Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun pushed open the office door and closed it behind him to keep the wind out.

Hevil was sitting at the table organizing documents when she saw Xilun return, so she handed him a blue booklet.

"This is a mess left by Morgan."

Haiwei'er's voice was cold as she tapped her finger on the booklet. "This should have been dealt with yesterday, but it's been delayed until today. It's about the allocation of long-term and short-term workers. Do you think we should hire a few more long-term workers, or redistribute the existing short-term workers?"

Xilun took the booklet.

He walked to his desk and sat down, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the booklet.

The current dockworker system is chaotic.

Long-term workers receive a fixed wage, regardless of how much they work, and rely on their seniority to get by; short-term workers, although hardworking, have unstable incomes and high turnover, making it difficult to train skilled workers.

When Morgan was in power, he relied on whips and tyranny.

But he, Xiren, didn't want to spend all his time whipping and watching those people.

"Forget about hiring."

Xilun opened the booklet, his gaze sweeping over the names, and said calmly, "I have an idea."

Aiping, who was reading the newspaper, and Quero, who was dozing off, both looked up.

"The reason why farmhands are lazy is because they think their job is guaranteed." Xilun pulled a pen from the pen holder and drew a horizontal line on the paper. "Then let's smash that iron rice bowl."

"Let's set a rule called 'last-place elimination'."

Xilun's voice wasn't loud, but it seemed to freeze the air in the room.

"Workload is assessed weekly, with a four-week cycle. The bottom five long-term workers are demoted to short-term workers."

"After being downgraded, there is no base salary. You only get paid based on how much you do, and the unit price is 10% lower than that of ordinary short-term workers."

Haiweier raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes.

Without pausing, Xilun continued, "The vacant long-term worker positions will be filled by promoting the best-performing short-term workers. This way, those who want to keep their jobs will have to work incredibly hard, and those who want to take them will also have to work incredibly hard."

Snapped.

Ai Ping closed the newspaper in his hand, his eyes behind his glasses shining with an alarming intensity.

"Good tactic."

Ai Ping pushed up his glasses, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. "This method not only makes those laborers work like donkeys, but also saves a considerable amount of money. Those long-term workers who were demoted have had their wages deducted in a real way."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice: "The money saved can be given as a tribute to Lord Losas."

Xilun glanced at Aiping and nodded slightly.

"It's not just the money saved," Siren added. "From now on, if anyone gives us gifts or there's any extra profit, the lion's share will go to Lord Losas."

Ai Ping was taken aback for a moment, then gave a thumbs up: "Brilliant. Using the adults' money to do the adults' business, while still being able to absolve yourself of any trouble."

The atmosphere in the office became lively.

Quero, who had been silent, turned over, and the newspaper that had been covering his face slipped off.

The slightly overweight middle-aged man rubbed his sleepy eyes, and a hint of complexity appeared in his gaze as he looked at Xilen.

That kid is ruthless and has a dark heart.

"Now that the rules are set, we need to go and discuss them with the higher-ups."

Quello yawned and asked meaningfully, "By the way, Siren, have you taken care of those inspectors yet?"

Xilun paused.

Inspector.

This is a joint agency belonging to the city hall and the trade association, specifically responsible for verifying the quantity, quality, and taxation of goods.

In the dock area, although the Brotherhood and the district governor controlled the violence and territory, the inspectors held the power of life and death over whether a ship's cargo could be unloaded and sailed.

"I haven't seen it yet," Xilun replied truthfully.

"Then you'd better hurry."

Quello sat up straight, his fat face jiggling, and his tone became serious. "We roughnecks who use knives and guns can't beat those who use pens. That's real 'bloodless killing'."

"Take good care of them, and don't skimp on the money they're owed; it'll save you a lot of trouble."

At this point, Quero seemed to remember something and frowned, saying, "Speaking of which, Morgan and the inspector have a really bad relationship. I heard he got a scolding from the inspector a couple of days ago and came back with a huge rage, breaking two of his whips in the process."

He suddenly paused, looking at Xilen: "I remember you used to work for Morgan, didn't you?"

Xilun nodded, his expression calm.

Yes, that's true.

He subconsciously touched his left arm, where there used to be a whip mark. Although it had healed, the burning pain seemed to linger in his memory.

"Morgan had a whip that was always soaked in bitter water. It was sour and spicy when it hit you. He would take his anger out on us when he was wronged by the inspectors. I was also whipped ten times by him."

Xilun's voice was flat, revealing no emotion. "But it's all in the past now."

Morgan had turned into a corpse in the mud, and he sat in Morgan's place.

"Haiweier, tell the people below about the new rules."

Xilun stood up, straightened his collar, and said, "I'm going to the inspector's office."

……

The inspector's office was located in a bungalow on the east side of White Crow Wharf.

Although it's not far from the warehouse area, the environment here is completely different.

The ground was paved with clean stone slabs, and there was no faint fishy smell in the air.

Xiren walked along the corridor.

The leather shoes made a dull sound as they stepped on the wooden floor.

He stopped in front of a window with a sign that read "Review Section".

The glass windows were tightly closed, but you could vaguely see shadowy figures moving around inside, and hear the sound of papers turning over.

Knock knock knock.

Xilun tapped on the window with his finger.

"I am the person in charge of Group 3, Section B, Baiya Wharf. I'm here to report to the relevant personnel for inspection."

Several seconds later, the window was impatiently opened a crack.

He revealed a young yet arrogant face.

The man sized up Xilun, his gaze lingering for a moment on the bronze badge on his collar that indicated his status as a foreman, before saying indifferently, "Understood. Wait."

After saying that, the window slammed shut again.

Xilun stood there expressionless.

He turned and walked to a bench in the corridor, sat down, and reached into his coat pocket, fumbling for the few coins.

According to unspoken rules, when a newly appointed supervisor meets the inspector in charge of their area for the first time, they are expected to prepare a gift.

The price is ten shillings.

For an ordinary laborer, this is half a month's food expenses; but for the foreman, it is just a "toll" to ensure the smooth passage of goods through customs.

Xilun didn't have much money.

Most of the money he had plundered from the assassins and Black Death cultists had been used to fill his stomach and pay rent.

He prayed silently that the inspector would be easy to talk to.

Time passed by, second by second.

There was no heating in the corridor, and a cold wind seeped in through the cracks, penetrating to the bone.

Ten minutes have passed.

There was no movement from the window.