Blackstone Code-Chapter 691: The Secret to Making Money
A convoy moved slowly along the bumpy roads of Amellia. The people’s faces were blank and numb, devoid of hope. They stood on the roadside in lines, like walking corpses, holding broken bowls, cups, or any container they could find.
From a distance, they looked lifeless—like the living dead, unsettling to the eye.
The chaos had gone on for so long that it wasn’t just the Gephrans in the imperial district who were affected. The locals suffered deeply as well.
Every time anti-government forces attacked Gephrans, bloody retaliation followed. The Gephrans would sweep the city, dragging out anyone suspected of being connected to the resistance for execution or forced labor camps.
While people hated the Gephrans, they were also tormented by their own. Many broke down, or simply went numb.
A woman stood by the road, about thirty or forty years old, holding hands with two children wearing only shorts, their long hair hanging down their backs, making it hard to tell if they were boys or girls. Her face, too, was expressionless.
All three were filthy. The woman’s clothes couldn’t even be called clothes—just a bedsheet with a hole cut in the middle for her head.
Soon, a short, filthy old man around fifty or sixty approached, carrying a metal cup filled with something like wheat porridge. He spoke with the woman for a moment. After telling the children something, she followed the man into an empty house by the road.
A few minutes later, they came out. The man poured some of his food into the woman’s broken bowl, licked the remaining bits on the rim with satisfaction, and staggered off.
The children looked at the bowl with longing. The woman took one sip, then gave the rest to the kids.
Before long, a second man arrived…
This wasn’t an isolated case. In fact, Amellia was full of such scenes. Many families had lost their men to executions. Women, unable to find work, were left to raise children alone—an impossible task.
As the conflict between the locals and Gephrans escalated, the Gephrans began distributing relief food only to cooperative citizens. Families with members involved in the resistance or executed for other reasons lost access to aid permanently.
These people had no work, no food, no means to live. At first, they could barter for food, but eventually they had nothing left to trade—except their dignity.
As the convoy passed, the woman was already with her third man. When she emerged, she was still wiping the remains of his genes off her legs with that filthy cloth.
After the man added food to her bowl, she rested briefly, then took her two now-fed children by the hand, preparing to go home.
There were still elders at home waiting for food.
Sometimes, one person’s recklessness could drag an entire family—or several families—into the abyss.
Lynch’s convoy passed by. Numb eyes slowly turned to follow. The woman and her children, too, looked on calmly, as if they felt no pain.
They watched the cars, the well-dressed gentlemen inside, watched them enjoy life, while they, under the same sun, lived in hell.
“You saw that?” Lynch asked Mark beside him.
Mark swallowed hard.
After living in the Federation for so long, ideals like freedom and equality had become part of him.
Even in Nagaryll, he had never been so shaken. The expressions, the eyes, the movements—everything radiated despair.
He shivered. A tremor from the soul. “Yes, I saw it, Mr. Lynch.”
His posture straightened. The scene disturbed him.
Lynch turned his gaze back inside. “I brought you here because we’re investing in a food factory.”
“There’s a massive shortage of everything here. It’s already summer. Only one wheat harvest remains this year, and there’s still time before it’s ready. Tens of millions need food. We don’t need to dominate the whole market—just one or two cities and we’ll make a fortune.”
“You’ve run a food factory before. You have the experience. I trust you.” Lynch glanced at Mark with a bright smile. “Besides, we’re friends.”
Mark was flattered but nervous. He laughed awkwardly and said carefully, “Mr. Lynch, back then… you know, when my uncle was in office, the government subsidized our food factory. Without those subsidies, a food factory isn’t profitable.”
He glanced at the long line outside. “Those people get food aid—they don’t pay. I don’t know if they even have money, but they definitely can’t afford much. That means we could lose money.”
He fell silent. Food costs were transparent—100 grams of flour was 100 grams of flour, 50 grams of malt was 50 grams. Prices were clear.
And the raw materials would need to be shipped from home, plus transport costs. Even selling at cost might not work.
Lynch wasn’t surprised. Many people, before starting a business, list all the problems they can think of and convince themselves not to do it.
It’s common. They always retreat from opportunity, always find a reason not to reach for it.
It’s not intelligence—it’s fear. They’ve never taken a chance, so they fear the unknown.
Mark had only done business under policy protection, so he mistakenly believed his experience was universal—and tried to persuade Lynch.
Lynch only smiled. His gaze was warm, but it made Mark uneasy.
“We’re businessmen. Do you know how people describe businessmen?” Without waiting for an answer, Lynch continued, “They call us cunning, despicable, stingy, greedy—whether we are or not. That’s what they believe businessmen are.”
“So we can afford to loosen the reins a little.”
He paused. “Do you know why people feel hunger?”
Mark, struggling to keep up, hesitated. “Because they haven’t eaten in a while?”
Lynch shook his head with a smile. “Because there’s nothing in their stomachs. The body tells the brain, and the brain tells us: we’re hungry.”
“So, as long as there’s something in the stomach, people won’t feel hungry as quickly. Nutrition is another matter.”
“Do you know what stays in the stomach the longest?”
Mark shook his head blankly. At that moment, he seemed no different from the desperate people outside.
“Coarse fiber foods. Things that are hard to digest stay longer and delay the hunger signal.”
“Start up the factory. Our main product will be a kind of biscuit. Here’s the recipe…” Lynch pulled a list from his pocket and handed it over. “Just follow this formula.”
Mark stared at the formula for a while, his mouth slowly hanging open in shock. Eventually, he was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even speak.
After a long pause, he asked uncertainly, “Mr. Lynch… are you sure this is the right formula?”
Lynch nodded. “Do you have any concerns?”
“A few…” Mark scratched his head and showed the formula to Lynch. “This… I’m not sure what this non-toxic wild grass refers to, and this one—powder from the crimson tree…”
“Oh, that.” Lynch took the paper from him, folded it slightly so the ingredient list was now split in two. “You’re supposed to look at it like this.”
Now, with only the top half visible, the list included eggs, milk, pork powder, beef powder, fish powder—all high-nutrient ingredients.
But if you flipped the page to the other side, it was all parts of various wild plants commonly found outdoors.
“After we provide enough nutrients to meet basic daily needs, the most important thing is to keep people from feeling hungry too quickly. These things won’t harm anyone. Their only purpose is to stay in the stomach longer.”
“Not feeling hungry easily, and getting enough nutrients—you don’t think I’m some devious, shameless capitalist, do you?” Lynch smiled and handed the formula back to Mark.
Mark stared at it, unable to lift his head. He wanted to say, “You are,” but instinct told him that was a bad idea.
Lynch patted him on the shoulder. “This is why Landon wanted you to get out and see the world more. Mark, you’re too young. You grew up in too comfortable an environment. You don’t understand what the world really needs, or what people at the bottom need.”
“As long as they get just enough nutrients and don’t feel hungry too quickly, even if I mixed in a handful of dirt—they’d still eat it.”
“You’ve never starved. So you’ll never understand the fear of hunger.”
