Chapter 804: Small Talk

The new year was quite good for the Federation, which saw some economic improvement. At least people no longer felt like living dead as in previous years.

Employment rates had risen significantly. Although about 10% remained unemployed on average, this was much better than before, and people were grateful to the government.

With some money in hand, it promised to be a lively night. The skies over Eminence stayed awake all night.

Firecrackers sounded everywhere, and groups wearing strange celebratory costumes marched through the streets.

Federation people had a strange mindset: if something upset them, like threats to their freedom or rights, they expressed their grievances by marching.

But if they were happy and wanted to share their joy, they also marched.

It was… odd. Hard to say if marches were good or bad.

On the bright side, at least they didn’t shoot anyone in celebration, avoiding foolish I was so happy I killed him incidents.

After watching some shows, Serra and Corman went to a room upstairs, while Nail sent the two girls to their guest rooms and continued chatting with Lynch.

Father and son each held a glass in the loft, overlooking the bustling city below. Wealth filled the air, bringing a deep calm.

“I thought even if you didn’t beat him, you wouldn’t talk to him…” Lynch swirled his drink and took a small sip.

They had drunk some already and felt a little tipsy.

Nail looked puzzled. “Why would you think that? Am I a violent person?”

He might have forgotten, but he really was violent. When he was a worker, he rarely reasoned with others—he was too tired.

Some can’t understand why a tired man can’t argue, especially women.

It’s just physical fatigue—how hard is it to say a few words?

But they never grasp that exhaustion isn’t just physical but mental too.

Heavy work was only part of the fatigue; the other part was the hopeless, bleak future, repeating the same day endlessly.

Wake up, eat a breakfast neither good nor bad but completely boring, work until dark, then come home to the same unremarkable dinner.

Physical exhaustion and unnoticed despair weighed on everyone, each walking a fragile tightrope.

At times like that, arguing is less effective than a punch—it’s more direct and releases helpless anger.

So don’t try to reason with a tired man, unless you want to end the relationship or get hit.

That was Nail back then, using fists to reason. That’s how Lynch remembered him, though Nail now seemed to have forgotten that version of himself.

He looked at Lynch, who said nothing, then suddenly laughed, “I really was that bad…”

But the laughter faded. He drank deeply, then sighed heavily, exhaling the alcohol, “It’s nothing really, just feels like hitting a nobody makes you lose face.”

He shut up tight—his truest thought. Making a fool of himself early on was stupid.

He didn’t know why he thought this way now; in the past, he wouldn’t have.

Drunk, he pondered why he had become someone so unfamiliar to himself.

Lynch nodded, “Money’s a good thing. When poor, you lack everything; when rich, you slowly gain everything with wealth—education, manners, character… The more you lacked, the more you gain.”

Nail looked confused. “Is it… just because we have money?”

Lynch nodded. Nail seemed unsure, “Is money really that powerful?”

As if asking Lynch, but really asking himself.

Money’s power was huge. It erased the image of the exhausted man wielding tools like a beaten dog, trudging home from the factory, simplifying problems.

He now talked of investment, economy, finance—things he once only dreamed about, now part of his life.

He shook his head, picked up a pack of cigarettes from the floor, lit one, inhaled slowly, and exhaled gently, “These years with your mother were dull. She thinks she found happiness. Even if I don’t bless her, I won’t cause trouble.”

“Besides, he’s no scoundrel…”

Apparently, Nail had looked into Corman. Despite some private indiscretions, Corman’s character and morals weren’t too bad.

His private life was mostly about making more money through ambiguous relationships with female clients.

If Serra could help him earn more, his private life would clean up.

Nail took another drag, “And she never spoke ill of me, right?”

He sounded proud. “You should’ve seen his eyes nearly popping out. I’m the real winner!”

Nail was over forty but had brought back two girls looking about twenty, about Lynch’s age.

Their skin was slightly darker than Federation natives, being from Nagaryll near the equator, but otherwise they were top-tier beauties.

Bringing back two girls at once made Corman wish he could swap places with Nail.

After the Federation took control of Nagaryll, a social ideology quickly spread: the Federation was supreme. Men took pride in their work and pay; women took pride in connections with Federation men, even as mistresses, which was better than working or marrying local men.

Good food, drinks, money, no work. If Nail weren’t so picky and lazy, he could’ve found more.

After some idle talk, Nail suddenly said, “Your uncle wants to work with me…”

Lynch paused, “Which uncle?”

Nail was not an only child; he had a brother and a sister.

His sister married many years ago and never contacted the family again. For girls from poor families, marriage often felt like a transaction.

Once married, they cut ties completely, as if the child never existed.

Nail’s brother rarely kept in touch either. They were all poor workers, and frequent visits cost money.

Without necessity, they avoided contact to save money for gifts.

Speaking of gifts, this was one of the strangest parts of Federation culture: there were strict rules about what gifts to bring when visiting someone.

No one skipped the gift-giving step, not even between close siblings.

Private contact outside formal visits was also avoided because it usually meant the other party had a request, like borrowing money.

Nail’s brother hadn’t contacted him for years. When Nail suddenly mentioned him, Lynch took a moment to react—just a second or two.

“I remember now. You’re an independent boss now. You can decide whether to hire that guy or not. It’s your call.”

Nail breathed a sigh of relief. Lynch was his son, but the family’s situation had changed because of Lynch’s rise, which sometimes left Nail feeling less confident facing him.

Fortunately, Lynch showed him enough respect—as long as he didn’t mess up.

Lynch understood some of Nail’s thoughts: once you have the ability, you want to bring family along to share success. The intention was good, but people often overlooked the role of interests.

Lynch once knew a boss with a big business who was constantly approached by relatives and clan members.

Born in a region with strong clan ties, he couldn’t refuse all their demands, so he came up with an interesting solution.

He set up warehouses and a fleet of trucks to shuffle around non-productive raw materials.

He was willing to spend millions each year to support those relatives without letting them into the company—not because he was rich or cold-hearted, but because capital itself isolates family ties.

Sometimes, even close blood relatives can’t be trusted.

If that uncle succeeded, it would be fine. If not, one big argument could shatter their relationship for good.

Sometimes, people have to experience hardship to understand how cruel the world can be.

After finishing their drinks, the night deepened. Supporting each other, father and son left the loft and went to their rooms to sleep deeply.