industrial lord

Chapter 821 explains how it was done.
"Some might ask: How did we do it?"

Frederick's tone shifted smoothly, but his gaze became warmer and more resolute.

James had a guess in his mind, but he wasn't sure; the idea was simply too incredible.

Frederick raised his arm and pointed to the dark mass of people in the square.

“Look around you first.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “Look at the people standing to your left, to your right, in front of and behind you. The answer lies in them—in yourselves.”

A slight commotion arose in the square as people looked at each other.

Two months ago, a massive blizzard suddenly swept through the entire Duchy of Wesen.

Frederick's voice was exceptionally clear, tinged with excitement:
"At the meteorological observation station on the northern coast, meteorologist Anders recorded data day and night. Every hour, he had to go outside to read the temperature, wind speed, and wind direction. Every time he came back, his eyelashes would be frosted."

"That night, he noticed a sharp drop in temperature and a stronger northerly wind, realizing that a strong cold front was approaching from the north. So, in accordance with the relevant regulations, he shortened the recording time to once every ten minutes."

"An hour later, Anders was shivering from the cold, but it was confirmed that a cold wave had arrived!"

Among the crowd, several people wearing dark blue uniforms straightened their backs, their eyes suddenly reddening.

They were grassroots staff members of the Meteorological Bureau of the Principality of Vesen.

"What does it mean that the warning reached Wesenberg within twenty minutes?" Frederick asked himself. "It means that more than a dozen telegraph operators were on duty at the same time that night, their fingers numb with cold, but they did not leave, because every line had to be manned, so the warning telegram was delivered in the first instance."

Applause began to ring out sporadically, then grew more frequent.

“After the warning comes the action,” Frederick continued, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. “Government officials and staff from all over the country, from governors to village chiefs, all crawled out of their warm beds overnight.”

"The emergency plan was activated before sunrise. At daybreak, government staff began to check their respective areas. Elderly people living alone, children, and residents who did not have enough firewood at home were all moved to warm places such as churches. Warehouses in various places were opened and supplies such as cotton clothes and food were taken out."

Frederick paused, his voice growing deeper: "When the blizzard hit, a village located in a wind-prone area suffered a lot of house collapses. Relief supplies needed to be delivered, but the railway between the villages and the roads near the villages were covered in ice and snow."

"The de-icing team on the railway line—would you please raise your hands if you are among the de-icing team members present?"

Across the square, more than a dozen strong arms were raised excitedly. The surrounding crowd turned to look at them.

"Thank you." Frederick nodded slightly in those directions. "It was you who cleared the ice from the tracks with shovels, picks, and even your bare hands."

“I know that Kimbell has frostbite on his cheeks and Lech has blistered hands with blood freezing on his gloves.”

"But it is you who make it possible for the train carrying lives to pass."

Thunderous applause erupted, and many people clapped vigorously at the workers who had raised their hands, while those around them gave them a hug.

“And when the train arrived at the station, it was Angela who took over the baton.” Frederick’s voice was filled with respect. “Angela, the first female tractor driver in the Duchy of Wessen, is now an air force pilot. She was on leave that day and happened to be visiting her father in that village.”

"Angela braved the blizzard and personally drove the village's tractor, working continuously for fourteen hours to transport truckloads of supplies from the station back to the village several kilometers away."

"As a result, she suffered frostbite on her ears and nose."

A sigh came from the crowd.

Frederick waited a moment to calm himself down.

“After the supplies arrived,” he continued, “under the arrangement of village chief Miller, the relief supplies were distributed accurately and fairly. That night, all the disaster victims moved into warm tents, wearing thick winter clothes, sitting around the stove, and eating hot food!”

The applause rang out again, this time longer. “In Lingen, some young people who had just arrived in the city in autumn seeking hope never expected to encounter such an unprecedented cold. They were saved by the clothes and bedding in the neighborhood mutual aid cabinets.” Frederick’s tone softened. “These clothes and bedding didn’t appear out of thin air. They were collected by the housewives in the community—Mrs. Anna, Mrs. Sophie, Mrs. Mira, and so on—who went door to door collecting old clothes, washing, repairing, sorting, and folding them neatly.”

"It was carpenter Peter who made the cabinet for free, and it was painter Thomas who applied the moisture-proof paint on it voluntarily."

"Mrs. Marta, who is seventy years old, checks the clothes and bedding in the mutual aid cabinet every morning to see if they are damp or if there are rats or insects. She says this is her 'start of the day'."

His gaze searched through the crowd, finally settling on a corner, and he said, "Mrs. Marta, if you're here, please wave."

A frail old woman shakily raised her hand, and the surrounding crowd automatically made way for her, with applause surging towards her like a tidal wave.

She covered her face and wept, at a loss for what to do.

“This is how we did it,” Frederick concluded, his voice not loud but carrying throughout the room. “Not by the flash of inspiration of some genius, not by some mysterious technological miracle, but by thousands upon thousands of ordinary people like Andersch, Kimbell, Lech, Angela, Miller, Mrs. Anna, Mrs. Sophie, Mrs. Mira, Peter, Thomas, Mrs. Martha—by their perseverance, their sweat, their conscience, their simple kindness.”

Frederick waved his hand and said loudly, "I have heard the argument that history is written by great men."

"But today, here, I want to say: History—this history that created paradise on earth—was written by every devout believer who has persevered in their respective posts!"

"Your names may not appear in official history books, but your stories will be passed down by the hearth in your homes and in the memories of your children."

"When the harsh winter finally passes, when the first rays of spring sunshine shine into every window of Weisen, the warmth that sunshine will bring will be to this home that you have built with your own hands."

Frederick stepped back half a step and solemnly bowed to the entire audience—not a monarch's greeting to his subjects, but a man's tribute to countless ordinary yet extraordinary lives.

A silence that lasted for a full minute.

Then, applause erupted like a landslide and a tsunami.

This time, people not only applauded, but many also embraced and wept.

James stood in the crowd, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He saw the old woman Marta, whose name had been called, being tightly embraced by those around her, and he saw the chests of those who had been lifted up shining with an unprecedented light—a light of being seen, acknowledged, and respected.

“No one froze to death this winter,” Frederick concluded, his voice calm yet powerful, “not because of my wisdom, but because of how many warm hearts Weisen has, how many hands are willing to reach out, and how many of you create extraordinary value in ordinary positions.”

He bowed again, placing his hand on his chest.
"Glory belongs to the workers."

"Glory belongs to everyone at Wesson."

The square was in an uproar.

The cheers rose higher and higher, echoing in the winter night sky, as if trying to melt away the chill of the entire season.

After the speech, Frederick stepped down from the podium, walked to the audience, and shook hands with each person in the front row.

James finally understood completely.

This is not about showcasing the system, but about celebrating people—every single individual.

This is not about glorifying the achievements of the rulers, but about igniting the flame of dignity in the hearts of every ordinary person.

When a person realizes that their labor is seen, valued, and defined as glorious, the loyalty they repay will be unshakable by any external force.

(End of this chapter)