Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 125 Rebuilt San Francisco
The wheels of the horse-drawn carriage rolled over the dirt roads of Northern California, kicking up clouds of dust.

Inside the carriage, Avril Fanning felt like she was choking on the dust and coughing up her lungs.

"God, Sophia, how much longer until we get there? I feel like if we stay another minute, I'm going to throw up in this new dress."

Sofia Bryant, sitting across from her, took her best friend's hand and whispered, "Almost there, Avril, darling. Just a little longer. Aaron said we'll be there after that ridge."

Sofia turned to look out the window and, addressing her husband's back, said, "Aaron, darling, do you remember what I said yesterday? My sister has had a tough few years, raising Lucy alone. You know, a widow in the countryside, she's bound to be sensitive. Later you..."

"I know, I know!"

Aaron Bryant replied impatiently, then yanked the reins sharply: "Sophia, you've been saying that the whole way, my ears are practically calloused!"

"Put away that high and mighty city person mentality of mine? Humph, I've told you more than once that your sister should have stayed in the city and been a factory worker instead of marrying that short-lived bastard who didn't even live to be thirty. Now look what's happened, we have to come all the way to this place that even Native Americans don't want to poop in to visit her!"

Sophia's face turned pale, and she bit her lip tightly: "Aaron, she's my sister!"

"She's your sister, that's true, but she's not mine!"

Aaron rudely interrupted her: "I'm warning you, Sophia, don't expect me to show any interest in her shabby house later, I suspect, that crumbling, chicken-dung-covered wooden hut."

We'll unload these things, stay for at most an hour, and then leave. I don't want to spend the night there.

Avril Fanning shifted awkwardly inside the carriage.

She was a widow whose husband had recently died; he had his head smashed during the San Francisco riots when he tried to fight back against Irish mobs.

Avril inherited a large fortune, but also a profound fear of the world.

"Sophia."

Avril spoke softly, trying to change the subject: "It seems like you haven't been to your sister's house in a long time."

When this was mentioned, Sofia's expression softened slightly, but also carried a hint of guilt.

"It's been over a year."

She sighed. "Aaron is too busy with work, from Sacramento to San Francisco. He's always worried about me going out alone. You know, this godforsaken place is full of highway robbers and those savage Indians."

“Marlene, on the other hand, often asks people to send me some agricultural products.”

Outside the carriage, Aaron's disdain returned.

"It's just a pile of worthless dog poop, a few pounds of potatoes and rotten beets. God knows how she had the nerve to deliver that pig feed to our doorstep, it's an insult!"

If it weren't for your sake, I would have thrown all that garbage into the sea right there and then!

"Aaron!"

Sofia finally lost her temper and raised her voice, almost crying.

"Oh, God..."

Avril Fanning's face paled even more: "Sophia, does your sister's farm really have a lot of horse manure and chicken droppings? I mean, do those poultry run around everywhere?"

Sofia looked at her best friend, who had just emerged from widowhood and was extremely neurotic, and forced a smile.

She knew what Avril needed right now.

"Avril, don't think about it too much."

Sofia grabbed her hand in return: "You're a rich woman now, darling. Coming to the countryside is a good way to relax. Look at the scenery outside."

She couldn't even continue making up the story herself.

Sofia leaned close to Avril's ear and said in a deliberately cheerful tone, "Don't worry, your husband may be dead, but it's not a big deal. He was never a good person anyway. When we get back to San Francisco, I'll introduce you to a good man."

I guarantee this guy I'm introducing is a hundred times stronger than that old man Fanning. He'll make you feel like a little kitten every night. How about it?

Avril's face flushed instantly, and she playfully shoved Sophia away, saying, "You're saying such vulgar things again!"

……

Sunlight streamed through the double-glazed windows, casting dappled shadows on the carpet.

Marlene O'Dell was standing in front of Lawson, carefully straightening his shirt collar.

"Lorson, breakfast is ready. I had Lucy bake your favorite thick-cut bacon and fry a full twelve eggs. There are also some fresh coffee beans from town."

Lawson lowered his eyes and stared at the woman.

He still clearly remembers what she looked like when he first met her a few months ago.

At that time, Marlene was like a hedgehog covered in thorns.

Poverty, fear, and despair had almost seeped into her very bones.

She was always on guard against anyone who tried to get close to her, and was even prepared to pounce on them and bite their throats at any moment, even though she was terrified herself.

And now...

"Twelve eggs?"

Lawson smirked. "Are you trying to turn me into a stud pig, Mrs. Marlene?"

This joking remark, coupled with his eyes that were fixed on her, sent a burning blush rising to Marlene's face.

The heat spread from her face all the way to her ears, and then down to her swan-like neck.

"Oh, you devil!"

Marlene patted Lawson's chest in a flustered manner; the gesture was less of a reproach and more of an involuntary caress.

"No, don't talk nonsense!"

She stammered, her breathing erratic: "The bacon's getting cold, Lucy's waiting for you, go wash up!"

After saying that, she turned around almost as if she were fleeing.

Lawson stared at the retreating figure as it hurriedly fled towards the kitchen, his thoughts drifting for a moment.

Penny Black's face flashed through my mind without warning.

She and Marin seem to be two completely opposite extremes.

If Marlene is a warm, soft, all-encompassing hot spring, then Penny is a glass of strong whiskey with ice.

She is sharp, spicy, and exudes an addictive, poisonous aroma.

These are two very different, yet both enjoyable experiences.

"Lorson, hurry up! Mom says the bacon is going to burn!"

Lucy's clear shout came from downstairs, interrupting Lawson's thoughts.

He chuckled and shook his head, then strode toward the restroom.

In the kitchen, Lucy sat upright, but her excited eyes betrayed her, and her knife and fork clattered loudly on the plate.

When Lawson walked in, Marlene was carrying a steaming cast-iron frying pan.

Twelve fried eggs, with golden-brown and crispy edges, while the yolks remained perfectly runny.

Next to it was a small mountain of thickly sliced ​​bacon, the fat still bubbling.

"My God, Marlene."

Lawson exclaimed dramatically, "Are you preparing breakfast for a cavalry unit?"

"Hmph, hurry up and eat!"

Marlene blushed as he teased her, but she pretended to be calm and pushed a large portion of food in front of him: "You can't leave any."

Lawson didn't stand on ceremony any longer.

This amount of stuff is nothing to his already enhanced body.

He grabbed a piece of bread covered with two fried eggs and butter, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The piping hot egg yolk burst in his mouth, mingling with the smoky and oily aroma of bacon, bringing a primal and savage satisfaction. Lucy, watching from the side, stared wide-eyed and giggled.

Marlene, resting her chin on her hand, looked at him with a smile.

How can this man be so charming even when he's eating!

The thin mist had not yet dissipated.

After breakfast, Lawson went out and rode his Thoroughbred.

Behind him, Er Gou and San Gou rode on slightly lesser draft horses.

Rosen reined in his horse and gazed eastward.

The horizon there was just beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

The smoke of battle in San Francisco has temporarily dissipated.

The bodies that had been hanged from the streetlights were also dragged away by the new police station's cleaning crew and thrown into the sea to feed the fish.

An unprecedented riot was brought to a swift end by the iron-fisted suppression of the heroic Director Qingshan.

The bloodshed is over; it's time to rebuild a new order.

To express his gratitude to Aoyama, the mayor almost immediately awarded the entire city's reconstruction project to the newly established Rock Construction Company in Losen.

What a perfect legal closed loop!

And Rock Construction's first project was Chinatown.

A smile appeared on Lawson's face.

How fucking ironic!
He orchestrated the riots, dragging the entire city into hell.

Now, he has become a savior, and the city is begging him with money and power to rebuild it!

Those citizens whose homes were destroyed and whose families were killed in the riots will never know that the devil who pushed them into the abyss and the hero who rescued them from the abyss were actually the same person!

The reconstruction plan for Chinatown had already been simulated countless times in Lawson's mind.

Since reconstruction is necessary, the first step is to clear out the space.

This is truly a gift from God.

During the riots, several blocks around Chinatown, including Irish, Italian, and Latino slums, were accidentally burned to the ground by the mob.

Now, there are large tracts of unclaimed land there.

At this point, the Chinese organization established by Aoyama, who held the dual roles of Chinatown leader and police chief, stepped forward.

He persuaded the residents of Chinatown to temporarily relocate to the newly cleared vacant lots for a better future.

The old guys from the six major associations even took the initiative to donate money and earnestly requested that Rock Construction Company take charge of the reconstruction project.

That's what you call rights!

There was no bickering or obstruction, and no messy disputes over interests.

Faced with overwhelming power, the weak have only one path: to obey orders. Those who refuse will die!

Everything went more smoothly than expected!
Lawson has already given the order.

Those wooden shantytowns in Chinatown that are like rat nests, all of them must be demolished!

He wants to build a city within a city on these ruins.

It is no longer the exotic oriental landscape that Westerners imagine.

He wants to build a real fortress!

All buildings had to be brick and stone structures, and the streets had to be widened to allow his White Tiger Guard cavalry to ride abreast on all fours.

The foundation had to be dug even deeper, and the entire underground structure had to be connected by a maze-like network of tunnels, which served as sewers, armories, and military tunnels.

As for the architectural style on the ground?
He would toss a few Chinese-style sketches to the architect among the assassins.

Carved dragons and painted phoenixes, flying eaves and brackets, it's all about exotic style.

He wanted to make those white elites marvel at the charm of the East and willingly enter this entertainment city that had been meticulously built for them.

Who will build it?
Lawson's assassins, those monsters who have redefined the highest levels of engineering, architecture, and management knowledge, will be the foremen, captains, and project managers at every stage.

As for basic labor, Rock Construction Company had already started recruiting.

Regardless of origin or race.

Chinese laborers, white laborers, black laborers—as long as you have the strength and are willing to work, you'll have food to eat and money to earn.

On this construction site, the rules have completely changed.

The Death Squad of Lawson were the sole foremen, captains, and quality control personnel.

They used their absolute expertise to control the progress and quality.

"Hey you fucking, you Irish soft-bodied guy who just crawled out of his mother's womb over there, yes, you!"

A Chinese foreman is standing on a granite pedestal, spitting as he speaks.

The leather whip in his hand snapped with a crisp sound as it was pulled into the air.

"That piece of wood is the wrong size. Did you measure it with your ass? Or is your pitiful salary only enough to buy a fig leaf to cover your brain?"

Several newly arrived Irish laborers were verbally abused and their faces turned red, but they didn't dare to utter a single word.

They timidly shouldered the timber, preparing to redo the work.

A white laborer tried to slack off and was caught by a foreman.

The assassin didn't say a word, but walked over and punched the other man in the stomach!

The white laborer immediately knelt down and vomited up his dinner from the night before!

"Either get the hell out of here, or get to work! Stop playing dead!"

Everyone quickly understood the equality here.

Because those foremen with Chinese faces have some patience for their fellow countrymen, but only apply the same standards to them.

Not far away, a group of Chinese laborers carrying heavy beams passed by.

They were shirtless, their bronze muscles gleaming slightly under their sweat.

They glanced at the few white laborers who were being scolded and unable to lift their heads; their faces no longer showed the usual fear and numbness.

A mixture of joy and pride flashed across their dark eyes.

……

As the sun slowly climbed higher, the sunshine in Northern California gradually became brighter.

Rosen rode leisurely on his horse.

Two dogs, one on the left and one on the right, were always half a horse's length behind.

The empire of Lawson is growing at an almost frenzied pace across this vast land.

The influx of more than 20,000 Chinese laborers instantly revitalized this dormant wasteland in Northern California.

The black, fertile soil was plowed away in large swaths, revealing its moist interior.

Irrigation canals, like the open palm lines of a giant, crisscross and bring water from afar to the fields.

Simple settlements sprang up one after another.

This place will be his granary, manpower base, and rear base!
The Chinese laborers worked in the fields, wielding hoes and shovels, shouting powerful work chants.

(End of this chapter)