Empire of Shadows

"Who is that?"

In another corner, seven or eight young men surrounded a young man in his early twenties wearing a duckbill cap.

It was vaguely visible that this young man with the duckbill cap was the center of their small circle.

A younger one said, "I heard his name is Lance, an illegal immigrant from Balman State."

"He mentioned he made two hundred dollars from a job he completed, and that's why that annoying Rob was arguing with him."

Balman State isn't a developed area in the Empire, relying on agriculture as its economic backbone. Though there are developed cities, it still lags behind bustling areas like Imperial City.

Here, Imperial people who have permanent residency and citizenship mostly come from developed areas in Imperial City and only these people easily obtain permanent residency cards and citizenship.

So when they talked about Lance's hometown, the youngest among them was somewhat dismissive.

"No matter where he's from, as long as he and Rob don't get along, we can be friends."

"As for the job that pays two hundred dollars, we can ask him about it."

"And get to know him in the process."

Rob isn't very popular around here; he inherited Mr. Burton's mercantilism and snobbery without being able to hide these qualities well.

To those poor folks he looks down upon, he often makes snide remarks or mocks them, giving off a sense of superiority.

And to those from wealthy, socially established families, he acts like a fawning dog, wagging his tail and speaking sweet words.

The more he behaves this way, the less people like him, whether it's those he despises or those he tries to ingratiate himself with.

Of course, although people don't like him, they don't exactly hate him either, which is why he's still able to show up here.

As this group approached Lance, they heard him speaking, "I currently have a job on hand that needs someone to do it, and I'm not keen on giving this opportunity to others, so I thought of our own people first."

The young man with the duckbill cap interrupted, "May I ask what exactly it involves?"

"And how much would you pay us for this job?"

Lance turned to look at him, a clean-looking fellow, probably about five feet eight or five feet ten tall—a fairly tall stature for this era.

His build seemed lean, dressed in a white shirt, dark trousers, suspenders, some old but brightly polished leather shoes, and a gray duckbill cap.

Lance often wondered why it was a habit to wear caps on such hot days and it wasn't just him, many adults on the road wore caps—weren't they hot?

Facing Lance's gaze, the duckbill cap owner stretched out his hand, "Enio, from Duokanis."

Lance shook his hand, smiling, "Lance, from Balman State."

The two quickly let go of each other's hands, and Enio asked, "I heard earlier that you have a good job you could introduce us to?"

"That's right."

"May I ask what it involves, and how much the pay is?"

The young people around were actually all eager to know this; otherwise, they wouldn't have gathered around.

Though most here had attained permanent residency and citizenship, it didn't mean they were necessarily wealthy or middle class.

People like Mr. Burton, living in cramped apartments in slums, represented the mainstream among these immigrants.

Becoming a banker like Mr. Qiao Bafu was an extreme rarity, maybe just two or three among over thirty thousand immigrants.

Most people still yearned to earn more money.

"I don't know if you know the nature of my work, but it's the sort where I solve problems for others, and then they pay me."

"I can assure you, it's absolutely legal, though there might be a slight inconvenience."

"This job only requires one day, from ten in the morning to about eight in the evening, no physical labor, sitting in one place without leaving."

"I can offer you..."

He could clearly feel everyone around holding their breath as he stretched out a hand and spread his fingers, "Five dollars!"

Some emitted a stifled exclamation; earning five dollars a day meant one could make a hundred and fifty dollars a month?

Even Enio's breathing became a bit hurried; he needed money, and there weren't many here who didn't.

"How many days can this job last, and how is the payment handled?"

Looking at the crowd gathering around him, Lance patiently explained, "This is just a temporary job, lasting only one day, but there might be other opportunities for you in the future."

"You will be paid immediately after the work is done, no delays."

"As I said, I could give the money to anyone, why not give it to my fellow countrymen?" He glanced at the ladies nearby and added with a smile, "And sisters."

The girls giggled, finding Lance to be a very interesting person. It was rare for someone to speak this way and be so cheerful and outgoing.

Enio continued, "What exactly is the job about?"

"Enjoying food…"

Initially, Lance considered finding some homeless people, but he quickly realized that homeless people couldn't enter restaurants since the manager at the door would stop them.

If homeless people couldn't get in, then hiring them was pointless.

Providing them with clothes that would allow them entrance to the restaurant would not only increase the costs but would also fail to annoy Mr. Anderson, so it was better just to hire ordinary people.

It was better to delegate this task to the second-generation immigrants.

They had legal status and what they were asked to do wasn't illegal; at worst, they'd get a scolding but nothing too serious.

It also helped establish his image as a capable man within the immigrant community, which was killing multiple birds with one stone.

Soon enough, there were plenty of young people who wanted to join this event, not just for the money but also because they were interested in Lance's plans.

The next morning, Mr. Anderson was very pleased with the ingredients prepared.

This was the essence of recruiting apprentices—

Pay the least amount of money for the most work.

He wasn't like the fat boss Johnny who not only didn't pay his apprentices but also made them pay him.

Mr. Anderson would pay each apprentice fifteen dollars, but they practically lived at the restaurant with no days off.

Their work started at 6 AM and ended at 10 PM, working almost all the time, unless there were no customers in the restaurant.

Despite the tough conditions, people still desperately wanted to be apprentices because Mr. Anderson himself had gone from an apprentice to a restaurant owner.

These apprentices and their families believed that they could truly learn the skills here and become business people, middle class, just like Mr. Anderson.

After checking all the ingredients, it was almost 10 AM. Weekend lunchtimes were a bit later, around noon, but lasted until around 2 to 3 PM.

Then, without much rest, preparation for the evening's peak began at 5 PM; weekends were always the most profitable times for the restaurant, just like yesterday.

Today he planned to make even more money to prepare for expanding his business.

At 10 o'clock sharp, he heard the manager greeting customers upfront. Although Mr. Anderson felt it was a bit early, who cared if the timing was early as long as the customers were dining?

As long as they paid, he would provide them with what they wanted.

Soon the waiter came with the menu to take orders, and the cooks were ready for a busy time; however, upon looking at the menu, the total was just one yuan and ninety-nine cents.

A ninety-nine-cent bread basket, one yuan worth of mixed salad.

The former was served in a handwoven basket since you could get full with fifteen-cent bread in a bakery; even with a restaurant markup, it wouldn't be excessive.

Ninety-nine cents got you a pound of bread, enough to satisfy two to three people.

Mixed salad was one of the restaurant's bestsellers, consisting of crispy vegetables mixed with just-cooked, slightly chewy boneless meat.

It was a sweet and sour appetizer, very palatable, but not many people ordered it alone.

Anderson inquired about it and found out there was only one customer, and indeed, that was enough food for one person.

He had seen such types looking to experience the atmosphere of a high-end restaurant while being tight on budget, and he didn't comment much, just instructed to maintain the quality of the dishes.

Because the customer spent little and was alone, he shouldn't neglect the guest.

Mr. Anderson had woken up very early in the morning and, after a busy peak period, now felt sleepy.

He nodded at the manager and went to rest in the lounge.

He dozed off, not knowing how long he had slept when he was suddenly awoken by loud knocking. Startled, he sat up, dazed for a moment before going to open the door.

"Are there too many customers to handle?" he asked, grabbing his apron from the wall to put it on, "I'm on my way to help."

But the manager was frantic, "There's been an incident at the front!"