Darkstone Code

Chapter 1071 - 1069: Playing Cards

After soaking in the hot spring, no one was willing to get up, not even the President, who gestured to the butler. Soon, servants carried a table into the bath.

"This is specially prepared for doing something inside here, of course, it’s also a gift from my grandfather!" The President said with a smile as he sat at the table.

The table was quite large, accommodating up to six to eight people seated around it. It was oval-shaped, and sitting in the bath made it neither too high nor too low—just perfect.

The wooden surface wasn’t painted with any lacquer but gave a kind of waterproof greasy feel, the result of using a type of wood-derived oil repeatedly brushed over.

This plant-based oil is harmless to humans, water, and anything else.

Additionally, its hydrophobic and sealing properties ensure the wood won’t be damaged by water, preventing rot and decay.

The tabletop was made of stone, the specific material unknown, resembling reddish-purple agate mixed with some yellow threads, looking very beautiful.

Important areas like betting zones and card positions were outlined on the tabletop with gold and silver threads.

People gathered around, some expressing a lack of skill. This was modesty; in reality, their status wasn’t high enough to participate in such a game.

Joining rashly might offend someone—people sometimes narrowly think their exclusion from the table is the fault of others!

Lynch sat at the table; everyone knew he was forming his consortium, indicating his qualification to be at this table.

The President looked at Lynch, with a somewhat emotional expression. Four years ago, he quoted something from this young man, who then seemed as humble as any passerby with no sense of presence or value.

Yet now, look at him—no one could ignore his impact on the country’s, and the Federation’s economy.

He has started having a massive influence on national defense and diplomacy, many matters driven by his efforts behind the scenes.

The President felt somewhat fortunate, as he had a good relationship with Lynch, who had also donated a lot of money to him, which indeed served a great purpose.

The rest were of a similar tier, not too high, unlike Mr. Jeruno, Mr. Wardrick, or Mr. Pato.

A bit lower than them.

"Why play something?" the President asked everyone, "Piawa or something else?"

He, though elderly, maintained his health well, even showing some muscle contours.

Without waiting for others to answer, he replied to himself, "Piawa takes too long; with so many of us, a game might last several hours, let’s play something simple."

Saying so, he began dealing the cards to others; whether due to his age, status, or identity, he had the authority to make this decision.

A simple game where everyone got two cards, with a community card area too.

"Small blind one dollar, no raising..."

The simple, quick rules allowed everyone to easily join the game, and the butler distributed chips to each guest, each receiving a hundred dollars’ worth.

Of course, sometimes playing cards isn’t just about the cards; the game is merely a facade, not the true essence.

"There are a few things lately that have been bothering me..." the President said casually, picking up his hand and glancing at it, "Food is a bit tight."

He then tossed a green chip up, "Two dollars..."

This wasn’t a mere "poker match"; there was deeper meaning.

As the Federation’s immigration wave surged, the total population rapidly increased, with immigrants making up over thirty percent of the total population.

A few years ago, food still met domestic demand, but in recent years, it has been seriously insufficient.

With the birth of second-generation immigrants and even the third or fourth generations from early arrivals, more and more food shortages emerged.

There’s an interesting phenomenon; immigrant populations, regarding fertility, have more inclination than Federation locals.

In the Federation, it’s common for urban families to have one to two children due to the high cost of living; more children imply a heavier burden.

In remote and rural areas, families typically have two to four children, as children are also labor; once they can walk, they contribute some labor to the family.

Besides, rural burdens are relatively lighter, enabling them to raise more children.

This is normal for ordinary Federation families; everyone is like this now.

But immigrants differ; they crazily have children, the majority of immigrant families have at least two kids, and many have four or five, or even more.

Once, a sociologist labeled these labor immigrants as "procreation-obsessed societal residue," facing backlash, yet his view represented some people’s opinions.

Problems from population expansion began to surface, making the Federation more reliant on imported food.

Domestic production hasn’t met demand for long; now import needs outstrip previous years more than ever!

Increasing import pressure has made food a constraint in the Federation’s diplomatic strategies, as food recently surfaced in international negotiations.

If not for Truman talking to the President about it, he wouldn’t know that due to food issues, they had to make concessions on certain matters!

The man to the President’s left picked up his cards for a look, "Not following..." and tossed them into the discard pile casually.

Next was Lynch.

Without even looking, Lynch threw in a two-dollar chip into the pot, "Follow..."

He paused for a moment, "Nagariel can provide us with a large amount of grain annually, these issues are easily resolved."

"We can influence Nagariel citizens’ employment choices through policies; if agricultural returns outweigh those from work, people will know how to choose."

The President nodded, "This is one solution; also cattle and sheep, we don’t eat much plant-based food, mostly animals, especially beef!"

Lynch seemed to realize something; Nagariel beef... honestly speaking, it doesn’t taste great.

The local climate is rather hot, with numerous mosquitoes and insects, and local cattle are wild breeds; even if domesticated, they retain wild attributes.

These cattle have some notable characteristics, such as very thick skin.

The thickness provides protection against mosquito bites and better defense against predators.

Moreover, these cattle lack much fat, mostly tendons and tough muscles that are hard to chew.

People favor the taste of fat; thus, beef supplied to Federation citizens tends to be slightly fatty.

You don’t need to add oil when frying; it quickly releases some fat.

If using entirely lean beef... anyone who has fried it understands; heat causes muscle fibers to contract, eventually making the beef hard as stone, difficult to swallow.

Therefore, suitable beef must be sourced from temperate and cold regions.

Temperate beef varies in fat-to-lean ratio based on type and environment but generally contains some fat.

Near subarctic and arctic areas, cattle require fat for warmth, resulting in higher fat content in their beef, making it tender and delicious.

The best domestic beef comes from the North, due to its colder climate, yielding beef with higher fat content—so tender it almost melts in your mouth!

Further north... is Mariluo.

Perhaps the President was hinting at something, but Lynch didn’t respond, merely glanced left.

Four gentlemen consecutively discarded their hands, and by the fifth, he also bet two dollars, "Follow."

"Actually, Lynch almost summed it up, I’ll add a bit."

Looking at his cards, he said, "I think a tougher stance on these issues is necessary. If the Federation Government provides favorable policies, I’m willing to find suppliers internationally."

After a brief silence, the President asked, "What kind of favorable policies do you think would be beneficial?"

"Tax exemptions, subsidies, or exclusive export rights from a region..." the man returned his cards, "Profit drives us, as you know, and each decision affects thousands of employees. We can’t bear this loss alone."

Eventually, someone folded, and the round returned to the President. He pondered for a while, tapped the table, and revealed the fourth community card.

The President seemed deep in thought; after about a minute, he tossed a two-dollar chip onto the table, "I think my hand’s alright, maybe we can try!"

He finished and looked at Lynch, who also threw in a chip, followed by another person.

Upon revealing the final community card, Lynch shook his head and tossed his hand into the discard pile, along with someone else, leaving the President winning this round.

He won a total of... twelve dollars, not much money, yet he seemed quite content.

The game restarted, with the President discussing various issues with everyone every time. Sometimes he won, other times he didn’t; everything seemed like an ordinary card game.

But everyone knew it wasn’t an ordinary game; it held value and meaning, only understood by some, not by others.

Politics and capital, essentially, are just a card game.

The President, the capitalists, are merely identities to participate in the game!