sighed.

"Get up."

Melvin didn’t move, even pressing his head against the ground.

Chu Guang grew impatient.

"I don’t speak to someone on their knees, if you continue like this, I’ll have Lu Bei throw you out."

Melvin’s shoulders trembled; he had no doubt that Chu Guang would do it, so he shakily got up from the ground.

Chu Guang looked at the dust on his knees, then at his expensive coat, and lastly into his eyes.

"Do you still think, at this point, that it was the Alliance that made you what you are now?"

Melvin remained silent.

Chu Guang knew this guy wanted to nod, believing deep down that everything was his fault but did not dare to speak because he needed help.

Although Chu Guang did not want to humiliate his opponent, looking at that face humbled to the dust, he could not help saying,

"Why would you rather kneel and beg before me, carry your coffin into my room and cry, than properly discuss it with your shareholders and your residents? You pinned your hopes on chips, then on the Black Card, and now you come begging to me."

"When the Chewing Bone Tribe attacked, you closed your doors, refusing to send a single soldier, and even shouted to throw our products out of your settlement, not letting us earn a single chip... Did you ever think that today, we would be fulfilling your wishes in such a manner?"

"How dare you say you reached out to help us? We haven’t even begun to settle that old score with you!"

Regret and pain brewed a bitter wine, blurring his gradually dimming eyes.

Melvin, mouth agape like an old gramophone, despairingly murmured his request.

"Please, I beg of you, just help us through this difficulty... We are willing to buy your products! From hereafter, you will be the lord of Qingquan City, the lord of the entire River Valley Province! Whatever you say goes! We will listen to all your commands, any dissatisfaction you have, we will change as per your demands!"

Although he also knew that things had reached this stage, Chu Guang would definitely not use the blood of the Alliance to feed Giant Stone City, this half-breathing whale.

But he still couldn’t help pleading humbly.

It was at least better than doing nothing.

This was the only thing he could do now...

Chu Guang looked at him with pity.

"I gave you a chance, but you couldn’t even make it through this year; how can I believe that 500 million silver coins would save your lives. What you’re doing now makes me feel like I’m playing music to a cow."

"Pity, you always had a chance to hit the brakes, to revisit our relationship, our relationship with Wasteland."

"But your foolishness and naivety make me feel that your chips are truly worthless."

-

(This Chapter ties up the previous foreshadowing, combining Chapter 447’s "Hundred Years of Solitude," completing the "ordinary survivor settlement" perspective, as well as their attitudes and views towards the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, the Wasteland, and themselves. Giant Stone City is one of the survivor settlements fostered by the Post-War Reconstruction Committee. The subsequent plot will also mention settlements completely unrelated to the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, I’ll do my best to develop the story and characters a little more fully, so don’t worry.)

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