Valentine

They had always heard merchants who traveled from far and wide to trade, their voices filled with awe, talk about how much they yearned for life at the Van der Linde factory, speaking of it as a veritable paradise. They described, in hushed, reverent tones, how incredibly well the workers employed by Mr. Van der Linde were treated, a level of care unheard of in their own lives. They initially thought what they heard was wildly exaggerated, mere fanciful tales designed to entice. But now, with Mr. Van der Linde standing before them, the actual conditions he offered were far more extravagant, more generous, more fantastical than they could ever have imagined!

Compared to their previous lives, a brutal existence of endless toil and crushing debt, this new reality was truly like heaven itself, a miraculous reprieve!

Miners' wages were notoriously low in this era; as the saying goes, if you don't do it, plenty of others will line up to take your place. Those cold-hearted capitalists wouldn't pity one or two struggling laborers, for their supply seemed endless. Otherwise, the miner named Arthur in the game wouldn't have been forced to borrow from ruthless loan sharks, and only for a paltry twenty dollars at that, just to survive.

The miners in Annesburg were paid even less, an act of intentional oppression, because Mr. Cornwall's stated reason for initially coming to Annesburg was specifically to address and break the miners' strike, a desperate act caused by their excessively low wages.

The son of a b*tch Mr. Cornwall, a truly rapacious capitalist, only paid them a meager forty-five cents a day, forcing them to work sixteen grueling hours daily, day and night, their bodies breaking under the strain. And as if that weren't enough, he even charged exorbitant rent for their squalid housing and cruelly required them to pay for their own meager food. Mr. Cornwall even deliberately set high rents to funnel money back into his own grasping hands, a cruel cycle of debt, which ultimately led to the appearance of Arthur, the miner in the game who had no choice but to borrow from merciless loan sharks to support his starving family.

Their meager wages weren't enough to live on, forcing them into a desperate, endless cycle of borrowing from loan sharks just to survive. And even if their bodies completely broke down, racked with illness or injury, they couldn't possibly stop working, because if they didn't toil, they couldn't repay the loans and would be mercilessly threatened by the loan sharks, even forced to make their wives sell themselves into prostitution to cover their debts. It was a life of absolute desperation.

In stark, glorious contrast, the profound generosity of Mr. Van der Linde was undoubtedly very clear, a shining beacon of hope! And this revelation immediately sparked an enthusiastic, almost violent, response from the miners, their spirits soaring.

"Oh! Sh*t! Long live Mr. Van der Linde, long live Mr. Van der Linde!" a chorus of voices roared, their fists pumping the air in joyous celebration.

"Oh my god! Am I in heaven? Oh, sh*t! I must be in heaven! Mr. Van der Linde is a saint!!!" another miner shrieked, tears streaming down his face, his voice raw with disbelief and profound gratitude.

"Ahaha, I can finally rest assured, my wife can also go to work, earning her own keep, and before I die, I can not only repay my debts, finally free, but also save some money for them, for my family, a small legacy! Ahaha, Mr. Van der Linde, you are everything to me! My savior!" a third wept, his body shaking with overwhelming emotion.

"Long live Van der Linde! Long live Van der Linde!!!" The chants swelled, a thunderous roar from the assembled miners, their voices cracking with emotion.

What did this group of downtrodden miners just work so hard to beat Mr. Fusal for? What was the true motivation behind their violent outburst? Wasn't it just so they could finally have higher wages, wages that could sustain them, rather than the meager pittance set by Mr. Cornwall?

Now, with wages so astonishingly high, promises of such unheard-of prosperity, and benefits so incredibly good, all their deepest thoughts and desires were completely fulfilled, and all their hopes and wishes were granted in one glorious moment. This overwhelming generosity drove this group of miners completely insane with joy, their minds reeling from the sudden, profound change in their fortunes.

They cheered, their voices raw; they shouted, their throats burning; they laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated elation; and they jumped, their bodies alive with a newfound energy.

Some furiously tore at their ragged clothes, ripping the fabric in their wild abandon, howling and venting the sudden, overwhelming ecstasy in their hearts, a raw, primal scream of liberation.

Some leaned against the rough door planks of the mine, their bodies shaking, crying loudly, their faces wet with tears, but their expressions were radiant, full of pure, unbridled smiles.

Others embraced each other, their arms wrapped tight, jumping and spinning in dizzying circles, a dance of freedom. And some, unable to contain their joy, even ran like mad towards their humble homes, their footsteps pounding on the wet ground, just to tell their bewildered families about this sudden, immense, unbelievable surprise.

Their triumphant cheers, a swelling tide of jubilant noise, covered the grinding sound of the Annesburg mining machinery, silencing its oppressive hum, and even reached the ears of Mr. Milton, who had already run over a hundred meters away, seeking distance from the confrontation.

Mr. Milton stepped out of the small cabin and stood on the open deck at the back of the fishing boat, his gaze sweeping over the scene. He looked out at Annesburg, a transformed landscape of human emotion.

He could clearly see the cheering miners at the Annesburg ferry, their forms alive with a new energy, witness their wild laughter and celebration, their bodies twisting with joy, and hear their triumphant shouts, carried on the damp morning air.

The last time he came here, to this very spot, to talk with Mr. Cornwall, these miners were listless, their faces drawn, their movements heavy, almost lifeless, like automatons. But now, they were vibrant, lively, bustling, and undeniably overjoyed, their spirits soaring.

Who was right and who was wrong, whose ideology brought true prosperity and whose brought only suffering, was now clearly, undeniably demonstrated before his very eyes.

"Dutch Van der Linde, are you truly a visionary, incredibly ambitious, or are you still merely deceiving, a master of elaborate illusion?" Mr. Milton murmured to himself, his voice low, filled with a deep uncertainty. His eyes narrowed slightly, fixed on the distant figure of Dutch. He suddenly felt that he could no longer see through Dutch Van der Linde, that the man had become an enigma, his motivations blurred.

His previous, clear perception of Dutch had begun to blur, no longer connecting him solely with the desperate outlaw who liked to twist others' thoughts with fallacies and lies. A more complex, unsettling image was forming.

Mr. Milton stood quietly at the stern of the boat, looking at the lively, almost feverish scene at the ferry, lost deep in thought, grappling with this new, perplexing reality.

Who was the true criminal, who was the true demon in this sprawling, convoluted game of power and morality? He was now vaguely, unsettlingly, unable to distinguish. The lines had blurred.

Meanwhile, Mr. Ross, standing nearby, didn't bother to consider such existential questions at all. He merely glanced at the chaotic yet joyous scene at the ferry, then quickly turned to Mr. Milton, his expression expectant, and asked, his voice brisk and practical, "Mr. Milton, do we need to expose Dutch Van der Linde's crimes to the United States Federal Government now? Report him?"

"No, Mr. Ross, we don't need to act," Mr. Milton said, raising a hand to decisively stop Ross's idea before it could fully form. His gaze did not retract from the lively ferry; it was still fixed on the scene of exuberant celebration. "Besides, the very existence of Mr. Van der Linde is, ironically, a good thing for the Pinkerton Detective, isn't it?" He offered a subtle, grim smile, a flicker of cold calculation in his eyes.

It wasn't that he didn't want to expose him; it was simply that Mr. Cornwall, once he received the news, would undoubtedly expose him with far more resources and political leverage. So they didn't need to bother.

Yes, that's it, Milton convinced himself, a logical rationalization for his inaction.

Mr. Milton's gaze did not retract; he was still looking at the lively, jubilant ferry, absorbing the profound implications of what he saw.

Mr. Ross, standing impatiently beside him, nodded, accepting the logic without question, and then asked, his tone still businesslike, "Alright, Mr. Milton, you're right. So, do we need to report the situation in Annesburg to Mr. Cornwall now? So he can get the news on time and target Van der Linde, or at least prepare?"

"No! Mr. Ross. That's not our duty, not anymore." Mr. Milton still refused, his voice firm, unwavering.

"Then should we return to West Elizabeth now?" Mr. Ross nodded, a faint shrug, confirming his acceptance; he didn't see any problem with Mr. Milton's repeated refusal. After all, the stronger and harder to deal with Dutch Van der Linde became, the better it was for them, the Pinkerton Detective, ensuring their continued relevance and demand for their services.

"No, let's go to Saint Denis first." Milton finally shifted his gaze back, his eyes now thoughtful, calculating. He turned and walked purposefully into the fishing boat's cabin, his decision made. "What Dutch said earlier was interesting, a bold claim, and I think we need to go see for ourselves, to witness it with our own eyes, to see why Mr. Van der Linde dared to promise me the position of Saint Denis sheriff." He rubbed his chin, a gesture of deep contemplation.

Recalling the astonishing promise Dutch had just made him, the audacious offer, it filled him with a strange, unsettling premonition, a mix of intrigue and deep foreboding.

Annesburg, once a symbol of Cornwall's tyrannical exploitation, became an undisputed property of the Van der Linde Gang and, under the surprisingly astute guidance of Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, began rapid, sweeping reforms and received significant, transformative investment for large-scale development. A new era had dawned.

However, compared to the newly acquired Annesburg and Saint Denis, impressive as their transformations were, Valentine truly embodied the profound greatness of Mr. Van der Linde's revolutionary ideas and his meticulously crafted system. It was the shining example, the proof of concept.

At this time, Valentine's location, once a mere dusty outpost, buzzed with life.

Seven months after Dutch Van der Linde's arrival, a mere blink of an eye in historical terms, Valentine had completely transformed from its previous state as a sleepy livestock town, a negligible dot on the map.

Valentine's overall size was now more than five times larger than before, its boundaries expanding outwards with each passing day. Houses were neatly arranged in orderly rows, a testament to planned growth, its streets bustled with purposeful activity, and flourishing trade industries thrived, their markets overflowing. Agricultural development, too, was already showing impressive results, vast fields green with promise.

The population of the entire Valentine town soared from a humble three to four thousand to over twenty thousand, a veritable explosion of human life. Valentine town could no longer be called a mere town; in today's sprawling America, with its burgeoning cities, it could confidently be considered a small, thriving city.

With the dramatic increase in population and the undeniable prosperity of the trade industry, demands in all aspects of life also began to increase synchronously. Raw material demands for food, clothing, housing, and transportation surged, driving innovation and self-sufficiency. This led to the rapid emergence of industries specifically producing these raw materials within the town itself. For example, weaving, cotton planting, grain farming, edible oil production, and more were established to meet the internal consumption needs of Valentine and also provide better livelihoods, stable employment, for some of its citizens.

In addition, various other industries and services also began to gradually increase, organically growing to meet the demands of a thriving population. For example, due to the gradual prosperity of the construction industry, shops specializing in hardware materials had appeared, their shelves stocked with tools and timber. Due to the demand for newspapers and the increasing number of students needing schooling, several stationery shops had also opened, their windows displaying pens and paper. All these new types of shops, appearing organically with the increase in population and demand, flourished like sesame flowers blooming, each contributing to the vibrant tapestry of life inside Valentine.

And with the opening of various shops, creating new jobs and opportunities, it would undoubtedly attract even more people to come here to earn money, settle down, and then further increase demand, fueling the cycle. This formed a powerful, self-sustaining virtuous cycle of development and demand, a true economic engine.

This remarkable growth was the undeniable result of Dutch's efforts, his vision made manifest; as time passed, Valentine would rapidly become a true city in his hands, a monument to his radical ideas.

This typical rule of urban development, the predictable, organic growth of a successful community, was known not only to Dutch, the mastermind, but also to Miss Camille, who had come from Saint Denis, a woman of the refined East. She had been sightseeing in Valentine for three days, her elegant demeanor contrasting sharply with the robust, industrious atmosphere, and she was deeply, profoundly shocked by it all. (She took a carriage, a slow, arduous journey that took a long time to get to Valentine, making the stark transformation even more striking.)