A Hospital in Another World?

Chapter 275

Garrett Nordmark clenched the speech draft and rose slowly.

Boom, boom, boom, his heart thudded in his chest, breathing quickened, and his back began to sweat faintly. It felt like seeing an ambulance door open, a patient lying on a stretcher rushed in, or like working the late shift in the dead of night, sleeping soundly when the emergency phone rings...

Garrett didn’t need to check his pulse to know that his heart rate at this moment was definitely over 120 beats per minute.

Heh, tachycardia.

Probably sinus.

There was no way around it, challenging opponents in fields where others excel is just this uncertain.

...But, he had to do it.

For those children who died at 14, 15, 16 years old.

For little Jenny and her mother, who fetched water from polluted rivers and might fall ill and die at any moment.

Health is paramount;

Life is entrusted!

Garrett stood upright, turned around, and saluted. Then, he took a deep breath and posed a question he had prepared for a long time:

"Esteemed Archmages, respected healers, ladies and gentlemen. Before discussing the city hall budget, I would like to ask a question:

What is the value of a person, an ordinary, bottom-rung citizen of Nevis, in terms of gold coins?"

The meeting room fell silent. Across the council table, the spokesperson for the Budget Committee curled his lips disdainfully, showing contempt on his face. Behind him, two small merchants whispered to each other, "What’s there to calculate?"

"Yeah, how much are those commoners worth?"

"At most, one or two silver coins, right?"

"Maybe not even that, if they’re killed on the street, they might only get a couple of gold coins in compensation..."

Garrett pretended not to hear. He looked to his left, where the high-ranking mages on the dais looked serious, with a hint of displeasure; to his right, Elder Wood furrowed his brow, his voice like a bell:

"The great god of nature teaches us that before nature, every person is equal."

Oh, well, that’s true of the doctrine of the god of nature. The worshippers of the god of nature never regarded themselves as nobler than commoners. Garrett shifted his gaze slightly, looking towards Elder Wood’s side...

"Under the radiant light of the god of war, every warrior is a brother."

The Grand Bishop followed up. Pausing, the high-ranking healer of the Temple of the Spring Goddess spoke up a bit reluctantly:

"The goddess lovingly cares for every person."

Hmm, at least the clergy of the church still had to say "every person is equal" on the surface. Of course, some people are certainly more equal than others, but with several high-ranking clergy speaking successively, at least no one dared to shout out loud: How much are those commoners worth?

Garrett smiled slightly, bowed to them in gratitude, and then turned to the dais, calmly stating:

"I’ve looked into the tax revenues of Nevis City. Over the past decade, the annual tax revenue of Nevis City has fluctuated between 1 to 1.1 million gold coins. Considering a tax rate of about one-tenth, this means that the value created by the residents of Nevis City each year is roughly between 10 to 11 million gold coins, averaging 20 to 22 gold coins per person.

And considering that a quarter of the residents are boys and girls under seven years old, without labor capacity, and about one-tenth are exempt from labor due to titles and positions, the value created by each laborer per year ranges from 30 to 34 gold coins."

"You’ve calculated it wrong!"

A shout came from across the council table.

Garrett turned his head and saw a man standing up in the fifth row opposite, the last row, whom he didn’t recognize. Not wearing a badge, no magical fluctuations could be felt, and judging by his figure, he wasn’t a knight or a warrior—probably a merchant?

Garrett was still speculating about the man’s identity when he tugged hard at his collar, his belly trembling, and spoke eagerly:

"A water carrier can only earn 5 silver coins a month, a laundry woman earns only three and a half silver coins a month, a worker in a workshop, with room and board provided, earns three silver coins a month. You say they earn 30 to 34 gold coins a year, that’s simply not right!"

Garrett sighed. What the merchant was refuting was exactly what he was about to point out:

"We all know that without the fields of farmers, crops cannot grow; without the workshops of workers, wool, leather, and swords cannot be produced; without fishermen, fish from the sea won’t end up on the table; even without dockworkers, goods won’t magically transport themselves onto and off of ships.

It is people, and only people’s labor, that can create value. We add up the value of everything a city produces in a year—wheat, bread, wool, glassware...—and call it Gross Domestic Product. And when you divide the Gross Domestic Product by the number of laborers, you get per capita GDP.

The value a laborer creates over their lifetime equals their value to the city, to the country. I believe that, as rulers of the city, this is how the council should view the populace."

"That makes some sense." On the dais, a grand mage with dark circles under his eyes, looking half-asleep, nodded gently. Garrett was slightly encouraged and continued:

"A laborer, from the time they are capable of labor, if they can work for 20 years, it’s equivalent to creating value for 20 years. If they can continue to work for 30 years, it’s equivalent to creating value for 30 years.—But let’s take a look at how many years these poorest, bottom-rung citizens can work."

Garrett stepped briskly to the whiteboard beside the dais. With one hand holding the draft paper and the other raised to the whiteboard, magical tricks shimmered once again, drawing a bar graph on the whiteboard:

"Based on the death data from the past 20 years, the average life expectancy of the aristocrats, wealthy, and mage classes in the Garden District is 59 years.

For the middle to high-income earners, mainly low-ranking mages, scholars, and merchants, the average life expectancy is 42 years.

For the middle to low-income groups, mainly small traders, craftsmen, low-level clerks, shop assistants, etc., the average life expectancy is 33 years.

And for the low-income group, which includes farmers, water carriers, laundry workers, dockworkers, and unskilled workshop laborers, their average life expectancy is—"

Garrett took a deep breath. He surveyed the surroundings, deliberately lengthening the pause between two sentences, making eye contact with everyone looking at him. Until the silence in the meeting room accumulated enough to press down, he exhaled that long breath and drew a shocking, only one-third length bar on the whiteboard:

"—22 years."

The entire meeting room shook violently. Then, buzzing sounds, like tidal waves, surged

up, drowning every seat:

"What?!"

"So short?!"

"Only 22 years?!"

"Even if they give birth at 14 and die at 22, the children are only 8 years old!"

"That’s equivalent to sending children to their deaths—"

"Is it fake? How could it be so terrible..."

"Exactly, in my shop, there are several craftsmen in their forties and fifties..."

Garrett lowered his brows, standing quietly next to the whiteboard, listening to these chaotic discussions. When he first started entering death registration data, he was distressed by the tragic deaths of those who died at 14, 15, or 16 years old. However, when the statistics were completed and he got the calculated data, he couldn’t help but gasp for breath.

The situation was worse than he had expected.

Much worse.

22 years. An average age of death of 22 years. Remember, even in old China, before liberation, in such a miserable world, the average life expectancy of the population reached 35 years...

What is 22 years?

It’s hell!

He waited quietly for a moment, raised the draft paper in his hand, and showed the magical seal on the paper to the audience. With a wave of the hand of the mage in the protective series, a magical radiance flashed, and the emblem of Thunder Tower rose again, shining in the air. Immediately, a louder wave of sound erupted and lasted for a long time.

Garrett held his head high, waiting. These data were not fabricated by him, the original records had sources, and the calculation process had the endorsement of Tower Spirits. He waited until the surroundings gradually quieted down, took a step forward, and earnestly addressed the dais:

"Garrett Nordmark, Mage, you’ve raised a valid point. However, if you want to convince the council to increase investment, you still need to explain one more thing:

How much help does increasing this investment provide to the lives and health of the citizens?"

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