Darkstone Code

What is an era?

What is the essence of an era?

What is the pulse of an era?

This is a very complex and difficult question, and no one can summarize these contents in a sentence or a few brief words.

The lives of the rich are a reflection of an era, the lives of the poor are also a reflection of an era. It is impossible for a person to grasp every little detail, every change of an era.

If someone asked Lynch this, Lynch would tell the questioner to ride a bus from the busiest street to the poorest area and see this era with their own eyes, see the reflection of everything along the way.

Here, it is the same.

The myriad of human expressions at the exhibition gave Lynch a very unique feeling, like he was detached from the entire world. Perhaps this feeling stems from the soul he has which comes from another world.

He stands here, observing different expressions on everyone's faces, seeing the cunning in the eyes of the swindlers, and the helplessness in the eyes of the inventors.

This is the era!

"Mr. Lynch!", just as Lynch was contemplating this era, this world, and preparing to take another step toward philosophy, a voice interrupted his elevation.

He was not annoyed, turned around, smiling as he looked at the person calling his name behind him, the whole world seemed to turn into his backdrop at this moment.

The person calling his name was the stock broker from before; not seeing Mr. Truman here, he couldn't resist coming over.

"Mr. Lynch, you seemed interested in the radio reconnaissance array I mentioned earlier?", the young stock broker inquired enthusiastically.

Lynch looked at him, sized him up, "Excuse my curiosity, my question might make you uncomfortable, can you tell me how much you earn selling these stocks...", he glanced at some brochures in the young man's hand, "per month?"

The young man was taken aback and began calculating.

The inventor was looking for suitable fools—indeed everyone knows stock brokerage companies will use any legal means to get people to buy those stocks for maximum profits.

The inventor took out all the money that wouldn't immediately impact his life, he even drained his emergency funds and handed over twelve hundred dollars to the stock brokerage company.

The company promised to issue sixty thousand shares for him, raising twelve thousand dollars.

But the inventor naively assumed each share was twenty cents, and the twelve hundred dollars he paid was just the broker's commission.

It's not like that, once the twelve hundred dollars fall into the company's pocket, they start up cheap machines to print these little yellow slips. The price for each slip is not twenty cents but thirty-five cents.

Out of this, twenty cents goes to the inventor, ten cents to the company itself, and five cents to the salesperson.

If they manage to sell all those stocks, they can raise twenty-one thousand dollars, excluding the amount in the contract, that is, twelve thousand dollars will flow into the inventor's account, while the salesperson can earn three thousand dollars.

Is three thousand dollars much?

The person asking such a question is a fool.

Of course, three thousand dollars is a lot; ninety-five percent of people in this country would answer this way, but not every stock broker can sell the little yellow slips assigned to them.

Some girls find it easy; they just have to forego phone calls and communicate with clients face to face to unload the hardest-to-sell stocks, and naturally, they earn the most.

Like the broker in front of Lynch, his salary could be... "Almost three thousand dollars, Mr. Lynch!"

His expression showed some pride, but his eyes and the subconscious glance at his toes betrayed him; he couldn't earn that much money.

Maybe he could have before, when the financial environment was good, even farmers would use the money for buying feed to invest, but not anymore. This month, he only earned eighty-one dollars and ninety cents.

If he can't handle the little yellow slips he has by the end of June, the company will kick him out, giving the opportunity to ready newcomers—some new girls.

Faced with Lynch's inquiry, he still lied; maybe it was some unwillingness, some humble struggle led him to lie, not wanting Lynch, a peer of his age, to look down on him with contemptuous and arrogant eyes. So he mentioned an income he thought was remarkable, yet not overly exaggerated.

Lynch nodded noncommittally, "I have a partner who, ever since he joined my venture, has earned bonuses at least much higher than your current earnings."

Lynch was talking about Richard; Richard is doing very well now. He knows better than anyone how to get clients' money out of their pockets and into Lynch's and his own.

He is very good at maintaining relationships with his clients, from daily greetings, giving some worthless small gifts during holidays, to occasionally offering lottery draws to his client base, giving equally worthless items or travel packages. These methods keep his bonds with his clients strong.

Even though he might not win the sales champion title every time, he is still the best.

Lynch's words made the salesman fall silent, while feeling a vague sense that this man in front of him, labeled as "a youthful leader of the new era," seemed to want...

"Would you like to work for me?", Lynch said directly.

He pointed to an empty seat nearby and had some cold drinks brought over. The drinks cooled the stock broker, making him calm down. He didn't agree immediately, but instead asked, "Can I know why, Mr. Lynch, why would a big figure like you take interest in me?"

Lynch smiled, holding some overly sweet juice, he asked, "Have you seen Bupen at five in the morning?"

The young man froze for a moment, bits and pieces of memories began to surface in his mind.

In order to survive in this city, forget five in the morning, he's seen Bupen at three in the middle of the night; those days are not far behind, they are his current life.

He could recall anytime the annoying smell and gradually revived hustle of the most bustling streets of Bupen at five in the morning.

He nodded, "Yes, Mr. Lynch, I have seen it.", he quickly added, "But what reason is that?"

Lynch put down his cup with a smile, "I've seen it too, because of hard work, because of courage, destiny will only favor those who are prepared... Sorry, I don't know your name yet."

"Lime, sir, Lime McDonald."

"Lime, look around you. There are at least a dozen stock brokers around you but since I came in, until now, only you have recommended the little yellow slips in your hand to me."

"You dare to make efforts, to strive for a good result, so why should destiny be stingy in rewarding you?"

"I see the potential for success in you, Lime."

Lynch stirred his juice with a straw to ensure it stays very cold. Instead of refrigerating the juice, it was poured over half a cup of slushy ice.

Half a cup of slushy ice saves the boss quite a bit of money while ensuring the juice doesn't warm up too quickly. Its excessive sweetness ensures that when the ice melts, it won't become too bland.

He looked at Lime, the changes in young people can never escape his grasp. People aren't numb yet, people still believe in miracles, so this is the best era!

Lynch looked at Lime, after about a minute he continued, "From your humble beginnings to your current position, you understand Bupen and this business more than those big figures you think.

"Some things you're not qualified to know, as soon as you become my partner, you'll quickly grasp them, combined with your current experience working at the bottom, you'll grow faster than anyone else."

Lynch's words had already moved Lime; he licked his lips, "If I agree to work for you, Mr. Lynch, what would you have me do?"

"No, you misunderstood!" Lynch shook his finger, "Working for me is just a term, you're not actually working for me; that would be unfair. It's not right for me to use your skills to earn more for myself just because I pay you some compensation."

"I always believe capable people should triumph, so we're partners."

"As for the question you asked, it's simple, I plan to buy some trading floor seats, now is a good time."

The trading seat prices of the three major exchanges have been plummeting; last year, the seats broke past a million, now only at thirty-plus thousand apiece. Lynch plans to buy a few in preparation for the future.

His main target remains futures trading. As the Federation integrates more into the international community, the price fluctuations of some raw materials are becoming unpredictable.

For example, certain material prices will fluctuate significantly due to changes in political conditions, seasons, military forces in some areas.

Lynch might not be able to make wars in some regions cease; he doesn't have the clout to make warring nations shake hands and make peace. But to incite regional hostility, create artificial armed conflict, that's too easy!

Not only sucking foreign blood makes a good merchant; sucking domestic capitalists' blood too, that's the kind of good merchant in Lynch's heart!

Lime already clearly knew what Lynch wanted to do; actually, if Lime had enough money now, he too would buy a trading seat on the cheap, but he doesn't have enough money.

He already nodded, and just as he was about to say he was willing to work for Lynch, expressing his willingness, Lynch stopped him.

"Before you give me, and yourself, an answer, you'd better think more about it; meanwhile let's talk about that radio... reconnaissance array!"