Translator: AnubisTL
Seeing Chen Mang's reaction, Uncle Li quickly explained, "Lord Mang, you wanted to purchase a large quantity of Dreamstones. We acquired 102 of them at an average price of 500,000 units of iron ore each, totaling 51 million units."
"Most train conductors exchanged their stellar coupons for iron ore. Only a few retained their coupons, but the corresponding iron ore is considered a debt asset and is currently sealed in Neon City."
"Excluding the Dreamstones, today's net profit should be 58.92 million units of iron ore, with an increase of 112.1%."
"Hmm."
Only then did Chen Mang's smile return. He nodded, "That's more like it. You scared me half to death! I thought something had happened in Neon City, causing the profits to plummet so drastically."
"Next time, make sure the data you report is accurate."
"Yes, Lord Mang. Your reprimand is justified."
Uncle Li breathed a sigh of relief. That was terrifying! From now on, can Li Shiji handle these data reports? I'm too flustered.
"Bring out the iron ore and Dreamstones."
"Yes, sir."
The 102 Dreamstones were neatly arranged on the control panel, their brilliance dazzling.
"This is the allure of trade," Chen Mang murmured, leaning on his cane as he gazed at the over 100 Dreamstones before him. A smile crept across his lips. The Stellaris train typically collected the dreams of all its residents for a full month to produce just one Dreamstone.
To gather this many Dreamstones would normally require 8.5 years of effort.
But—
In Neon City, he had acquired 102 Dreamstones in just 24 hours.
Trade is one of humanity's greatest achievements. Since the days of bartering, it has dramatically improved the quality of life for everyone. This is why, even in the chaotic environment of the apocalypse, where nearly all social activities have ground to a halt, gatherings for trade still persist.
Trade.
It is essential, indispensable.
Without trade, relying solely on self-sufficiency would be an arduous struggle.
After upgrading the train to Tier 11, the "Dream Manifestation" function became available, enabling the collection of Dreamstones. The Stellaris train could obtain one Dreamstone per month due to its large resident population. A typical train, however, would require five to six months to acquire a single Dreamstone.
Only seasoned high-tier trains could obtain a Dreamstone.
According to the data, among the guests at Neon City this time, there weren't 102 high-tier trains. It's likely that many trains rushed to the train radio to buy Dreamstones after learning that Neon City had acquired them, acting as middlemen.
Most of the Dreamstones were at 100% capacity. Only a dozen were at 99% capacity, which were purchased at a slightly lower price.
In essence, Chen Mang had cleared out the entire market's available stock in one sweep. Future acquisitions wouldn't yield such large quantities, but that didn't matter. With Mundo's help, he could gradually expand his reach to more zones and trains.
Slow and steady wins the race.
"Can we lower the price further?" Chen Mang asked Uncle Li, who stood beside him. "After all, most trains have little use for these."
Dreamstones.
They could be used by Tier 12 trains' "Dream Creation" function to generate dream realms while consuming Dreamstones and slightly increasing mental power. Currently, the only use for mental power was piloting certain Firepower Mechas, but Mecha Blueprints were already scarce, and mechas requiring mental power were even rarer.
Currently, the Stellaris only had the "Leech" Mecha, which required mental power.
"It's hard to go any lower," Uncle Li replied.
Uncle Li shook his head. "Only high-tier trains have the capacity to sell Dreamstones. This price is already the lowest I could negotiate after speaking with several train conductors. Any lower, and the high-tier train conductors would find it beneath them."
"They'd rather use the Dreamstones themselves for entertainment than exchange them for iron ore."
"Even at this price, which was the absolute minimum I could secure after repeated negotiations, some train conductors ultimately chose to keep the Dreamstones for their own use instead of selling them to us."
"That makes sense," Chen Mang nodded. Value fluctuates with time.
For example, when he first transmigrated, if he had found Ji Chuchu and a train conductor offered him 50,000 units of iron ore for her, he would have sold her without hesitation.
But now, if a train conductor offered him 50,000 units of iron ore for Ji Chuchu, he wouldn't just refuse—he'd blast them with a cannon.
How dare they provoke me like that?
Do they have a death wish, acting so brazenly?!
The Stellaris currently held 12,040,000 units of iron ore, a modest reserve. In Carriage 10, a new Tier 1 space gate had been added to the wall. A Tier 1 gate was sufficient for their needs.
Originally, there were three space gates in this area:
Film StudioEntertainment SpaceFighter Hangar
Now, a fourth had been added:
Cyber Mine
Inside the space gate, ten Tier 100 single beds were neatly arranged, their exorbitant price having cost Chen Mang a total of 5.1 million units of iron ore.
"This investment is truly expensive," Chen Mang muttered, standing before the beds and glancing at the ten residents standing nervously nearby. "It's practically a major capital investment."
"Lord Mang," Old Pig whispered from beside him, "these ten residents volunteered. There's just one minor issue: normally, residents' stellar coupons are calculated based on the amount of ore they mine beyond their daily quota. How will stellar coupons be calculated in the Cyber Mine?"
"They'll still earn commissions," Chen Mang replied. "Bring back a single 9th-Tier Iron Ore, and they'll receive 1,000 stellar coupons."
"1,000?" Old Pig blinked in surprise. While that amount might seem insignificant in Neon City, on the Stellaris, it was a fortune. Just one ore would be worth several days' worth of labor.
"Yes. I'll go explain it to them now."
Soon after—
The ten residents, who had been anxious moments before, now wore expressions of excitement as they eagerly took their places on the beds. However, their heightened emotions and the crowd gathered around made it difficult for them to fall asleep.
They tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.
Each single bed was embedded with a Dreamstone.
"Train Conductor," Xiao Ai whispered from the side, "why don't you all step out? I'll help them fall asleep."
"Mm."
Chen Mang and the others immediately exited the space gate. As the oxygen levels rapidly decreased, the ten residents of the Cyber Mine all fell into a deep slumber.
Each of them shared the same dream:
Mining 9th-Tier Iron Ore with a Tier 9 Pickaxe in a 9th-Tier Iron Ore mine. Nothing else existed in the dream realm.
Inside the locomotive cabin, Chen Mang gazed at the Cyber Mine's surveillance footage on the screen. Dream Creation consumed Dreamstone capacity, though the consumption was minimal—so small it was undetectable as a percentage, likely several decimal places beyond zero.
He roughly calculated the cost:
Building a Cyber Miner, including a Tier 100 Single Bed and a Dreamstone, cost approximately 1,010,000 units of iron ore.
This figure excluded minor expenses like daily rations for the residents and the cost of stellar coupons awarded as bonuses.
Thus, 1,010,000 units of iron ore represented the cost of a single Cyber Miner.
Bringing out one 9th-grade ore yielded a return of 100,000,000 units of iron ore.
Although it was a low-probability event, maintaining and operating the Cyber Miners cost nothing after their initial creation. This meant that over an infinite timeframe, the investment would always be recouped; the only question was when the profits would start rolling in.
"Train Conductor," Xiao Ai's voice echoed through the locomotive cabin. "All ten residents of the Cyber Mine have successfully fallen asleep, and their Dream Realms have been fully implanted. According to the rules, entering the Dream Realm grants a chance to bring back an item identical to one found within it. There are no restrictions on dream duration."
"In other words, even a one-hour dream carries a small chance of manifesting an item from the Dream Realm."
"The time required to mine one unit of iron ore is precisely one hour."
"Our residents are quite diligent; they typically extract one unit of iron ore in about fifty minutes."
"Train Conductor, I've modified the mechanical structures you created earlier using the Mechanical Heart and named them 'Cone-Spike Thigh' as you instructed."
"After the residents fall asleep, the mechanical devices will activate every hour, driving a steel needle into their buttocks to jolt them awake."
"Then, we'll lower the oxygen levels again to induce rapid sleep."
"Repeat the process every hour."
"Each resident works 12 hours a day, which means they can enter the Dream Realm 12 times. This significantly increases the probability of obtaining 9th-tier unit iron ore. With 10 residents asleep, we'll have 120 chances daily to acquire it."
"Perfect!"
Chen Mang grinned and nodded. With just one 9th-tier unit iron ore, he could fund the construction of more Cyber Miners, house more residents, and keep the snowball rolling.
Unemployment?
Nonexistent.
The residents of Stellaris still underestimated themselves, constantly worrying about job losses. How could unemployment even be possible?
"The probability should be about one in ten, right?"
"I've probably dreamed ten times and already brought back one 9th-tier unit iron ore. And that was before I even used Dream Creation."
"Train Conductor, you're the Chosen One. You're different."
"Next time, drop the 'One' part."
"Understood, Train Conductor. You are destiny itself."
"Hmm."
Chen Mang paused before adding, "When Neon City opens next time, acquire some accessories that induce rapid sleep. Lowering oxygen levels has its drawbacks, after all."
"It's not a big deal. We have medical pods that can fix any problem directly. The repair costs are negligible compared to the profits."
"Still, it's best to cut costs where we can. Your oxygen levels fluctuating like that puts a strain on the oxygen generator."
"Understood. I'll acquire some next time Neon City opens."
Another seven days passed.
Neon City celebrated its fourth grand opening. Each time, the crowds grew larger. At this rate, Neon City would soon be open daily.
Today—
Neon City was about to witness a major spectacle.
Almost every guest emerging from the starting point was stunned by the sight before them. Every screen in the city displayed the same advertisement:
Mining Robot!
Not 39,998! Not 29,998! Just 9,998!
Bring home a Mining Robot that works 24/7!
Perfect for mining and logging!
The only one of its kind in the world!
Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Limited stock: only 5,000 units available, while supplies last!
"I haven't seen such a lively scene in ages."
A train conductor entering Neon City for the first time gazed at the scene before him and murmured, "All the outdoor screens on the skyscrapers are displaying the same product posters and slogans."
For a moment, he felt disoriented, as if the apocalypse had never happened. He was still in a modern city, and everything was just a dream—so unreal and illusory.
"Mining Robots?"
Many people stared at the overwhelming posters, stunned. This was the first product they'd seen that could replace slaves in mining, and it was a robot capable of working 24 hours a day. Wouldn't its efficiency surpass that of slaves?
"Only 5,000 units for sale?"
"Yes," Chen Mang replied with a slight nod from beside the floor-to-ceiling window. "We're not sure how many people will buy them. Let's see how the initial sales go."
The market is unpredictable. Any conceptual product must ultimately be tested in the market to gauge its acceptance. Only novice entrepreneurs would imagine market demand without any research.
A Mining Robot cost 2,500 units to produce and sold for 9,998 units, yielding a profit of approximately 7,500 units per unit.
If all 5,000 units were sold, the total profit would reach 37.5 million units.
The profit margin wasn't particularly high.
It paled in comparison to the Space Pouch. With a production cost of one unit of Wood, it sold for 50,000 units of iron ore—a staggering 50,000% profit margin. This kind of profit would drive capitalists wild.
However, no trains would purchase Space Pouches in bulk. They were typically bought in small quantities for personal use, never in hundreds or thousands.
The Mining Robot was different.
To truly popularize its use and significantly boost train production efficiency, buying seven or eight units was pointless. At least a hundred units were needed to achieve any meaningful scale.
This was a product meant for mass sales.
Mass-market products inevitably have lower profit margins. If the margins were too high, no one could afford them.
Three hours passed.
Just over a hundred Mining Robots had been sold. These were all purchased by train conductors, each buying one or two units.
Chen Mang initially puzzled over why these conductors would buy just one Mining Robot. What use could they possibly have for it?
Later, after sending Uncle Li to inquire, Chen Mang learned the truth.
The train conductors were buying one or two Mining Robots each, not for actual mining, but to serve as a motivational tool. They wanted to remind the slaves: "If you don't mine diligently, you'll be replaced in an instant. You're not essential to the train. The fact that we feed you is a kindness!"
Chen Mang remained expressionless for a long time after hearing this, then murmured softly, "Long ago, I heard a fable."
"Sardines are notoriously fragile during transport. One day, a fisherman accidentally dropped a catfish into a sardine shipment. To his surprise, the sardines, driven by fear of their natural predator, became more active and most of them survived."
"This phenomenon was later categorized as 'introducing external stimuli to revitalize and enhance the competitiveness of an existing group.'"
"In management theory, it's known as the 'Catfish Effect.'"
"It's an effective way to boost employee motivation."
"My original intention was to sell production tools, but it seems everyone's buying them to use as 'catfish.'"
Not a single train purchased the robots in bulk.
This was exactly what he had expected.
After all, this was the apocalypse. There was no "Slave Association" to care about the treatment of slaves, no wages to pay—just enough food to keep them alive. Slaves had no recourse for complaints.
This meant that even though "Mining Robots" were incredibly cheap—absurdly so, in fact—they were still more expensive than slaves.
There was nothing he could do about it.
He couldn't interfere with other zones' affairs. He couldn't just declare that all trains must improve slave treatment and expect anyone to listen.
"Still, this might work out for the best," Chen Mang nodded. "Once the trains develop further, we can figure out a way to trade slaves remotely or operate across zones. Then we can buy up all the slaves from them at a premium and put them in Stellaris's Cyber Mine."
"And then sell them the Mining Robots."
Just then—
Xiao Ai, staring at the changing information on the screen, suddenly spoke up: "Train Conductor, a Train Conductor has just spent nearly ten million units of iron ore to purchase one thousand Mining Robots in a single transaction!"
"Oh?" Chen Mang's eyes lit up. "Find out why this Train Conductor bought them. Identify their pain points and see if we can exploit them."
Soon, Uncle Li returned.
"Lord Mang, the train conductor is a High-Level Train Conductor. He suffered severe damage during a natural disaster, and nearly all his slaves perished. Slaves are extremely scarce in the High-Level Zones, and he was desperate when he encountered us selling Mining Robots. He bought a thousand units immediately."
"Exactly!" Chen Mang grinned with satisfaction. This was precisely his target demographic!
It had been nearly two years since the apocalypse.
Most survivors had already been divided among the various trains.
While some survivors might still be hiding in the city ruins of the White Zone, where could survivors possibly hide in the high-level zones? Slaves were a precious resource, and each death meant one less.
This segment of the market was the primary user base for the Mining Robots.
"Excellent."
This meant another reliable source of iron ore had been secured.
Chen Mang leaned on his cane, surveying the bustling street with a satisfied nod. "You can continue guarding this area. I'll head back now. Contact me immediately if any emergencies arise."
"Yes, sir!"
Seven days had passed since the Cyber Miner was officially deployed.
During those seven days...
In this space's Mining Area, the combined efforts of 6,000 residents and 2,000 tireless robots had nearly exhausted most of the mines. The remaining mines were projected to be completely depleted within seven days.
During these seven days, Chen Mang's monitoring of the Cyber Mine had intensified from occasional checks to daily surveillance.
To his slight disappointment, not a single 9th-Tier Iron Ore had been extracted during this period, a probability even lower than he had anticipated.
"Still..."
Chen Mang sat in his chair, a peculiar expression on his face as he gazed out the window at the frenzied mining activity. Perhaps the Catfish Effect is truly this effective?
It was now one o'clock in the morning.
Normally, most residents would be asleep at this hour, with only a few hundred working overtime.
But tonight...
Over three thousand residents were working overtime.
The 2,000 Catfish had been deployed like depth charges, detonating across the Residential District.
Work hard, or be replaced!
This had become the residents' mantra. They mined with relentless fervor, barely sleeping or resting, as if competing with the robots to see who would break down first. The Cola Production Line was practically smoking from overwork.
Blisters?
Wrap them in cloth strips—no pain!
Arm aches?
Chop it off and reattach a brand-new arm—no pain!
Spinal pain?
Chop it off and reattach a brand-new spine—no pain!
Foot cramps?
Chop it off and sew it back on—brand new feet, no pain!
In this world, there's no problem that can't be solved by restarting!
And if restarting doesn't work, it just means you haven't restarted enough times.
"..."
Chen Mang's lips twitched slightly before he turned to Xiao Ai, who stood beside him, and said earnestly, "I swear, I didn't think this way at first. These residents seem a bit too extreme."
"There's really no need for this."
"This is an unexpected situation. Though I hate to admit it, it happened suddenly."
"And—"
"When did the 'Basic First Aid Kits' in the carriages become free?"
"They're not free. They're sold at the resident store for a low price—one stellar coupon each. It's part of the Train Welfare program, helping injured residents recover quickly."
"They pay for them themselves?"
"Yes."
"And they buy Cola with their own money too?"
"Yes."
"They volunteer for overtime?"
"Yes."
"I thought I was a good person. I believed the residents on my train had the best benefits of any train. But the way you describe it, I sound like some kind of evil capitalist."
"The residents acted on their own initiative. It has nothing to do with you, Train Conductor."
"Indeed."
Just then, Xiao Ai, who was standing nearby, spoke up: "Lord Mang, the Dreamstone on a resident's bed in the Cyber Mine is flashing after the resident woke up."
"Damn it!"
Chen Mang sprang from his chair in a carp-like leap, grabbed a coat from the nearby rack, and threw it over his shoulders. "Go check it out! If it's that goddamn Tier 9 Pickaxe, smash the mining machine to pieces!"
"Really smash it?"
"What do you think? Don't be an idiot."
Three minutes later, Chen Mang arrived at Carriage 10, secretly resolving to use the Mechanical Heart to create a flat-ground elevator like those in airports. Running from the front to the back of the train every time was just too damn tiring!
Huff
He stood before the entrance to the Cyber Mine's space gate, nervously wiping his sweaty palms on his coat.
He was genuinely terrified of a Tier 9 Pickaxe appearing.
If that happened, he'd be ready to kill someone.
"Xiao Ai, are you absolutely sure you didn't create any goddamn Cola or oxygen generators in the Dream Realm?"
(End of the Chapter)
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