Chapter 177: The Astronomy Teacher Comes Through

Amid brief but enthusiastic greetings, Mr. Edwin took the seat at the head of the conference table.

It was hard to imagine that someone without an official post—merely a chief of staff labeled as a member of the Progressive Party serving other politicians—could command such presence or status.

Yet there he sat at the head, not Senator Green, not Mayor Landon of Sabin, and certainly not Lynch, but a chief of staff with no official title.

No one was surprised, because the governor placed immense trust in him. Many state policies were actually drafted by the governor’s advisory team.

Sometimes, reality isn’t as authentic as people assume. The governor’s speeches, his positions, his expressions before the public—these were often planned by others. He merely delivered them.

That’s not to say the governor did nothing; he wasn’t a puppet. But his staff was exceptionally capable and shouldered much of the burden. This gave people a reason to respect Mr. Edwin.

A man who could directly influence the governor’s stance.

“Thank you all for coming despite the terrible weather. I sincerely appreciate it,” Edwin said with a gentle smile. His tone was calm, not sharp, and he spoke slowly and clearly—each word perfectly enunciated.

Different regions have different accents, and certain words often blend together. But not in Edwin’s speech. Every word he spoke was standard enough for broadcasting.

It was hard to dislike someone like him—polite, poised, and clear.

“The problems we face today are much like the storm outside. Starting this month, local governments across the state will begin issuing food stamps, yet we still face a massive gap.”

“The state’s average unemployment rate has surpassed thirteen percent. Some cities are even worse. According to the data I’ve received…” He chuckled. “Ironically, areas less developed in industry are faring better during this economic downturn.”

This was a newly recognized phenomenon. As people crowded into cities, rural towns seemed to suffer less—especially agricultural ones.

Each household had its own land and livestock. Their lives hadn’t changed much compared to better times. Even in these worst of times, things remained the same.

Self-sufficiency had become a new theme. Some believed it could ease the burden, but such ideas were quickly and quietly suppressed before gaining traction.

“We’ve been closely watching Sabin’s secondhand goods exchange program. I must say—it’s an excellent initiative.” He pulled some documents from his briefcase, murmured a polite excuse me, and put on his glasses.

Tilting his head slightly and pulling the papers away to read more clearly, he continued, “We conducted a survey. We asked ordinary citizens who participated in the exchange what they thought. The feedback was encouraging.”

“They were able to get essential items they’d long wanted at lower prices, freeing up money for other expenses and easing their financial stress.”

Edwin removed his glasses. “Nearly everyone thought this way. Landon, you did an excellent job with this.”

The mayor nodded, showing no obvious emotion. Edwin continued, “I believe a tree doesn’t bear only one good fruit. That’s why we’re here. The governor wants you to speak freely. Perhaps salvation lies in the clash of ideas.”

The saying a tree doesn’t bear only one good fruit is a federal proverb, often used to express hope for continuous good outcomes.

The mayor didn’t respond, just stared seriously at his notebook. Lynch also remained silent—it wasn’t his turn yet.

Their silence didn’t stop others from speaking. This was a golden opportunity to make an impression on the governor, or even get their ideas adopted—establishing a connection that could change their careers.

There were plenty of capable people in this world—like the new manager under Lynch, Astor. He had both ability and character, but his situation had been poor before meeting Lynch.

Having ability is one thing. Having a stage to use it is another. Many have the former but lack the latter.

A connection to the governor meant access to that stage.

And once you had a stage, would there be any shortage of people ready to perform?

One by one, people began presenting their proposals—some practical, some not. For example, someone suggested a dual taxation system that would exempt the lower class from all taxes except insurance fees.

It might ease public frustration, but had little strategic value.

Ideas poured in—some thoughtful, others absurd. Heated debates followed. Throughout it all, Edwin remained an observer, quietly taking notes.

He didn’t favor any one side, only posing occasional questions.

The butler came in twice to open the windows and clear the smoke. Time slipped by—nearing eleven o’clock.

Yet the people in the room were still energized. No one felt tired. No one noticed how late it had gotten.

After one discussion wrapped up, Edwin lightly cleared his throat. The room fell instantly silent.

He looked at the mayor. “You’ve listened for quite a while. Any good ideas?”

The mayor shook his head—not out of spite, but because he’d already heard these ideas. If any were useful, he would’ve acted on them already.

Edwin wasn’t surprised. He, too, thought most of these suggestions were nonsense, but didn’t let it show. He turned to Lynch, seated next to the mayor.

“Mr. Lynch, I noticed you haven’t spoken since the start of this meeting. Do you already have some well-formed ideas?” His question shifted every gaze in the room onto Lynch.

Under the weight of their stares—some unfriendly—Lynch remained unmoved. If looks could unsettle him, he wouldn’t be where he was now.

He gave a slight smile. “Of course, Mr. Edwin. In fact, I’ve previously discussed some ideas with the mayor on how we might address our current predicament.”

He glanced at the mayor, who met his eyes. After a brief moment, Lynch looked away. “The mayor thought some of my ideas were underdeveloped, but since you’ve asked—perhaps this is a good opportunity to refine them together.”

The hostility in the room softened. The shadows vanished, replaced by mild expressions.

Edwin watched Lynch with interest. When he first learned that the mayor’s policies came from a nearly twenty-one-year-old, his reaction was like everyone else’s.

He assumed Lynch was either related to Landon or being groomed as his political successor. But investigations showed otherwise—they weren’t connected.

Now, once again, he saw Lynch calmly defuse tension and shift hostile attitudes. It was remarkable.

If an old man had this kind of influence, it would be expected. But Lynch was too young.

So young that it almost felt unreal—or like his youth could simply be overlooked.

Edwin returned from his thoughts and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Lynch began to speak, smiling. He was comfortable in this setting. After all, persuasion had been his only job for thirty years. And in this world, it came even easier.

“We all know that the decline of the real economy boils down to two main issues: first, our products have no market; second, our manufacturing costs are rising.”

People nodded—everyone knew this, everyone faced it. Lynch continued:

“If we solve these two problems, businesses can regain healthy profits. Operations will stabilize, there’ll be no more closures or bankruptcies, and people will have secure jobs and incomes. Everything can return to how it once was.”

When Lynch mentioned going back to the past, a fleeting sense of nostalgia and distraction appeared in everyone’s eyes. That truly had been a golden age.

Edwin shifted slightly in his seat. At his age, he couldn’t sit as still as a young man. “We all know these problems need to be solved, but the question is how. Do you have any concrete ideas?”

Lynch’s smile grew warmer. “When I was in school, my astronomy teacher told me not to let our vision be confined by the atmosphere and the mundane.”

“To solve our current problems, the simplest approach is this: don’t let our vision be confined within our own country.”