Tax Evasion is Shameful

In less than an hour, the warehouse was half empty.

It wasn't that they couldn't finish moving—it was that they couldn't carry any more.

Fu Haoran looked at the mountain of supplies, nodded with satisfaction, and waved his hand. "Withdraw."

On the way back, Wade asked, "Sir, what do we do with all this?"

Fu Haoran smiled. "Distribute it. Let everyone use it to pay their taxes."

"Sir... didn't we loot this ourselves? Who are we paying taxes to?"

"To me, and also to yourselves." Fu Haoran said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Once you've paid the tax, this stuff becomes your legal income. From now on, if anyone asks, you'll have a tax receipt to prove it."

Wade still didn't quite grasp this roundabout maneuver, but an order was an order.

Early the next morning, Ronan led a dozen brothers, hauling crates to the tax bureau.

Since they were their own people, the process went smoothly.

Fill out forms, appraise the value, pay fifty percent.

The money went from the left pocket to the right, but the tax receipt was real.

Ronan clutched that thin piece of paper, walked out of the tax bureau, and stood at the entrance, stunned for a long time.

"This... this is legal now?"

A soldier beside him leaned in. "Boss, look at this."

He handed over a Mid-Hive Residency Permit.

Ronan took it. His name and serial number were printed on it.

The tax collector's voice still echoed in his ears: "A new residential district is being renovated. Once it's done, you can move your family in. Register with this permit then."

Ronan flipped the permit over three times, examining it from every angle.

Born and raised in the Under-hive, Ronan had never in his life dared to dream he could get a Mid-Hive Residency Permit.

He turned to look at the dozen brothers—every single one of them held the same permit in their hands.

"Boss... is this real or fake?"

Ronan tucked the permit into his chest and nodded firmly. "The Governor gave it. How could it be fake?!"

Not far away, a few Under-hiver drifters squatted by the wall, having witnessed the entire scene.

Their expressions shifted from confusion to shock, and they whispered among themselves:

"Isn't that Ronan, that Under-hiver? What are they holding?"

"Looks like... a Mid-Hive Residency Permit? I heard you can only get one if you pay taxes!"

"Really? They just carried crates into the tax bureau... did they actually pay taxes?"

Amid the murmurs, someone couldn't hold back anymore, stood up, and hurried off.

A single spark, and the prairie was ablaze.

The news spread fast.

Not from the Under-hive, but from within the Planetary Defense Force.

"Did you hear? Those who earned military merit last time all got Mid-Hive Residency Permits. I heard they're even getting apartments?"

"Yeah, I've seen the permit. Word is they can move to the Mid-Hive next month."

"How did they pull that off? That's the Mid-Hive! Only the rich and nobles get to live there!"

"I heard they paid a fine on stolen goods and bought the Mid-Hive Residency Permit!"

"Something like that exists? You sure?" an old soldier asked eagerly.

"How could it be fake? Remember Ronan? The one who got first-class merit in the Promethium Factory battle last month? He's already moved to the Mid-Hive."

"I got word that a map was released in the Under-hive. You just loot the places on it, then go pay the tax, and it becomes legal income. The only downside is they take half the loot. No other catch."

The old soldier took a deep drag of his cigarette. "I've seen that map. A few of my childhood buddies are on duty there. Maybe we've got a shot too."

"Really? You planning to pull a job?" The other old soldiers perked up.

"Yeah. Our Governor has a solid reputation. Even if it's a gang defector, he keeps his word. Would he screw us over?"

The group exchanged glances and made the call on the spot.

"Alright. If you can find an inside contact, we'll do it. But let's test the waters first. Safety comes first."

"Right. As long as we confirm it's real, we'll have plenty of chances."

Everyone in the Defense Force was the cream of the commoners—who didn't have a few acquaintances?

Soon, small crews formed, using every means available to kick off their zero-cost shopping spree.

Finally, the Under-hivers couldn't sit still anymore.

Three days later, the first Under-hiver walked into the tax bureau. A scar ran across his face. He was the boss of a small Under-hive gang. No one knew his real name; they just called him Scarface.

He carried two crates of Adamantium ingots, his eyes full of caution and suspicion.

"This... this thing can be used to pay taxes?"

The tax collector glanced at the adamantium ingot and handed over a form: "Fill it out, get it appraised, pay 50%."

Scarface filled out the form, paid the fee, and received a tax clearance certificate.

He clutched the paper, stunned for a long moment: "So... it's legal now?"

"It's legal." The tax collector stamped it. "You're still two thousand Throne Coin points short of qualifying for a Mid-Hive Residency Permit."

A notice had already been posted outside the tax bureau: accumulate a total of 5,000 Throne Coins in paid taxes to apply for a Mid-Hive Residency Permit and gain home-buying eligibility.

Scarface walked out, stood at the entrance for five minutes, and repeatedly rubbed the tax certificate.

He couldn't wrap his head around it—dirty money could be openly pocketed.

The next day, a line formed outside the tax bureau.

People carried adamantium ingots, weapons, and grain.

One bold soul hauled in the core components of a Chimera Armored Vehicle to pay taxes.

In three days, the tax bureau collected over three million Throne Coins.

Yuri stared at the ledger, his hands trembling: "This... this actually works?"

Fu Haoran glanced at him: "Why wouldn't it?"

"But..." Yuri pointed at the ledger, "all this money is stolen goods!"

"Now it's tax revenue." Fu Haoran smiled. "And have you noticed? To pay taxes, these people have to liquidate their goods or get them appraised first."

"All those stolen items hidden in the nooks and crannies of the Lower Hive are being dug up."

Wade nodded: "It's like getting a free asset inventory."

"Exactly." Fu Haoran said. "But we can't just wait around. We need to grab a few troublemakers and make an example of them."

"Iron Skull" Capone, a former minor boss of the Iron Hand Gang, had rallied the remnants after Jack's death and risen again in the Lower Hive.

He led his men to raid a secret warehouse of the Silverthorn House, emptying it of weapons and promethium.

Then he paid not a single coin in taxes.

His subordinate asked: "Boss, what about the tax bureau..."

"Pay my ass!" Capone slammed the table. "I'm still busy avenging Jack, and you want me to pay taxes to that dog of a Governor?"

He sneered: "If Fu Haoran's got the balls, let him come wipe me out. I'll hide in the Underhive, and see how he finds me!"

What Capone didn't know was that he'd already been marked.

In a corner, an inconspicuous Scarab relayed every word and image of the conversation without missing a beat.

So, at three in the morning.

Capone's hideout was surrounded tight by the Planetary Defense Force.

He led over two hundred men in a breakout attempt, but as they charged out the door, they ran straight into the gun barrels of three Leman Russ Tanks.

"Drop your weapons!" Wade's voice boomed from the loudspeaker. "You are suspected of tax evasion and are hereby arrested under the law!"

Capone froze.

"Tax evasion?"

"I rob things and that's not a crime, but tax evasion is?" he roared. "What kind of bullshit logic is that!"

Wade's calm voice came through the speaker: "Tax evasion is defying the will of the Emperor!"

Capone bellowed: "Fu Haoran! If you've got the guts, fight me face to face! Using a tax evasion charge to take me down—what kind of hero are you!"

No one answered him.

Heavy bolters began their roll call.

Suddenly, one of Capone's gang members threw down his weapon and raised his hands: "I'll pay taxes! I'll pay taxes! Don't kill me!"

Then a second, a third.

When Capone turned around, one of his own men stabbed him in the lower back.

The man panted heavily: "Sorry, boss, but the Governor said paying taxes lets you live."

Capone fell, his eyes still open.

Twenty minutes later, his body became that night's corpse starch raw material.

The next day, the news spread throughout the Hive.

"Did you hear? Capone got wiped out."

"Why? Because he robbed?"

"No, because he evaded taxes."

"Tax evasion? Robbery's fine, but tax evasion gets you killed?"

"Right. Robbery with tax paid is legal; tax evasion is a dead end."

The Under-hive gang members exchanged glances.

"Then... let's just pay the tax."

"Right, right, right. Pay tax, stay alive."

A long line formed again at the tax bureau's entrance.

Fu Haoran watched as a system notification popped up:

[Achievement Unlocked: Peerless Tax Collector]

[Reward: Universal Points +5000, Free Attribute Points 5, Hive City Income +50%]

[Congratulations, you've successfully turned robbers into taxpayers. Next step—should we get Chaos cultists to pay taxes too?]

Fu Haoran dismissed the interface and turned to the holographic map.

It was marked with stash locations of loot seized over the past three days, dense red dots covering nearly every corner of the Under-hive.

Wade hesitated, then asked, "Sir, if everyone pays taxes, what about the Under-hive gangs..."

"The gangs are still there, just living a different way," Fu Haoran said. "Now they're busy robbing things to pay taxes, earning points to trade for residence permits. They've got no time to be nobles' dogs."

"Besides, we're starting phase two of the harvest plan."

Yuri was stunned: "What? You've already harvested half their stolen goods, and you still want to squeeze more?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you—Under-hivers have zero sense of security. Getting them to fork over extra cash is harder than climbing to the sky!"

Fu Haoran flashed a confident smile: "Trust me, I'll make them hand it over willingly."