Douluo Continent: Speaker above, Dragon God kneels to receive orders

Chapter 17 The Open Scheme—The Noose Called "War Tax"

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That door was really thick. Made of alloy. It closed almost silently, just slowly shutting shut, and all the sounds outside vanished instantly. There was nothing in the room—no holographic projection, no buzzing sound of a soul-guided cannon charging, not even a single soldier standing guard at the door. Just a long, large mahogany table. On it were three stacks of documents, each about half a foot thick, stamped with the Federal Revenue Service's seal, bright red, reading "Top Secret - Audit Level." Looking at that seal, I wondered how long it must have taken to gather this information. Later, I heard it took three months, which wasn't too long.

The air in the room felt frozen. It wasn't cold, but it made you uncomfortable. The air conditioner was blowing air overhead, a soft, humming sound you could barely hear unless you listened carefully. There was also the scratching of a pen nib on paper. That was all. I stood there, barely daring to breathe loudly, afraid of ruining the atmosphere.

Mo Runshu sat in the main seat. I'd sat in that seat once before. Not intentionally, but he was out, and I plopped down. The chair was too high; my feet barely touched the ground. I can't quite put my finger on it, it was just uncomfortable. But he seemed perfectly at ease sitting there, as if the chair was made for him, and it wouldn't feel right for anyone else. He wasn't looking at the three people opposite him; he was looking at a report. He held a pen, circling numbers on the report and writing a few lines in the margins. Watching him like that, you couldn't tell he was discussing something of utmost importance.

Three people sat opposite him. Yun Ming, the sect leader of Shrek Academy, wore a gray robe and sat there motionless, like a mountain. Qian Gu Dong Feng, the leader of the Spirit Pagoda, was dressed quite respectably, but I saw the sweat on his forehead. Zang Xin, the vice sect leader of the Tang Clan, wore all red and had a fiery temper, as everyone knew. If you met any one of these three on the street, you would tremble—not out of fear, but because of their aura, you couldn't stand it. Today, all three were here, all present. The three sat upright, their backs straighter than a ruler in your hand. But you could tell just by looking at their faces. They said they weren't nervous. Who were they kidding? The stacks of papers on the table were half a foot thick, stamped with bright red tax bureau stamps, marked "Top Secret - Audit Level." Those few stacks of paper made them feel suffocated. I felt short of breath just standing next to them.

That silence, let me tell you, was more unsettling than tens of thousands of people charging at you with knives. With tens of thousands of people, at least you know where to run—left, right, or, if all else fails, to lie down. With that silence, you don't know where to put your hands or where to look. I remember the sound of the air conditioner, the hum, and the rustling of paper turning. Beads of sweat trickled down Qian Gu Dong Feng's forehead; he wiped them with his sleeve. The movement was subtle, like stealing something. But if he didn't want anyone to see, he wouldn't have wiped them. I saw him wipe them.

Mo Runshu stopped writing. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then rubbed his temples with two fingers. He rubbed them twice. Then he spoke. His tone was, how should I put it, like saying, "The weather's nice today, it didn't rain," neither warm nor cold. He said, "Master of the Ancient Tower. The tax bureau has been investigating for three months. Your Spirit Transmission Tower's Ascension Platform business generated 32 billion in revenue last year."

After speaking, he raised his head and looked at Qian Gu Dongfeng. How can I describe that look? It wasn't fierce. It wasn't ruthless. But you just felt something creeping up your back. A chill ran down your spine from your waist to the back of your head. He continued, "After deducting maintenance costs, staff salaries, and the cost of feeding your soul beasts, your net profit margin is 96.4%."

Qian Gu Dongfeng's Adam's apple bobbed. I saw him swallow. The sweat on his forehead, which he had just wiped away, was back. His lips moved, and his voice was dry, as if he hadn't drunk water for days. He said, "Your Excellency, the technology of the Spirit Ascension Platform—that's the culmination of several generations of hard work. And with the resources of soul beasts becoming increasingly scarce, and the cost of capturing them rising, so… so…"

"Cost?" Mo Runshu didn't let him finish. He took over, his voice low. He tapped twice on a number in a row on the report. The tapping was soft, but the room was too quiet for anyone to hear clearly. He said, "Your costs are built on a monopoly. You control the soul market, you set your own prices. That's how you get a 96% profit."

Then he leaned forward slightly. Just a slight movement, I'm not kidding, I felt the air in the whole room press forward. He pushed the stack of reports towards Qian Gu Dong Feng. I saw it clearly: his index fingertip was on that red number. The touch was steady. Unmoving. That red number on the white paper, even through the table, looked glaringly bright, like blood.

Mo Runshu withdrew his hand, but didn't lean back; he just leaned forward and continued speaking. His tone remained the same, unhurried.

"The average profit margin in federal manufacturing is 8%. In the high-tech industry, it's 15%. You service providers have profit margins twelve times higher than manufacturing. This isn't making money; it's robbery. That's why I proposed a 94% excess profit adjustment tax."

"94%?!" Qian Gu Dongfeng suddenly stood up. Not slowly, but springing up. The chair legs scraped against the floor with a screeching sound that made your teeth ache. His face turned pale, not just pale, but deathly pale. His voice changed too, becoming shrill and dry, like sandpaper scraping glass. "Mo Runshu! This is robbery! After paying 94% of the taxes, the Spirit Pagoda won't even be able to pay next month's electricity bill! You're trying to force us to our deaths!"

"Sit," Mo Runshu said, uttering only one word. His voice wasn't loud, but Qian Gu Dongfeng sat down. It wasn't that he wanted to sit; it was his body that sat down. I could tell.

Mo Runshu picked up the calculator from the table and pressed a few buttons. The beeping sound was particularly jarring in the quiet. He turned the calculator screen towards the direction of Qian Gu Dongfeng and said, "Your annual electricity bill is fifty million. Even after paying 94% in taxes, the remaining 6% is enough to cover your electricity bill. Moreover, each Spirit Master receives three times what a civil servant earns."

Qian Gu Dong Feng opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Mo Runshu stopped looking at him and turned to Zang Xin. Zang Xin was dressed in red, and his face was already flushed as he sat there. Mo Runshu looked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn't necessarily a smile. I've known him for so many years, I know that expression of his—it's not a smile, it's him thinking about how to respond next.

"The Tang Clan sold 5 billion worth of hidden weapons last year. Of that, 4.5 billion were orders from the Federal military. In other words, 90% of your business comes from the Federation."

Zang Xin slammed his hand on the table. The sound was loud; even the cups on the table jumped. The illusory image of the Amorous Sword behind him flickered and then disappeared. The veins on his neck bulged, and his voice boomed, "Mo Runshu! The Tang Clan earns its living through craftsmanship! Every part of our hidden weapons is hand-ground! It's the hard work of our brothers! And you want 94% of it?!"

"Craftsmanship?" Mo Runshu flipped open another document, glanced at it, and tossed it over. Not just tossed, but thrown. "This is your cost accounting for the past five years. You've been paying your apprentices low wages. You've sourced raw materials cheaply from Shrek's affiliated families. Your actual production cost is only 10% of the selling price."

Zang Xin fell silent. He stared at the document, his mouth moving, but no sound came out.

"Your market is entirely dependent on the Federation. The Federation is the client, and clients have the right to demand concessions from suppliers." Mo Runshu tapped his finger on the table again. "The 94% tax rate, to put it bluntly, is taking back the extra profits you make. It's used to build better soul tools for the military. That's fair."

"Fair my ass!" The veins on Zang Xin's neck throbbed. "You're using me and then discarding me! Without the Tang Clan's hidden weapons, could the Federation have defeated the Holy Spirit Cult back then?"

"That's all in the past." Mo Runshu remained calm, his voice unchanged. "Now we need to look at the future. Besides, this isn't called a tax. In the Federal Administrative Code, it's called a franchise fee. You've taken a place in the Soul Master world, so you have to pay rent."

Yun Ming remained silent. He sat there, staring at the reports on the table, motionless for a long time. I almost thought he had fallen asleep. Then he spoke, his voice low and slightly hoarse, as if squeezed from his throat.

"Speaker Mo, you've calculated things shrewdly. But a 94% tax rate means we won't be able to support ourselves. Shrek Academy will have to reduce enrollment and resources, and we won't even be able to raise enough money to maintain the Sea God Pavilion. In the end, it's the next generation of Soul Masters who will suffer."

"You've got it backwards." Mo Runshu stood up. He placed his hands on the table, leaning forward even more. You often saw him in that posture when watching him in meetings on the Soul Guidance TV. But this wasn't TV; if you were standing next to him, you could feel the table trembling slightly.

"In the past, the resources were monopolized by the three of you. Shrek Academy only accepted geniuses, the Spirit Pagoda only served the wealthy, and the Tang Sect only took big orders. Commoner Soul Masters could not be trained and could only be used as cannon fodder. Now the Federation takes 94% of these resources and will use them in public academies, in basic research, and for every commoner Soul Master."

He held up a finger and gently shook it in the air, not pointing at anyone, just shaking it.

"It's not about robbery. It's about resource redistribution. You've taken too much. It's time to give it back."

The room fell silent again. The air conditioner was still humming—humming—, like something was panting.

Qian Gu Dongfeng picked up the electronic pen. His hand trembled. He signed. The handwriting was crooked and messy, unlike his usual signature. I had seen his signature before, at a celebration, where his handwriting was quite beautiful. Today's looked like a child's. He was a businessman; he knew that at this point, not signing was pointless. If he didn't sign, the Federation had plenty of ways to deal with him—tax evasion, asset freezes, takeover of the Ascension Platform. He had considered every possible step.

Zang Xin bit down on a toothpick. The pen tip poked at the screen, almost piercing it. He knew—Tang Sect couldn't survive without the Federation's orders, without the rare metals they provided. Without the Federation as a client, Tang Sect wouldn't last three months. Three months, ninety days. He probably counted in his mind.

Zang Xin bit down on a toothpick. The pen tip poked at the screen, almost piercing it. He knew—Tang Sect couldn't survive without the Federation's orders, without the rare metals they provided. Without the Federation as a client, Tang Sect wouldn't last three months. Three months, ninety days. He probably counted in his mind.

Yun Ming didn't sign it. He stared at the report for a long time. I thought he was going to slam his fist on the table and leave. But he didn't. He sighed. It was a long sigh, as if he were exhaling everything he had ever felt in his life.

"Shrek...accepts the audit results." He didn't write anything, but he said it. I later wondered why he didn't sign. Maybe he felt it was the same whether he signed or not, the result was already decided. Or maybe he felt that signing meant acceptance, and not signing would at least save face. Who knows?

Mo Runshu picked up the three documents and glanced at the signatures. He gently blew on the top document, as if afraid of tearing the paper. That gesture made me feel that he wasn't blowing on the ink, but rather greeting the three documents.

"Very good. Starting next month, the tax bureau will be stationed at your three companies for on-site audits. We hope you will cooperate."

He turned and walked towards the door. His steps were light, neither fast nor slow. When the door opened, light streamed in. But that light shone on the three men's faces, not illuminating them. Their faces remained ashen.

He paused at the door. He glanced back at them. His lips twitched. This time I was sure he smiled. But it wasn't a smile of joy; it was a smile that said, "I've won, you know it, I don't need to say it."

"Remember this. In the Sun and Moon Federation, you need a license to make money. The price of the license is what I set: 94%."

He left. The door wasn't closed. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, tap-tap-tap, fading into the distance.

I stood in the room, watching the three people. Qian Gu Dong Feng had his head down, staring at the table. Zang Xin clenched the document in his hand, then put it down again. Yun Ming had his eyes closed, lost in thought.

Someone whispered, "Meeting adjourned." It could have been someone among them saying it, or it could have been a notification from some instrument inside. I didn't hear it clearly.

Anyway, when I got home that night and wrote it down, my hands were still shaking.

It's not fear. It's just that I feel some things changed from that day on.

Yun Ming didn't sign it. He stared at the report for a long time. I thought he was going to slam his fist on the table and leave. But he didn't. He sighed. It was a long sigh, as if he were exhaling everything he had ever felt in his life.

"Shrek...accepts the audit results." He didn't write anything, but he said it. I later wondered why he didn't sign. Maybe he felt it was the same whether he signed or not, the result was already decided. Or maybe he felt that signing meant acceptance, and not signing would at least save face. Who knows?

Mo Runshu picked up the three documents and glanced at the signatures. He gently blew on the top document, as if afraid of tearing the paper. That gesture made me feel that he wasn't blowing on the ink, but rather greeting the three documents.

"Very good. Starting next month, the tax bureau will be stationed at your three companies for on-site audits. We hope you will cooperate."

He turned and walked towards the door. His steps were light, neither fast nor slow. When the door opened, light streamed in. But that light shone on the three men's faces, not illuminating them. Their faces remained ashen.

He paused at the door. He glanced back at them. His lips twitched. This time I was sure he smiled. But it wasn't a smile of joy; it was a smile that said, "I've won, you know it, I don't need to say it."

"Remember this. In the Sun and Moon Federation, you need a license to make money. The price of the license is what I set: 94%."

He left. The door wasn't closed. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, tap-tap-tap, fading into the distance.

I stood in the room, watching the three people. Qian Gu Dong Feng had his head down, staring at the table. Zang Xin clenched the document in his hand, then put it down again. Yun Ming had his eyes closed, lost in thought.

Someone whispered, "Meeting adjourned." It could have been someone among them saying it, or it could have been a notification from some instrument inside. I didn't hear it clearly.

Anyway, when I got home that night and wrote it down, my hands were still shaking.

It's not fear. It's just that I feel some things changed from that day on.

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Yun Ming didn't sign it. He stared at the report for a long time. I thought he was going to slam his fist on the table and leave. But he didn't. He sighed. It was a long sigh, as if he were exhaling everything he had ever felt in his life.

"Shrek...accepts the audit results." He didn't write anything, but he said it. I later wondered why he didn't sign. Maybe he felt it was the same whether he signed or not, the result was already decided. Or maybe he felt that signing meant acceptance, and not signing would at least save face. Who knows?

Mo Runshu picked up the three documents and glanced at the signatures. He gently blew on the top document, as if afraid of tearing the paper. That gesture made me feel that he wasn't blowing on the ink, but rather greeting the three documents.

"Very good. Starting next month, the tax bureau will be stationed at your three companies for on-site audits. We hope you will cooperate."

He turned and walked towards the door. His steps were light, neither fast nor slow. When the door opened, light streamed in. But that light shone on the three men's faces, not illuminating them. Their faces remained ashen.

He paused at the door. He glanced back at them. His lips twitched. This time I was sure he smiled. But it wasn't a smile of joy; it was a smile that said, "I've won, you know it, I don't need to say it."

"Remember this. In the Sun and Moon Federation, you need a license to make money. The price of the license is what I set: 94%."

He left. The door wasn't closed. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, tap-tap-tap, fading into the distance.

I stood in the room, watching the three people. Qian Gu Dong Feng had his head down, staring at the table. Zang Xin clenched the document in his hand, then put it down again. Yun Ming had his eyes closed, lost in thought.

Someone whispered, "Meeting adjourned." It could have been someone among them saying it, or it could have been a notification from some instrument inside. I didn't hear it clearly.

Anyway, when I got home that night and wrote it down, my hands were still shaking.

It's not fear. It's just that I feel some things changed from that day on.