Han Xi spoke with a touch of helplessness. "Building a force requires money. A lot of money."
Zhao Feng had left Han Xi ninety-nine percent of the gold from his Portable Space, which amounted to over seven thousand gold pieces and several hundred thousand coins. In just three short months, nearly forty percent of it had been spent, which illustrated the immense daily expenses. Building a force was simply burning money. The costs of food and shelter for everyone in the organization, the continuous recruitment that Zhao Feng had not halted, and the procurement of ores and medicinal materials all required money.
Zhao Feng, however, was quite calm about it.
"What's the status of the medicinal materials I had you procure?" Zhao Feng asked.
"My Lord, we've procured a great deal. They are all piled up in the warehouse now," Han Xi replied promptly.
"And how is the wine brewing coming along?" Zhao Feng asked again. This wine was the key to making his force self-sustaining.
