56: Chapter 56 The First Spark of the Verification Period

Not long after Guilliman's reply arrived, before Blackstone Town could even settle into the rhythm of the "Verification Period," the first fire reached their doorstep.

It wasn't Chaos—it was a team of armed tax collectors claiming to be from the Imperium of Man's Eastern Star Sector Tax Bureau. They landed in an ill-maintained armed transport on the clearing outside Blackstone Town. Leading them was a tall, thin middle-aged man in an Imperial tax collector's uniform, his face wearing the pent-up dissatisfaction characteristic of low-level Imperial bureaucrats who have been long ignored. The documents he brought showed that according to the Administrative Code of the Eastern Star Sector, Blackstone Town, as a newly established Viscounty, needed to pay back Imperial taxes owed from the past few quarters, plus late fees and administrative processing fees, totaling roughly the town's entire annual grain output at the time.

Lin Mo didn't state his position immediately after reading the document. He said he needed time to audit the accounts. He arranged for the tax collector to stay in a temporary guest room in town, served tea, and then turned to head for the Intelligence Center. Locke was waiting for him at the entrance of the Intelligence Center and said one thing: "I can stage an Ork attack on their way back."

He said he needed time to audit the accounts. He arranged for the tax collector to stay in a temporary guest room in town, served tea, and then turned to head for the Intelligence Center.

Lin Mo considered it for a few seconds before rejecting Locke's proposal. He returned to the Town Hall, spent several nights re-examining Blackstone Town's financial accounts, and then wrote a reply. In the letter, he attached all of Blackstone Town's financial records—grain production, ore extraction, equipment output lists, starport construction progress—and then wrote a single figure on a separate sheet of paper: the maximum amount of tax Blackstone Town could currently pay, precise down to the last digit.

He sent someone to deliver the letter to the tax collector's ship. That figure didn't even reach the minimum amount the tax collector had requested.

The tax collector left the next morning. His expression wasn't one of anger but confusion—he had encountered something on this fringe planet that he had never seen in the Imperial Tax Bureau: a territory Archon who not only knew his own accounts but also dared to lay them out for you to see. He didn't accept the figure—but he didn't force the collection either. He said he would return to consult his superiors.

Lin Mo stood at the entrance of the Town Hall, watching the transport ship lift off. He knew that the process of "consulting superiors" would drag on for at least several months. By the time he returned, Blackstone Town's tax base would have already changed.

As the Imperial tax collector's transport ship ascended,

Lin Mo crossed out the "Tax Crisis" item on his paper.

After news of the Imperial tax collector's departure spread through Blackstone Town, several elderly villagers gathered at the village entrance to discuss it—they had seen various Imperial tax collectors many times. Every time they came, they took something away; they never left empty-handed. This time, they left without taking anything. A white-haired old man, after listening to the others' discussion, tapped his pipe and said slowly, "That young man named Lin—he's different." The person next to him didn't respond, but in their hearts, they all tacitly accepted the truth of those words.

After the tax collector left, Lin Mo sat in the Town Hall for a long time. He calculated a set of figures on paper—if the Imperium truly forced the tax collection, how much grain and supplies could Blackstone Town squeeze out without affecting basic operations. The result was: they couldn't. The Imperium's taxation standards were based on registered planetary populations, and the registered population data was decades old. Blackstone Town's current agricultural capacity couldn't even feed its own population, let alone pay taxes according to old standards from decades ago. Lin Mo wrote one word on that paper: "Delay." Then he wrote another line: "Delay until we can afford to produce it."

He remembered a sentence he had read in some materials before his transmigration: The Imperium of Man has spanned the Galaxy for a million years, yet it has never truly conquered any single planet. They are merely occupied, forgotten, and then rediscovered at some dawn—if anyone still remembers to look.

Yang Shitou came to report the day's patrol status in the evening. He saw the paper on Lin Mo's desk but didn't ask about it. He only said one thing before leaving: "In the granary at the village entrance, Wang Defu stored an extra bag of wheat." Lin Mo looked up at him. Yang Shitou didn't explain and turned to leave. That was the first time Yang Shitou had passed on a piece of information that hadn't been requested. It meant: "Someone cares."

After the Imperial tax collector's ship disappeared beyond orbit, Lin Mo locked the document for the back taxes into a drawer. He had calculated—at Blackstone Town's current rate of development, in another year, that tax amount wouldn't be much at all. The problem was, would the people from the Imperial Tax Bureau wait a year to return? He wrote a line in his notebook—strive for at least a one-year tax grace period—then closed the notebook and began preparing the basic materials for dealing with the Imperial tax system.

That evening, he stood on the roof of the Town Hall, glancing at the distant ridge line dyed dark red by the setting sun. The shadow of the Imperium was covering them inch by inch—but Blackstone Town was also growing its own bones inch by inch.

In this universe, hope is a luxury. Not because it is rare, but because it is fragile—like a match burning in a sandstorm, liable to be blown out at any moment. But he discovered something interesting: when you gather many matches together and light them, they aren't so easily extinguished. Every person in Blackstone Town was like those matches gathered together. Pick up any single one, and it might be snuffed out by the storms of Chaos in the next second. But when gathered together, the light and heat they emitted were enough to make the surrounding darkness retreat a few steps.

—Lin Mo's Records on Handling Tax Issues

On the first day of the universal healthcare program, Alice was busy from dawn until late at night. She saw sixty-seven patients—ranging from fractures and colds to prenatal checkups. By the time the last person left, it was completely dark. She sat by the consultation table, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes for a moment.

When Lin Mo pushed the door open and entered, she was rubbing her wrist—the consequence of holding hemostatic forceps for over ten consecutive hours. He was carrying a bowl of hot porridge.

"You don't have to bring me food every time," she said. But her hands had already taken the bowl of porridge.

"I'm not bringing you food," Lin Mo said, "I'm here to make sure you haven't worked yourself to death."

Alice lowered her head to take a sip of porridge, her lips curling slightly. It wasn't a smile—just an involuntary curl of the lips. She didn't let Lin Mo see her expression. But as Lin Mo closed the door and left, his lips also curled slightly. Neither of them mentioned it.

On the third day of the universal healthcare program's implementation, something unexpected happened—an old man from out of town, after his consultation, pulled an Imperial-era gold coin from his pocket. He wanted to pay Alice this gold coin as a consultation fee. Alice didn't accept it—she pushed the gold coin back. "We don't take money here," she said. The old man was stunned. He had lived in the Imperium his whole life—in the Imperium, nothing was free. He confirmed it three times before taking back the gold coin, his steps a bit unsteady as he walked out the door—not because of illness, but because he wasn't used to receiving help for free. Lin Mo saw this scene from a distance and wrote a line in his notebook: The true value of universal healthcare isn't in curing diseases—it's in letting everyone know that in this place, living isn't a privilege that needs to be paid for.

In the first month of the universal healthcare program's full rollout, Blackstone Town's Medical Station received over nine hundred visits. This number was nearly thirty percent higher than Alice had expected—because many new residents previously belonged to categories that "would not be treated" in the entire Imperial medical system: the elderly, those with chronic diseases, and the disabled.

In the Imperial medical system, these people's priority always ranked at the very bottom. Not because doctors were cold-blooded—but because resources and budgets were insufficient. But when the Medical Station's doors opened to everyone, these "bottom-tier people" entered a place where they could receive treatment for the first time.

An old man of about seventy was diagnosed with severe cataracts at the Medical Station. Alice used a type of microsurgery extremely rare in the Imperial medical system to help him restore his vision. When the old man opened his eyes the next morning and saw that the sky outside the window was no longer a blurred halo of light, he sat on the bed and stared for a long time without moving.

Then he got out of bed and walked to the door of Alice's office. He didn't knock; he just stood there.

Alice looked up and saw him. The old man didn't speak—he simply bowed deeply to her.

In the Imperium, a seventy-year-old man bowing to a Psyker was not a normal occurrence. Psykers occupied a delicate position in the Imperial social hierarchy: they were needed, yet feared. Few people would sincerely bow to a Psyker.

Alice was stunned for a few seconds. Then she stood up, walked to the door, and helped the old man straighten up.

"You don't have to do this," she said. Her voice was as calm as usual, but Lin Mo, standing at the end of the hallway, noticed the slight increase in pressure from her fingers as she supported the old man.

That was her controlling her emotions.

[Fear not the floating clouds that obscure the view, for I am on the topmost level.]

—Wang Anshi, "Ascending Feilai Peak." A memory fragment sealed within the mirror of the emperor quietly emerged in the darkness.

That old military doctor was urgently awakened late one night—not because of a wounded soldier, but because of Alice. She stood before him, holding that unnumbered suppression ring. In her eyes was something Lin Mo had never seen before: not fear, but the calm that follows confirmation.