Empire of Shadows

Chapter 91: News, Journalists, and Features

“Day Three of Prohibition: Productivity Increases by 200%!”

This shocking headline dominated the front page of Jingang Daily. Yet, in an era where people still placed blind faith in newspapers, the public chose to believe this outrageous claim rather than consider the possibility that the press might be lying.

The article featured interviews with workers who had long struggled with alcoholism. They spoke candidly about how, before prohibition, cheap alcohol was readily available, leading them to drink excessively.

One worker recounted how his drunkenness at work had cost him two fingers.

But since the prohibition took effect, he claimed to have fully embraced the new regulations, abstaining from all alcoholic beverages. Now, his life was better:

- He could run up six flights of stairs in one breath.

- He could punch hard enough to kill a cow.

- He no longer felt sleepy on the job or spent all day obsessing over alcohol.

Prohibition, he concluded, had transformed his life for the better. He expressed heartfelt gratitude for the policy’s implementation.

This was politics.

It didn’t matter how absurd the claims were. What mattered was that those enforcing the policy could see it was being implemented effectively and yielding positive results.

Lance spotted the report while eating breakfast. The political section of Jingang Daily was filled with similar glowing reviews of the new prohibition policy.

He scoffed.

Politics, after all, often dealt in illusions, presenting narratives that weren’t necessarily true but simply needed to be believed—whether by those at the top or the bottom of society.

Members of Congress would wave these newspapers as proof of prohibition’s success, shouting at their opponents:

> “Open your eyes and see! Prohibition has scored another victory!

> “Alcohol-fueled drops in productivity and violent crime are on their way out. This is a triumph of humanity!”

Meanwhile, the common folk continued their lives as usual—eating, drinking, and grumbling.

On his way to work, Lance passed more than one protest. Groups of drunkards lined the streets, holding signs with slogans like “Alcohol Is Innocent” and loudly protesting Jingang City’s full prohibition.

Many bar owners had joined the demonstrations.

Consider this: previously, drunken patrons could enjoy their drinks while watching dancers slowly shed their clothes. Now?

Were they supposed to sip on tea, juice, or—God forbid—milk instead?

Without alcohol to lower inhibitions, no one would foolishly toss money onto the stage for the chance to get closer to the smelly seafood-like performers.

Strip dancers saw their income plummet. Drunkards lost their entertainment. Bar owners lost their livelihoods. The result was mass protests.

Perhaps this explained why, despite nationwide prohibition, alcohol sales had surged in the states where it was already banned.

For many, drinking wasn’t just about alcohol. It was about rebellion—an act of defiance against the government’s hasty policies.

They weren’t just drinking alcohol. They were drinking the spirit of resistance.

Lance started his day at his financial consulting firm. Business there was steady, bringing in over $10,000 in monthly interest revenue and showing slow but consistent growth.

However, the labor agency was experiencing a boom, with monthly income exceeding $7,000.

Word of mouth had taken off. More and more people who didn’t want to work but still wanted a paycheck turned to Wanli.

All they had to do was sign an authorization contract, allowing Wanli to use their work cards. In return, they received a minimum of $32 in monthly income.

They didn’t have to worry about dealing with illegal immigrants—that was the labor agency’s problem. Their only job was to collect their money each month.

Later that morning, Lance had a scheduled meeting with George, a reporter for Jingang Daily.

George arrived punctually. He admired Lance deeply, viewing him as a miracle worker. Everything Lance did seemed extraordinary in George’s eyes.

After exchanging pleasantries, Lance led George into his office and ordered two iced coffees.

“This place is bustling,” George remarked, raising his cup in a toast. “I’m glad to see you’ve chosen such a promising industry.”

Then, leaning forward, he asked, “So, are you looking to run an ad?”

Jingang Daily was a heavyweight in the state’s media landscape. While it was technically a local newspaper, it had statewide distribution and a loyal readership.

In remote or underdeveloped towns, people often found their local lives dull and preferred to read about the happenings in Jingang City. Some smaller newspapers even bought Jingang Daily stories to reprint.

It seemed like the most likely reason Lance would want to meet him.

But Lance shook his head. “Have you ever considered doing a feature story?”

George, sipping his coffee, raised an eyebrow. “On what?” The idea intrigued him.

“On the difficult lives of illegal immigrants in the Federation,” Lance replied. “With elections coming up next month, we all know the president will be re-elected…”

George interrupted with a bitter laugh. “That’s the Federation’s biggest farce. Whether the president gets re-elected has already been decided—long before we cast our votes. Capital controls everything.”

“Exactly,” Lance said. “But here’s the thing: the president has promised to address the issue of illegal immigration, even if only in incremental steps.

“Before the presidential administration shifts focus to other priorities, we can draw attention to illegal immigrants. This could be a chance for you to make waves—garnering gratitude from the White House, immigrants, and even the broader public.”

George’s interest was piqued. He, like any journalist, dreamed of winning the Golden Newspaper Award, the pinnacle of recognition in the Federation’s media industry.

To win, a journalist needed to tackle a pressing issue—a topic people couldn’t ignore but often wanted to. The story had to delve deeply into the problem, exposing its core and offering a path toward resolution.

Illegal immigration was a perfect angle. What had once been a minor nuisance was now an undeniable social and economic force shaping everyday life.

George pulled out his notebook. “Alright, I’m interested. Do you want to co-author the piece?”

“Sure.”

George jotted a few notes. “Where do we start?”

Lance tapped his fingers on the desk. “Right here.” Nôv(el)B\\jnn

George smirked. “So this is an ad for yourself. Clever.”

He chuckled, adding, “But this kind of ‘ad’ doesn’t irritate people. Honestly, for a moment, I thought I should pay you to let me put my name ahead of yours.”

He paused. “When do we begin?”

“Let me outline my thoughts first,” Lance said, wanting to establish a clear direction for the feature.

George took detailed notes as Lance spoke, occasionally adding his own ideas.

“We’ll start with my labor agency,” Lance began. “We provide illegal immigrants with work opportunities by leasing work cards.

“Workers’ earnings are divided into three parts: the cardholders get the majority, the agency takes a dollar, and the laborers keep a small portion.

“We’ll begin by questioning whether this arrangement is legal and ethical. From there, we’ll explore the tensions and competition between local and immigrant workers to uncover the core issues.

“Next, we’ll highlight the dire circumstances many illegal immigrants face. I’ll find you some compelling cases that will captivate readers nationwide.

“Our goal is to frame the debate around illegal immigration as a moral issue for the Federation.

“Can we, as a civilized society, ignore their plight? Should we stand by as they starve, fall ill, or die?

“The more advanced a society is, the more humane it should be. Even if we don’t like them, we must ensure their basic rights to survival.”

George’s pen flew across the page, his excitement mounting. This could be the story of a lifetime.

“If I win the Golden Newspaper Award, I’ll make sure your name is engraved on the base,” he joked.

“I thought you’d say you’d give it to me entirely,” Lance quipped.

“Not a chance!” George laughed. “I’d sooner let you have dinner with my wife than hand over that award!”

Lance called Elvin to his office, instructing him to give George a tour.

“Show him everything. Have our people cooperate. And find some standout cases among the immigrants we work with—and those we don’t. Make sure the stories are compelling.”

Elvin nodded. He understood immediately: Lance wanted examples of the most desperate and tragic situations.

That afternoon, Jingang City was hit by another rainstorm. The crisp air that followed carried the unmistakable chill of autumn.

The old tailor, who had just finished Lance’s new clothes, arrived.

The suits didn’t disappoint. Handcrafted to perfection, they bore the tailor’s signature “G·J” embroidered discreetly inside the left collar.

The fit was impeccable—not too tight, not too loose, unlike mass-produced garments that were always slightly off.

The others in the office stared with envy. But bespoke tailoring took time, and with only three people in the tailor’s workshop—himself, his daughter, and his son-in-law—it would be a while before they got their turn.