Fangzhou Xier, starting with failing the art exam

Instead of city walls and towers, there are wooden houses under construction and a public canteen with smoke rising from its chimneys.

There was no smell of coal ash in the air; instead, there was a fragrant aroma of food.

"Stand still, all of you!" the Finkshire captain of the guard yelled, trying to maintain his authority.

However, the team that came to hand over the work stunned everyone.

They were neither vicious thugs nor overseers wielding whips.

Leading the way was a tall, burly man, followed by dozens of Workers' Party members in uniform.

"Welcome to Viseheim, brothers." The tall man's voice was loud and clear, completely devoid of the expected violence.

“I am Taylor of the Workers’ Party. From today onwards, you are all members of Viseheim.”

He didn't waste any words and simply waved his hand.

Dozens of Workers' Party members immediately stepped forward and began registering.

"Name?" A young woman walked up to Jonas and asked with a smile.

Her smile was pure, like a mountain spring.

Jonas was stunned; he had never been treated so equally before.

He stammered as he gave his name.

"Jonas...do you have any special skills? Like carpentry or stonemasonry?"

"I...I only know how to mine."

“Okay, no problem.” The girl wrote it down on the paper and then handed him a wooden plaque with a number engraved on it.

"This is your identification card, keep it safe."

"You can pick up dinner over there, and then follow the area code on the sign to find your dormitory."

"Get a good night's rest, and we'll arrange the work tomorrow."

Jonas took the wooden sign blankly, then looked at the girl again, as if he were dreaming.

He followed the flow of people to a shed.

Several large pots were simmering with steaming meat broth, and a mountain of bread was piled up on the table next to them.

"One serving per person, more can be added if needed!" The aunt in charge of distributing the food had a loud voice, but a hearty smile on her face.

Jonas received a bowl of soup with oil floating on top and large chunks of meat, along with a loaf of bread bigger than his face.

He held the scalding hot bowl, looked at his reflection in it, and tears fell without warning.

How long has it been since he last saw meat?

That's something I only dare to dream about.

In Finkshire, his daily meals consisted of half a hard piece of black bread and a bowl of clear vegetable soup.

He wolfed down everything, his stomach feeling warm and full, a long-lost sense of satisfaction that almost made him want to cry.

"Hey, new here?" a voice rang out from the side.

Jonas turned his head and saw a boy about his age smiling at him.

The boy was wearing a Workers' Party uniform, but his arm was wrapped in bandages.

"My name is Sam. I used to be a miner too, but I came from the mines in the west of the city." The boy was very talkative.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s not what you think. Mr. Lacey said that we are all working brothers, and there is no high or low status.”

"Mr. Lacey?"

“He’s the leader of our Workers’ Party.” Sam’s eyes gleamed.

"He led us to drive away the bloodsucking factory owners, allowing us to have enough to eat and stand tall as human beings."

Jonas nodded, seemingly understanding.

He followed the signs and found his dormitory.

It was a newly built wooden house, very simple, but clean and tidy. There were ten beds lined up side by side inside, covered with dry straw and clean bedding.

The other Finkshire laborers in the same room, like him, had faces full of bewilderment and disbelief.

"They...give us broth and bread," a thin man muttered to himself. "Will they kill us tomorrow?"

"Who cares!" Old Hager lay on the bed and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Damn it, even if I die tomorrow, at least I've had a full meal. It's worth it!"

Jonas slept soundly that night and had no nightmares.

The next day, just as dawn was breaking, a whistle blew.

Jonas and his companions immediately jumped up nervously, thinking that a tough job was about to begin.

But when they gathered, they found that members of the Workers' Party were leading them in a strange exercise they called "morning exercises."

After warming up, it's time for a hot breakfast.

Only then did the work officially begin.

Jonas and more than a hundred miners were taken to a foundation that was being excavated, and their task was to clear the rubble to lay the foundation for the construction of a new school.

The foreman, or supervisor, was also a member of the Workers' Party.

Instead of whipping them, he was the first to pick up tools and work alongside them.

He kept reminding everyone to be careful, and every hour or so, he would let everyone rest for 15 minutes and drink some water.

At noon, lunch was delivered directly to the construction site, consisting of bread and hot soup as usual.

In the afternoon, before the sun had even set, the whistle blew to signal the end of the workday.

"That's all for today. Everyone go back and rest. There will be a literacy class tonight. Anyone who's interested can come and listen. It's free," the foreman announced.

All the laborers from Finkshire were stunned.

Is this... the end?

In Finkshire, they work at least sixteen hours a day, or even longer.

Here, even including breaks and meal times, the actual working time is probably less than eight hours.

"Is...is this real?" someone asked, trembling.

“Of course it’s true.” The foreman laughed. “Mr. Lacey said that people aren’t livestock; you can’t use them to the point of exhaustion.”

"Eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, and eight hours for yourself – that's the kind of life a person should live."

A deathly silence fell over the crowd, followed by an uncontrollable burst of discussion.

"My God, they only made us work eight hours a day!"

"And there's free food too..."

"Am I dreaming?"

Jonas stood in the crowd, his heart pounding.

He looked at the city under construction in the distance, at the smiles on the faces of the Viseheim citizens who were working just like them, and at the busy and energetic figures of the Workers' Party members.

Something he had never felt before, called "hope," quietly ignited in his lifeless heart.

He suddenly understood.

They weren't sold to hell.

They were pulled out of hell by a group of sheep-men.

That evening, Jonas walked into the literacy class classroom for the first time.

The classroom was simple, but it was full of people.

The teacher was an elderly man with white hair, who was said to be a former colleague of Mr. Lacey's father.

The first word the old man taught me was "worker".

He told them that the character "工" (gong) represents a person who stands tall and upright.

At that moment, Jonas clenched his fist.

Looking at the simple word on the blackboard, he felt a strange sense of pride in his identity for the first time.

He thought, if this is Viseheim, if this is the Workers' Party, then he is willing to give everything for it.

He was no longer Jonas of Finkshire; he was Jonas, a worker in Viseheim.

……

……

Holy Lytanian Empire: Chapter Thirty-One: The Friendly Alliance between Viseheim and Finkshire

At the castle in Finkshire, Viscount Starenf is hosting a grand banquet.

He wore the most magnificent silk robe and three thick gold chains around his neck, proudly showing off his spoils to the assembled guests.

"Gentlemen, have you all heard? That arrogant Workers' Party member Viseheim has bowed down to me!" He raised his glass, his face flushed.

"They not only compensated me for my losses, but they're also willing to pay sixty gold coins a year to rent laborers from me! Haha, this is what happens when you go against the Stalenf family!"

The guests raised their glasses one after another, showering the guests with flattery.

"Your Majesty the Viscount is wise and mighty!"

"How could a mere bunch of peasants be a match for you!"

Viscount Stalenf, basking in the flattery, felt as if he had become the greatest lord in western Letania.

He even started to consider whether, once the first sum of gold coins arrived, he should buy himself a few more thoroughbred horses or replace all the carpets in the castle with more expensive ones.

However, his good mood did not last long.

The banquet had just ended when his butler rushed in, his face pale.

"Sir, something terrible has happened! The production at Mine No. 3 in the west has plummeted by 70%!"

"What?" Viscount Stalenf sobered up considerably. "What happened? The mine has run dry?"

"No...no." The butler wiped away cold sweat, his voice trembling.

"It's...it's the miners! They're all deliberately slacking off! The tool damage rate is five times higher than usual, and some are even deliberately causing small-scale collapses just to avoid working!"

"I arrested and interrogated a few of the leaders, and they said... they said they also wanted to be loaned to Viseheim!"

"Damn it!" Viscount Stalenf kicked over the chair beside him. "A bunch of ignorant bastards! Hang those ringleaders! Let's see who dares to slack off now!"

Little did he know that this was just the beginning.

Over the next two weeks, a strange "Viseheim fever" swept through the entire Finkshire.

Rumors, from who-knows-where, spread that the laborers sent to Viseheim were not only not mistreated, but were living like gods.

They only worked eight hours a day, had meat soup and bread for every meal, received free medical care when they were sick, and could attend literacy classes in the evenings.

This news completely threw the hearts of all the lower-class people in Finkshire into turmoil.

In an instant, laziness, shirking work, and sabotage of production were rampant. Serfs on the manor deliberately trampled on crops, and miners in the mines tried every means to injure themselves. Everyone did everything they could to make the overseer dislike them so that they could be included in the next batch of shipments.

Production in Finkshire was nearly paralyzed.

The production of minerals and grains plummeted.

Viscount Stalenf was furious and hanged dozens of the ringleaders, but this not only failed to stop the unhealthy trend, but also aroused even stronger resistance.

People are no longer afraid of death, because living in Finkshire is no different from being dead.

Going to Viseheim, even if there's only a sliver of hope, is worth risking their lives for.

Before the distraught viscount could come up with a solution, an unsettling guest arrived uninvited.

That was a representative from a large chamber of commerce in Victoria—"Sifangtongqu" (Four Directions).

This merchant guild controls more than half of the trade routes in western Letania, and often even the electors have to give them some face.

The representative who came was an unusually fat man with a kind smile on his face, but the shrewd glint in his small eyes was chilling.

“Oh, my dear Viscount.” The fat president sat opposite Viscount Starenf, slowly cutting the roast meat on his plate.