The Auckland Islands are now in our hands.

When one is kept busy, time always seems to fly by.

In New Zealand, after those few members of parliament accepted their gifts, they demonstrated remarkable professionalism by using the authority granted to them by the people to pass the proposal for the sale of the Auckland Islands.

During the weeklong period for public review, New Zealand’s media—large and small—launched a flurry of reports. Yet, the majority of these focused on the current state of Tuvalu.

Compared to other countries, New Zealanders undoubtedly knew more about Tuvalu; after all, in the past decade, nearly two thousand Tuvaluans had immigrated to New Zealand. Although the New Zealand government only granted seventy unconditional immigration slots to Tuvaluans each year, at the beginning, not all Tuvaluans needed these quotas.

Tuvalu was indeed desperately underdeveloped, with resources all but nonexistent and the highest level of education being high school. Yet, the harsher the environment, the more likely it is to nurture people of exceptional ability. Among these, apart from a group like Burns and others who chose to stay rooted in Tuvalu for its development, the rest had all managed to immigrate through their own competence.

Otherwise, Tuvalu wouldn’t be down to just eleven thousand people now—it would have at least fifteen thousand.

The media’s relentless coverage provoked deep sympathy among New Zealanders for Tuvalu’s plight. However, such sympathy rested firmly on the premise that their own interests would not be harmed.

If the New Zealand government were to announce unconditional acceptance of all Tuvaluans as immigrants, there would undoubtedly be significant opposition. Resources are limited—no matter how robust New Zealand’s economy might be, its total population was only a little over four million.

With the addition of over ten thousand people, each existing New Zealander would see a proportional reduction in their share of resources: education, public infrastructure, social welfare, and so on.

Moreover, once these ten thousand Tuvaluans left their homeland, they would arrive in New Zealand with nothing. The government’s initial investment would be considerable. At the very least, each person would need a place to live and a job—where would these come from? Naturally, from the hands of New Zealanders.

The media, in addition to stirring sympathy, also analyzed the pros and cons of the situation. Thus, public support for the proposal of selling the Auckland Islands to Tuvalu soared.

Once the proposal passed, payment followed as a matter of course.

Excluding the fifty million dollars spent on gifts, the maximum amount of cash Tuvalu could muster was two hundred million. Yet, the final sale price of the Auckland Islands was five hundred and thirty million dollars, a shortfall of over three hundred million.

But neither the New Zealand side nor the Tuvaluan government worried that the deal would fall through for lack of funds.

For “The Lord of the Rings” was selling at an ever-increasing pace, and its global release had already begun.

Based on current sales figures and the book’s reputation, authoritative institutions predicted that global sales would exceed thirty million sets this year alone, sparking a fresh buying frenzy.

When this number was announced, the world was stunned. Never before had a novel sold thirty million sets in its year of release, not to mention with only half a year remaining.

Many criticized the figure, citing historical sales data to argue that no book could reach thirty million sets in such a short time. Yet all these arguments proved only that it was impossible within the year; the global publishing industry universally believed that it was only a matter of time before this book broke all records.

Li Daniu’s share of the profits in the United States was fifty percent, with the book priced at thirty dollars per set. Elsewhere, due to the American market’s explosive performance, royalty rates ranged between forty-five and fifty-five percent.

If sales reached thirty million sets, Li Daniu’s share would be an astonishing four hundred and fifty million dollars.

Though he would have to wait some time for the money and pay a hefty tax, books do not stop selling after a single year; true bestsellers can sell for ten or even twenty years.

In his previous life, “The Lord of the Rings” continued to generate millions in royalties annually from its publication in the 1950s well into the twenty-first century.

Therefore, as King of Tuvalu and the author and copyright holder of “The Lord of the Rings,” Li Daniu mortgaged his royalties to New Zealand’s state-owned bank to secure the loan needed to purchase the Auckland Islands.

He didn’t need to deal with the details—professionals would handle all that. As for the extra interest, he paid it no mind; for someone like him, now and in the future, such sums were insignificant.

Thanks to the lucrative royalties, the collateral was substantial enough that the Tuvaluan government acquired the Auckland Islands without spending another cent.

After Li Daniu, representing Tuvalu, signed the contract with New Zealand’s representative, the story became global headline news.

“A New Life for Tuvalu”
“The Novel that Saved a Nation”
“The King’s Redemption”
“The Most Talented King in History”
“A Book Worth a Nation”
...

When "The Lord of the Rings" became a sensation, Li Daniu received numerous interview requests. But, to preserve his royal mystique, he declined any that he deemed unworthy. In his view, it was only a matter of time before he stood among the world’s elite; military might was virtually irrelevant for Tuvalu, as long as its economic strength was sufficient.

Besides, with the right presentation in films, even military power was not such a high barrier.

He hadn’t expected that “the near future” would arrive so soon.

After making global headlines, the world’s top media outlets rushed to request interviews, and many reporters even flocked to Tuvalu, besieging the government.

Life for Tuvaluans had been nothing short of tumultuous lately: first, Li Daniu forbade emigration; then Tuvalu bought New Zealand’s Auckland Islands; the government instructed everyone to prepare for relocation; and now, the world’s media had descended upon their tiny country.

Burns could say with confidence that Tuvalu had never seen so many foreigners at once. In fact, the total number of foreigners who had ever visited was less than those who arrived in the past few days—there simply wasn’t enough accommodation for all the reporters.

So, the beaches of Tuvalu were now dotted with makeshift tents.

The person most affected by all these changes was Old Liu, the Chinese supermarket owner in Tuvalu. His sales had skyrocketed tenfold, yet he could take no joy in it: if Tuvalu relocated entirely, where would he go?

Should he follow them to Auckland to open a supermarket?

What a joke! The government’s plans for New Tuvalu—the Auckland Islands—prominently featured a national integrated shopping mall.

“Nonsense—there aren’t even as many people as in a small town back home, and yet you’re building a shopping mall? That’s a recipe for bankruptcy…”

Inside the Tuvaluan royal palace, Burns and the others had never been busier—the past month’s workload equaled that of several previous years, and the construction of New Tuvalu would be even more challenging.

“Your Majesty, with so many journalists here, wouldn’t you consider granting an interview?”

“Hold a press conference first. Say what you think is appropriate. I won’t be accepting interviews for now. If it’s those top-tier media outlets, perhaps we can schedule something three days from now.”

Li Daniu was at a loss. Accepting interviews would certainly boost his popularity and reputation, which would, in turn, drive even more sales of “The Lord of the Rings.” Fame, he realized, was extremely useful. If his readership hadn’t exploded so spectacularly, those New Zealand MPs would never have agreed to give up on the development of New Tuvalu.

Still, with only two days left before his monthly crossing, he had no idea which movie he’d end up in. It was always wise to rest and prepare in advance.

After sending Burns away, Li Daniu began bickering with the system.

“System, can’t you give me a hint?”

“No comment.”

“What if I bring a couple of guns?” Though his martial arts were impressive, he still couldn’t ignore firearms; having a gun in hand was always reassuring.

“The system cannot guarantee your identity after crossing will allow the legal use of firearms.”

“And if it’s not legal, I just can’t use them?”

“The system cannot guarantee the crossing won’t place you at an airport security checkpoint.”

“Damn, you mean if I bring guns, you’ll send me straight to airport security?”

“No comment.”

“When will you become a bit smarter?”

“No comment!”

“Damn it!”