Empire of Shadows

Golden Port City is also known as Angel City.

The third largest port in the world and the busiest in the northern hemisphere, this city held many laudable titles!

It was like a gospel bestowed upon humanity by God, basking in God's glory, where everything seemed perfect…

Bullshit!

The Federation people liked to call it Angel City, but to others, it wasn't much different from Hell.

Like Lance, for instance, who thought exactly that at this moment.

Angel City was far too dangerous.

Almost every day, there were several shootings, sometimes even a dozen.

When gang violence erupted, the deceased often had to be hauled away in trucks.

While the local economy skyrocketed, it also brought an influx of criminals and crime syndicates, all overseen by city officials corrupted by capital and dirty money.

They only cared about how much money they could add to their accounts each month, not whether the lower strata of society might starve or encounter trouble.

People only ever needed the economic miracles it ceaselessly created; few cared about the struggles for survival behind the glamorous facade of the city.

They didn't want to know, nor did they allow others to know.

After all, this was Angel City, the engine of the Federation's economy!

Lance gazed at the girls on the street, somewhat dazed, as if a warm wind from the last century blew right into their hearts, placing an old, natural filter over the entire world.

It seemed as though the entire world turned sepia, with occasional spots from overexposure.

The slightly off sound emerging from the phonograph's speakers added another layer of flavor to this retro world.

The summer light warmed the city and the hearts of the girls.

Two young women, clad in sleeveless tops and short skirts with small round hats, passed by a bakery, their lively and joyful smiles suddenly brightening up this old-photo-like city.

With a "smack," Lance was jolted from his daydream by the bakery owner glaring fiercely at him from behind.

"I hired you to work, not to lean on the counter ogling the girls!"

His hand slapped with a resounding smack, "Get moving, get moving, you lazy bastard crawling with maggots, don't you fucking let me catch you slacking off again, I'm paying you!"

Lance scratched his head and picked up a cloth to start wiping the display window.

Business today was mediocre. A bakery like this, not situated in a bustling street or city center, was like a steamed bun shop outside the residential blocks of another world.

Their business primarily came from local residents, mainly busy before nine-thirty in the morning and after work in the afternoon.

Other times were generally quiet.

The bakery owner had all the traits of a novice capitalist, oppressing himself while exploiting his workers and trying to control them as well.

Besides Lance, there was also an apprentice in the bakery, who earned not a single penny each month and had to pay the owner ten dollars in apprenticeship fees.

He had been here for over half a year and so far, he could only knead dough and nothing else.

The bakery owner was very fat, weighing around 230 to 240 pounds, and possessed exceedingly adept baking skills.

The residents around were his loyal customers; the main product here, whole wheat bread, provided a strong sense of satiety and was not likely to make one feel hungry soon.

Lance had secretly watched; the bastard even added some bran to make the bread drier, harder, denser, and more popular among the poor.

Since it filled the stomach better and staved off hunger longer.

The poor didn't care what they stuffed into their stomachs, they just cared how filling it was.

He disliked the owner deeply because he was harsh, and miserly.

Lance's monthly salary was fifteen dollars, while the average wage in Angel City was about sixty dollars, reputedly necessitating a new academic discipline called "statistics" at universities.

In reality, most workers earned between forty-five and fifty dollars a month.

Lance's salary was merely a third of the typical wage, and he wasn't willing to settle for such paltry pay for endless work.

But he had no choice; he was undocumented.

He had bizarrely ended up on a ship which then docked here.

According to others on the ship, they had all paid a substantial sum to smuggle themselves into the Federation.

The rapidly advancing Federation economy was short of labor, and even in an era advocating mechanization, you could still see humans and livestock working together in many factories.

Sometimes, it wasn't so clear who was human and who was livestock.

The gap between humans and livestock wasn't as large as one might imagine.

With the economy booming, there was always a significant labor shortage, and Mr. President was pushing the "Irregular Immigration Legalization Bill."

To put it bluntly, it was about granting undocumented immigrants who had smuggled into the city a legal citizenship status, even one with voting rights.

This move had garnered the support of many undocumented immigrants without legal statuses, and it had made the employment of illegal workers even more common. Everyone seemed to have realized something but just didn't say it out loud.

Because he didn't have a legal status, he could only work here, earning much less than half of what others did.

This situation was common in Golden Port City. Everyone liked to hire undocumented workers—if you were obedient, these budding new capitalists would cut your salary by two dollars next month.

If you were disobedient, they would turn around and call the police, claiming they were harassed by you.

This tactic was particularly effective against undocumented workers.

A fellow villager who had come with Lance was now getting free lunches.

All afternoon, he was busy running around in the bakery.

The aroma of baked bread grew as time passed, stirring his hunger, yet now was not the time.

Only after work could he have a chance to eat the unsold bread.

The bakery owner's cheap bread couldn't survive overnight; it would harden like bricks. Although it was still edible after reheating, it couldn't compare to fresh bread, so it became their food.

From just after six o'clock, the bakery became busier, with the chubby owner handling the cash register at the front, and his daughter packing bread for customers.

Apprentices couldn't rest for even a moment, constantly placing ready bread dough into the ovens, then going back to kneading dough.

Lance, on the other hand, handled various miscellaneous tasks.

The owner's daughter wasn't very pretty, but she was voluptuous and appealing.

An appealing… stale smell—if it weren't for her overpoweringly strong scent, Lance might have gritted his teeth and become family with the bakery owner.

But the scent was too overwhelming; he simply couldn't stand it.

After 8:30 PM, the busy work finally ended, and Lance, tired, began cleaning the bakery. He wasn't allowed to casually enter the kitchen, so his main workplace was the front hall.

The chubby owner sat at the dining table counting today's earnings, unable to suppress the smile on his face.

It was hard to imagine such a sharp and harsh person displaying such a soft and gentle smile—it must be the mighty power of money.

After Lance finished cleaning the last spot and arranged all the tools neatly, making sure nothing was omitted, he walked over to the chubby owner.

The feeling of someone approaching made the owner lift his head and eye Lance cautiously, "What are you doing?"

Lance forced a smile, "It's been a month, boss. My salary..."

The previously cautious chubby owner suddenly looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, "Salary?"

"What salary?"

"Did the heavy rain days ago make you so sick you're delirious?"

"Are you talking nonsense without a fever?"

"What salary could you possibly have?"

Looking at the chubby owner who seemed like he was being poked in the butt and jumping around, Lance was also a bit puzzled, "We agreed before, fifteen dollars a month."

The chubby owner stared at Lance, "Yes, that's right, but have you thought about it? Every day you live here, eat my bread, have you calculated how much money you've spent this month?"

He sat back down, flipping a page in his notebook, "The cheapest inn nearby charges twenty-five cents a day, I'll charge you twenty cents since you're staying in the shop."

"That makes thirty-one days a month..."

"It's February now, boss."

"Shut up, let me speak!"

"Thirty-one days, twenty cents a day is..."

Lance looked at the owner who had gone blank and gently reminded him, "Six dollars and two cents, boss."

The chubby owner nodded, "You're right, six dollars and five cents, then you eat a portion of my bread every morning and every evening."

"You know I sell each portion for fifteen cents, that's...", he looked at Lance, waiting for him to provide the correct answer.

Lance didn't let him down, "Nine dollars and three cents, boss."

The chubby owner added another number in his notebook, "Yes, nine dollars and five cents, plus your lodging cost, six dollars and five cents, you spend every month... eighteen dollars."

"But your salary is only fifteen, kid, so I ask you, what right do you have to ask me for a salary?"

"You owe me three dollars now, to be deducted from next month's salary, if you have one."

Lance felt somewhat incredulous, as such things only happened in "storybooks" and "history," and even after a month, he hadn't felt much actual "involvement."

To him, he was like a passerby in the long river of history, who might marvel at this world, but wouldn't become too attached to it.

Until this moment—

"You... are you sure you're not joking?", he asked.