Empire of Shadows

Chapter 11: A Big Shot’s Joke Might Not Just Be a Joke
“Mr. President, over ten groups have decided to march in Jingang City to protest the influx of immigrants, saying they bring criminals and crime to the Federation.”
“Senator Xilan made a public statement this morning, expressing support for your opponent. He believes that stricter immigration control, especially for illegal immigrants, would significantly improve the people's well-being.”
“Also… Mr. So-and-so and Mr. So-and-so both wish for a return call from you.”
The President raised his hand to stop his aide from speaking further. The matters of these two gentlemen clearly took precedence over everything else. Both were key financial backers for his campaign, and before winning the election, the President had promised them a steady flow of cheap labor for the workforce.
In fact, they weren’t the only supporters given such assurances; many campaign backers had received similar promises. The Federation's economy was advancing rapidly. As technology improved, the costs of raw materials and semi-finished goods had decreased, but labor costs continued to rise year by year. Four years ago, they only needed to pay twenty-eight dollars to hire a willing worker. Now, at least thirty-five dollars was needed just to hire someone lazy enough to cut corners. To get a diligent worker? Not under forty dollars.
By next year, wages would likely start at forty dollars for most roles, with some positions requiring even more. For large factories with thousands, even tens of thousands of employees, saving just three dollars per worker could amount to tens of thousands saved each month, hundreds of thousands in a year.
The President’s push for the legalization of illegal immigrants was rooted in this need—he had to honor his promises to deliver a cheap workforce for society. There was no way he could ask citizens to give up high wages and work physically demanding jobs for less than the societal wage standard. Thus, the only choice was to turn to these undocumented workers.
After contemplating for a while, he adjusted his thoughts and dialed a number. Following brief pleasantries, he promised the corporate president on the other end that he would swiftly address these issues. He also hinted that if he succeeded, he expected full support in his re-election bid in return.
“I’ve spoken with several gentlemen, and right now, gaining their support is our top priority,” he stated. “I don’t want to sound discouraging, but our campaign position is somewhat challenging. If our supporters continue to pull away, the chance of re-election will be very slim.”
“You all must find a way to tackle this problem—we’re running out of time…”
The Presidential Office remained as busy as ever, with everyone appearing to have endless tasks at hand. The aides discussed solutions, though few viable ideas emerged.
“Mr. President, I believe the priority is to contain the incident in Jingang City. Eleven law enforcement officers were killed, and the social impact of this result is tremendous.”
“Our opponents are already using this news to gain momentum. We either need to stop them or be even more aggressive ourselves.”
“But…”
The aide didn’t continue. While it seemed like the President had two options, in reality, no choices remained. After a moment’s consideration, the President said, “Let’s figure out how to resolve this issue. Stop drawing people’s attention to these conflicts—cover some positive news. People need uplifting stories.”
“As for that news, find a way to downplay it…”
Just as the President contemplated how to dilute the impact of this incident, his opponents were trying to stir up even more trouble for him. Their aim was simple and harmless: to ensure he lost the election. They weren’t concerned with what might happen along the way or what societal changes might result. Even if the house burned down, it didn’t matter. If they could become the house’s new owners, they’d rebuild it to their taste—at least with new decor.
If they didn’t own the house, why would they care?
A few days later, several sizable protest groups emerged within Jingang City, condemning the local government’s leniency towards illegal immigrants and criticizing the Federation government’s disregard for the harm caused by smuggling and illegal immigration. Indirectly, they were attacking the President’s policies and decisions. ℝＡΝòΒЁS̈
The Federation, as a free country, allowed people to speak their minds. Even if these protests seemed a bit extreme, both their actions and their words were within legal bounds. Driven by capital and political clout from campaign teams, what should have been a short-lived incident showed no signs of abating.
A parade of protesters holding placards marched past the bakery, each looking furious as they demanded all illegal immigrants be sent back to their homelands, labeling them as thieves, prostitutes, and criminals—as if every thief, prostitute, and criminal was an illegal immigrant.
If the Federation's citizens were genuinely so virtuous, this country would have fallen apart long ago.
Lance observed from behind the counter as the public sentiment in Jingang City grew more complicated. There weren’t many customers in the bakery that morning, only three or five old men. They would order a ten-cent piece of toast and a fifteen-cent coffee, which would let them sit around for most of the day.
The chubby shop owner had seemingly gotten wiser lately, rarely bothering Lance. He had hoped to pressure Lance into submission but had achieved nothing but a stomach full of frustration. Now, he watched with interest, curious to see if Lance, who owed him more and more each month, would still be able to laugh by month’s end.
Lance’s current debt to him was twelve dollars. At ten percent monthly interest, this debt would rise to fifteen dollars by the end of the month, plus a dollar-fifty in interest. It didn’t seem like much, but if Lance continued to receive no wages, he’d be working for free for the rest of his life.
“I wonder when these protests will end—it’s already affecting our lives,” one customer remarked, holding a newspaper as he chatted with his friend nearby.
This was the true nature of the Federation bakery. It wasn’t just a place to sell bread; it also had a social atmosphere, similar to a tea house or a café. Some people would buy bread and sit there, order a coffee, and chat while enjoying their snacks.
For the elderly, this slow-paced lifestyle was essential, and for some, this was the most relaxing part of their day—talking, boasting, reading the newspaper, and sharing their views.
The customer beside him sighed as well. “Who knows?”
“Maybe things will settle down before the election…”
As he spoke, a newspaper boy in worn-out shoes dashed past the bakery door, waving a paper and shouting, “The Empire has withdrawn its diplomatic envoy—major international changes are on the way!”
The people in the bakery were stunned for a moment, followed by a long silence. Without a doubt, the decision to withdraw the diplomatic envoy stemmed from the Empire’s Emperor and his “eccentric” ideas. By this point, many people at the grassroots level were beginning to realize that the so-called declaration of war might not just be the Emperor’s “joke.”
Rationally, most people didn’t believe this war would happen, but the looming threat still left them feeling suffocated. The customers who had been happily chatting left money on the tables and got up to leave.
The chubby shop owner, coming back to his senses, looked at Lance with a complex expression. “Do you think there’ll be a war?”
This was perhaps the first time in a while he had spoken to Lance without intending to get him to do more work. As Lance wiped the glass, making it spotless, he answered, “No… unless the President…”
He abruptly stopped talking. He realized that if the President were to fall behind in the election, starting a war might actually be to his advantage. It wouldn’t be the Emperor’s last-ditch, ridiculous maneuver, but a shrewd political move with no cost.
If it failed, he’d just be ridiculed—he was already ousted by the Rebel Army and had endured worse. Declaring war on the Federation would only be the second most laughable thing he’d done.
But if it succeeded, he could reclaim everything he’d lost.
And it wasn’t a random gamble; there was a significant chance of success. According to the Federation’s constitution, elections do not take place during wartime, allowing the President to automatically stay in office until the war ends. He wouldn’t even need to maintain the war for very long; three months would be enough to secure his re-election.
Lance’s sudden silence conveyed an ominous tension, and the shop owner, feeling the weight of it, wiped his hands. “I’m going out for a bit. Watch the shop.”
He returned to his room with a grave expression and changed his clothes. If a war were indeed likely, he needed to stock up on flour and supplies. Whether he used it to make bread for sale or sold the raw materials, he’d make a fortune.
The apprentice leaned against the doorframe, gazing outside with a dazed expression, as if his blank stare mirrored the increasingly overcast sky, with no trace of insight breaking through.