Chapter 156: Bad Money

After dealing with the episode involving Lin Zhongshi, Fan Bei turned his attention to other matters.

This brother and sister duo had finally completed the "Blood is Thicker than Water" system achievement, allowing Lin Zhongshi to share the abilities of the Butler System.

However, he himself was unaware that this was a function of the system, merely attributing it to the backing and influence of Lin Zhongqing.

The Butler System would never expose its true nature to those who shared its powers; this was a rule established by Fan Bei.

He opened the "Father of Systems" interface and reviewed the current status.

First was the reserve of mental energy, which had already reached a massive accumulation of 150 million.

Thanks to a certain tycoon seizing the opportunity during this period, his own reserves had become significantly more abundant as well.

True enough, a horse cannot grow fat without eating night grass; relying solely on laborious accumulation would take a very long time to yield results.

Next were the system modules. The currently open modules were already sufficient for the host to use, and biting off more than one can chew is unwise.

Upgrading and stat allocation, exchanging for power, redeeming martial arts techniques, the system inventory, the system mall, system achievements... These functions required deepening rather than further expansion.

Take one of the current bottlenecks, for instance—the "Upgrade and Stat Allocation" module. Once the host reached their physiological limit, they would lose the ability to add stats.

He was counting on Lang Sheng and the Sword System to solve this problem. As for Dabai...

At this thought, Fan Bei subconsciously blurted out, "Dabai, Dabai, where has that fellow run off to?"

There was no response from the living room for a long time.

Needless to say, this lazy dog had run off to play again. In the past, it would always guard the living room every single day, waiting for his summons.

Truly, spare the rod and spoil the dog.

Forget it; since he couldn't keep an eye on it constantly, he might as well let Brother Quan play his role of remonstrance and properly keep the dog confined.

Thus, Fan Bei once again activated the management function of the Tengu System. There was no help for it; experience had proven that relying on a dog's self-discipline was utterly unreliable.

Xiaobai was constantly scheming about how to be fickle and play both sides. Presumably, Dabai hanging around with Lin Xiaolü all day had its own motives—it wanted to take the backdoor route.

Skipping Dabai, the Sword System had just possessed its host, had yet to stir up any major situations, and was currently developing in stealth.

With a glimmer of hope, Fan Bei turned his gaze toward Lang Sheng, and a single glance brought him a sense of promise.

...

The World of Swindlers.

"Hahahahahaha! How can flesh and blood ever triumph over steel?"

A crowd of people were driving large tractors, erecting massive steel plates over five meters tall, tightly trapping a group of starving refugees right in the middle.

The encirclement was completely airtight, leaving not a single loophole.

Those people waved their powerless fists, striking against the steel plates, but to no avail.

"Here are your steamed buns and rice gruel! Those who don't want to die, hurry up and eat so you can disperse! The masters still need people to work, and the immortals do not wish to see bloodshed, so clear out immediately!"

A foreman stood atop a tractor, barking orders with an arrogant and haughty demeanor.

Lang Sheng clutched a walking stick, standing there with a helpless expression.

He had not expected the enemy to come up with a countermeasure so quickly.

His opponents could not resort to violence, nor could they mobilize a faction of refugees because the logical objective of a refugee faction was to prey on the wealthy elite, not to target another group of refugees—unless the wealthy had already been entirely consumed.

However, the opposition quickly formulated a strategy. They used a massive fleet of tractors—easily numbering in the tens of thousands—to blockade them layer by layer, trapping the several thousand refugees he had painstakingly gathered in one place.

While the refugees could use violence thanks to their innate "Iron Fist" talent, they lacked the ability to climb the smooth and towering steel plates to strike down those lackeys.

These were people driven to the absolute brink, forced to sell their final labor to survive. Lang Sheng had only managed to find them thanks to the help of fellow workers.

Nor did the enemy harm them; instead, they simply trapped them there while proactively tossing food to them.

Under such circumstances, if they still refused to eat, it would be suicide rather than being driven to death by others.

In fact, the Blue Light did not punish these people either. Clearly, they had once again found a loophole in the divine rules.

Loopholes, loopholes—which idiotic deity had formulated this system? Did they not know how to adapt to changing circumstances?

Lang Sheng thought to himself with exasperation.

His mental energy was limited, making it impossible for him to shatter too many steel plates. Already, someone had discovered his weakness, and golden steel plates were waiting in reserve just behind the lines...

Unlike the apocalyptic wasteland, here he suffered more from psychological humiliation than physical threats.

Yet this kind of humiliation was all the more infuriating.

"Damn it, are we just going to concede like this and become beggars waiting for scraps?"

"I survived that apocalyptic hellscape; am I really going to be afraid of this situation today?"

He sat down and continued to read his book.

Some of the refugees, unable to hold back any longer, began sneaking over to eat the congee, fried dough sticks, and soy milk that had been tossed inside by the others.

The food wasn't luxurious, but it would keep them from starving to death, nor would it be spoiled or expired, for that would easily draw down the punishment of the Blue Light.

Even swindling required tact. Passing off inferior goods as quality items was acceptable, but if it caused loss of life, the Blue Light would demand a life in return.

From this perspective, the system played an undeniable role in safeguarding the lives of the lower-class civilians, though it had simultaneously stifled the path of civilization for those same bottom-tier citizens.

"Hmph, these stupid fools and lowlifes actually thought they could rely on a mob of refugees to defeat us and reclaim the rights that belong to them. How hilarious! I never knew that people with empty stomachs could ever accomplish anything major!"

Inside the cab of a tractor, a pot-bellied middle-aged man looked down on the crowd with utter disdain.

He, too, had started his career through fraud, relying on fabricating a persona to trick countless people into investing in him. In the end, he transferred the funds away and simply accepted a minor penalty from the authorities.

He was clever enough never to leave people completely destitute; he always kept things just at the psychological threshold of his victims, careful not to cause any deaths.

He had long since discovered the loophole in the Blue Light: even if someone committed suicide, as long as they still had a way to live and weren't directly driven to their death by his own coercion, he would not be punished.

"Indeed. If people are stupid, they should honestly accept the rule of the smart. To actually dream of establishing some fair world—a world without swindlers—is sheer fantasy. If you get scammed, you only have your own naivety and greed to blame, your own blindness. And they actually expect immortals to help them?" another skinny man chimed in, echoing the sentiment.

He also started out by scamming others. Through duplicity, double-dealing, and treachery, he had backstabbed the benefactor who promoted him, ultimately seizing the benefactor's estate.

Regrettably, his benefactor's wife and children eventually uncovered his true colors. Thanks to the grace of the god, however, he was forbidden from using violence, which prevented him from completely succeeding in silencing them.

If this had been Earth, the outcome would undoubtedly have been far more tragic.

One rises because of the deities, and falls because of the deities.

Truly, bad money drives out good!

Lang Sheng read for a while, then raised his head to look at the people inside the tractor cabs, a bitter resentment welling up inside him.

Of course, there were conscience-driven figures in the upper echelons, but they had all been systematically eliminated.

After all, when violence was prohibited, upright superiors simply stood no chance against master schemers.

That was precisely how it was. In truth, people with a conscience formed a collective possessing genuine power.

The power of a schemer, on the other hand, could never withstand the light of day.

Just like the refugees behind him—although many of them were now succumbing to their base instincts, they had previously stirred up such a momentous and roaring momentum that it forced their opponents to deploy such massive forces to encircle and suppress them.