The U.S. government was actually very poor—genuinely poor, not pretending to be.
Unlike certain county governments that constantly cried poverty while their officials drove Audis and Range Rovers, feeling embarrassed to greet colleagues if they happened to be driving a Land Cruiser Prado, the situation here was entirely different.
Those so-called "impoverished regions" were often nothing more than a smokescreen. Perhaps the people were truly poor—but the officials? That was another matter entirely.
The saying "Heaven is high, and the emperor is far away" wasn't just empty rhetoric. Likewise, "A thousand miles of officialdom is only for wealth" was very real.
Compared to that, the U.S. government truly had very little money.
This wasn't an act—it was reality.
During the global financial crisis, nearly every department in every country claimed they were unaffected. Yet the U.S. government came dangerously close to bankruptcy. Even the White House, California, and other well-known entities struggled.
The reason was simple: the U.S. genuinely didn't have much cash on hand.
While national fiscal figures might contain some inflated numbers, the finances of each state and county were completely transparent—so transparent it was almost absurd.
There were even groups of elderly citizens who gathered daily outside state government buildings, calculating expenditures line by line. If a manhole cover cost a few dozen dollars more than it should, they would protest with flags in hand. Add to that the fact that state and county officials were elected, with rival parties scrutinizing every move, and frankly speaking, being a civil servant in the U.S. wasn't a particularly enviable job.
State budgets were laid bare.
On average, education accounted for about 7.6% of annual revenue; highway maintenance roughly 1.2%; public welfare 0.6%; natural resources 14.2%; police expenditures 11%; prisons 19%; drainage systems 6.9% (firefighting and miscellaneous expenses were separate); government retiree pensions 12.7%; and unemployment benefits only 0.4%.
Of course, these were rough figures and varied from state to state—but the transparency was undeniable.
Every dollar was spent carefully. And frankly, civil servants' salaries weren't high at all.
Lower-level civil servants earned around $36,000 a year, rarely reaching $40,000. Police officers earned more. Mid-level managers made roughly $70,000 annually, while governors earned between $100,000 and $200,000.
Even California's governor earned only about $200,000 a year—let alone the governor of Massachusetts.
Everyone wanted to be an official, but in Jiang Hai's view, without ambition or real power, holding office in the U.S. wasn't a pleasant experience at all.
An ordinary citizen could openly point at a governor and criticize his performance.
If this were China… well, that would be another story.
In China, there's a saying: "A lone wolf does not fight power." What does that mean? It means that regardless of how rich or capable you are, even a minor clerk can destroy you if you offend them. Government offices may no longer exist in name, but the principle remains the same.
Unless you possess hundreds of billions and powerful backing, even a low-ranking section chief or department head could ruin your entire family. That was the difference between a bureaucratic system and a money-driven one.
In the U.S., officials had to curry favor with the wealthy—because they needed votes.
Even if it was just for appearances, they had to engage in charity work. Their finances were under constant scrutiny, so political donations became a necessity.
And where did those donations come from?
Naturally, from the pockets of the wealthy.
That was why, despite not being backed by any faction, Jiang Hai was effectively a local tyrant in Winthrop—purely because of his wealth. Everyone relied on his tax payments to receive their salaries.
All government income was calculated as a percentage, not a fixed amount. The difference between Jiang Hai paying hundreds of millions in taxes and paying nothing at all was like night and day.
From the governor down to county officials, police officers, firefighters, retirees, and even the unemployed collecting benefits on the streets—Jiang Hai's money touched all of them.
They had no choice but to treat him with courtesy.
This time, Jiang Hai's primary purpose in contacting the Massachusetts government was to discuss allowing tourists to hunt.
Once the proposal was submitted, progress was astonishingly fast—almost on a daily basis.
On the first day, Boston approved it and forwarded it to the state government. On the second day, the state approved it and sent it back. On the third day, Boston reviewed and approved it again. On the fourth day, Moses Adams was notified to discuss implementation.
They seemed more anxious than Jiang Hai himself.
The reason was simple.
The hunting season in the Albacia Mountains was limited to this short window. Once heavy snow fell, the mountains would become inaccessible due to danger, and hunting would be impossible.
Summer was too hot, with venomous insects and snakes everywhere. Spring was breeding season, requiring strict protection measures.
Autumn was nearly over.
Naturally, they were eager to approve a project that could increase state revenue. After all, it only required instructors and supervision—perfectly reasonable conditions. Under such circumstances, the agreement was reached quickly.
After landing in Boston, Moses Adams picked Jiang Hai up and drove him directly to the state government. On the way, Adams had already discussed implementation details and negotiations with him.
The entire tourist hunting plan was nearly finalized.
It consisted of three stages: registration, training, and the hunt itself.
Registration was straightforward. Mayor Wallis had initially proposed a fee of $200 per person, with bullets priced at $2 each and firearms provided free of charge, similar to a gun shop.
After hearing this, Jiang Hai immediately changed the registration fee to $2,000.
He understood Chinese tourists well. This wasn't about exploiting them—$200 was too little, barely 1,200 RMB. These days, few Chinese tourists would even blink at that amount.
But $2,000 was different—over 12,000 RMB.
Of course, this was a deposit, not a fee that would necessarily be deducted. The money would only be forfeited if regulations were violated. Otherwise, participants would only pay the basic costs.
Bullets remained $2 each. Firearms were still provided free of charge and kept by Jiang Hai. This wasn't a shooting range—guns only needed basic maintenance. In the mountains, bumps and knocks were inevitable, and broken equipment wouldn't look good.
Firearms were divided into three categories: hunting rifles, shotguns, and semi-automatic rifles. Hunting rifles cost $50 to rent, with damage compensation required. Shotguns were $100, and semi-automatic rifles were also $100. Fully automatic weapons were strictly prohibited.
All firearms were collected at night. Since mountain trips lasted several days, guards naturally secured the weapons when participants slept.
The firearms were provided by Winthrop and Jiang Hai's gun shop, and their revenue was unrelated to the state government.
Additional items—such as locally sold clothing—were also independent of state government revenue.
These were all areas where Jiang Hai and his team planned to earn money. Taxes, of course, were unavoidable—this was the United States.
Discussions with the state government centered on two financial points.
The first was the registration fee—not the deposit, but the actual cost of participating. Jiang Hai wasn't running a picnic. Only men were allowed to participate. Each person paid $100 for the hunt, $50 for insurance, $20 for instructors, and $30 for training. The key point of negotiation was this $130.
The state government proposed that since Winthrop would provide the hunting grounds, licenses, and personnel, they wanted 80% of that amount. Mayor Wallis had offered only 60%, and now Jiang Hai was brought in to negotiate.
In Jiang Hai's view, whether it was 80% or 60% didn't matter much—it amounted to just $104 per person.
That was pocket change.
Once in the mountains, shooting was inevitable. Spending $200 on bullets would be considered minimal.
That alone was $400.
Small game could be taken home directly. Larger animals could be eaten on the spot for free. But if someone killed a deer or similar large animal, it would likely be processed into a taxidermy piece to take home. Processing cost $100 per deer—cheap by any standard.
That brought the total to $500.
Then came equipment.
Jiang Hai had specially imported military-grade gear: camouflage uniforms, helmets, combat boots, water bottles, tactical vests, backpacks, and more. A trip into the mountains required a full set.
The price? $300.
Less than 2,000 RMB.
U.S. military-standard equipment—expensive? Absolutely not. In China, you might not even buy a decent camouflage uniform for that price.
That brought the total to $800.
After deducting costs, Jiang Hai earned at least $600 per person—without charging any additional fees.
Ten people meant $6,000. A hundred meant $60,000.
Winthrop currently received about 100 domestic tourists per month, with groups of fifty to sixty people. If two groups were taken daily, and even a third participated, that meant a net income of $600,000 per month—or $7.2 million per year.
For Jiang Hai, this was small change.
But it was invaluable for stabilizing the region.
With this income stream, not only the county government but even the state government would become even more grateful to him.
Thinking this through, Jiang Hai couldn't help smiling.
He had already calculated everything clearly.
When he met with the state government later, he would personally handle the negotiations.
He truly didn't care about such small sums of money.
(To be continued.)