Free Web NovelChapter 1205: Chapter 1133: Why Can’t I Be the Palak on the Rise?
Even at nine in the evening, when most city residents have already turned off their lights and gone to sleep, the area around the Holy Arrival Hall remains brightly lit.
Shattered lights sway back and forth against glass goblets and silver mirrors, reflecting vivid, mesmerizing glimmers.
Beneath the fluorescent street lamps encircling the plaza, one can always see citizens clambering onto carriages or riding away on horseback.
But mostly, they simply head to nearby cheap inns for some sleep, planning to return home in the morning.
Because the unlit areas of Joan of Arc Castle are considered curfew zones, patrolled by Night Watchers.
However, Horn knows Moroka is eager to get home, so he lends him his pass and carriage.
As for Horn himself, he simply finds a small inn to get some sleep.
Leaving Hajji Migo Restaurant, Moroka still carries a package of blueberry mung bean cakes.
This is a signature dessert from Hajji Migo Restaurant, which can last a whole day—perfect to bring back for everyone at the Arsenal Apartment to try.
"Hey, wait." Horn, his face slightly flushed from drinking, chased after him. "Moroka, do you have anyone under you who knows how to farm butterfly shrimp?"
Honestly speaking, there are many immigrants from Falan who work in aquaculture.
In this era of the empire, even in Falan, relying solely on farming is only barely enough for sustenance.
Therefore, besides farming, most farmers have one or two other skills as side jobs.
"Yes, I have seven or eight people."
"That’s great! My brother Grosien is about to try butterfly shrimp farming. I could introduce you to him."
"Ah, thank you very much."
"No trouble at all!" Horn waved his hand. "Do let me know when you’ve made up your mind."
"Definitely."
Before boarding the carriage, Moroka glanced back to see Horn still standing at the door, hands clasped together, waving towards him.
Through the carriage window, seeing Horn returning to the restaurant, Moroka felt both touched and somewhat envious of Horn.
Palakufli, once just a nameless young attendant at a sesame oil shop in Joan of Arc Castle.
During the war when the Salvation Army marched south to attack Jinhe Town, he made his fortune through Sohu Bonds.
He first contracted a fish pond and quickly teamed up with cousin Grosien to start selling and farming fresh fish.
Riding the post-war boom in meat consumption within the Holy Alliance, he soared and decisively invested in sales trade with the Holy Alliance’s first textile factory.
Now he is already a director of three trade companies and even a representative in the Advisory Council, quite famous in Joan of Arc Castle.
Even in the Holy Alliance, he is solidly in the upper-middle class.
Unlike ordinary Falan merchants, reaching this point in the Holy Alliance already makes one truly upper-middle class.
Here’s why...
Moroka sighed.
In Falan, Moroka’s predecessors from the Old Bridge have already achieved that.
Some of them have done better and have more money than Horn.
But being rich without power makes them prime targets for Falan Nobility.
If you don’t complete the exchange of power and money during the newbie protection period, finding a suitable patron, it inevitably means being swallowed up.
Solely relying on bribery won’t find a patron—you must sell your soul to them.
According to Moroka, outside Huaqiu City on Autumn Blossom Lake is a Lake Heart Island.
It’s filled with kidnapped orphans brought from various places, boys and girls, all under 12 years of age, sharing only one common trait—beauty.
Most power-money broker banquets are held on this beautiful little island.
As for who is behind this island...
Let’s put it this way, Charles VIII and Lorenzo have disliked this island for a long time.
But so far, all they have is dislike.
Every time he thinks of this, Moroka can’t help but recall the late El Empire.
An empire incredibly prosperous yet incredibly decadent.
At the end of its final light before plunging into infinite darkness.
Has Falan already reached such a state?
Sitting in the darkened carriage, moonlight illuminating his face, Moroka slightly closed his eyes and couldn’t help but wonder:
If Horn’s status were swapped to Falan, what would it be like?
Not to mention whether he could take off relying on bonds, because Falan’s bonds rarely come to fruition.
The chance of getting paid after buying bonds is only slightly better than winning the lottery in the Holy Alliance.
Even if Horn reaches his current status, his next step is bound to be networking with the nobility.
Because having wealth without power during times of advancement makes him prone to trouble from junior officials and local judges.
Thus, one must quickly buy titles, marry, endure humiliation, and spend one or two generations to integrate into Falan’s noble circle.
The money spent during this time is incredibly staggering as he needs to purchase a lot of real estate, property, and luxury goods.
Purely relying on trade and labor-earned wealth is looked down upon in the upper circles of Falan—the non-labor rentier class alone claims the title of "noble"!
Once reaching this point, only then do they finally gain the power to complete the exchange between power and money.
Many local Falan noble oligarchs rose through this trick.
The danger, luck, and internal frictions within the upper circles eliminate batch after batch of people.
This factor contributes to the increasingly slow development of industry and commerce in Falan.
The circle is big, but Falan’s elites have all focused on exploiting new forces in commerce.
In other words, constantly overdrawing the future and fishing dry the lake to exchange for current prosperity.
Moroka rubbed his knee, his gaze deep as if looking towards his homeland Falan.
Is the fast development of industry and commerce in the Holy Alliance because most of the surplus goes into growing the cake, while Falan uses most of its surplus for internal competition to redistribute more cake?
What if those emerging Workshop Masters and merchants continue using their primary surplus for development rather than bribery?
Perhaps they wouldn’t even need Horn, let alone Charles VIII, and the first Battle of Windmill Field might have already crushed Leia?
But that’s merely a beautiful illusion!
Falan nowadays can still rely on old foundation to compete with the Holy Alliance, but what about the future?
Those new industries in Falan will only become fish for the upper class to fish.
Only a one-in-ten-thousand chance allows them to cling onto a patron to make it ashore, enduring plenty of humiliation before they can become among the anglers.
Where these emerging industry leaders will go is quite self-evident.
To the upper class, Falan’s economy seems to be booming, yet inexplicably they fail to find a point of wealth growth.
But they don’t understand they’re creating this by destroying the ecosystem of industry and commerce among the lower class in Falan.
In their view, isn’t it simply because you’re not putting in effort?
If you aren’t putting in effort, there are those who do, and the Holy Alliance certainly puts in effort.
Thus, Falan’s elites and funds swiftly surge towards the Holy Alliance.
At the current rate of the Holy Alliance’s development, in a hundred years—or rather, five or six decades—they’re expected to catch up with Falan.
Moroka is a Falan native, but he both loves and hates Falan.
He loves Falan’s culture, cuisine, romance, and beautiful natural scenery, yet hates the idleness, decadence, and oppressive exploitation of the Falan people.
During the day, he must praise the merits of the Holy Alliance strongly to suppress the unease within himself.
In midnight dreams, he often felt the ache of having betrayed his homeland.
But after chatting with Horn today and hearing about his experiences, Moroka suddenly felt his heartache was somewhat absurd.
"How can the country be well-governed when mingling with those nobles?" Moroka gazed at the moonlit landscape outside the carriage window. "I think Falan is bound to be doomed sooner or later."
Think about Horn’s experience; ten years ago he was just a sesame oil attendant, ten years later now a wealthy figure.
As for Moroka, he is currently a refugee, a small industry leader—couldn’t he catch the rising wind of the Holy Alliance’s emergence?
