The Second Sun rose over Sunset Peak and turned the pine needles gold.
Austin drank his tea on the Timber Lodge porch. Below him, eight cooling towers sent white steam into the morning air. The Level 55 core in his chest hummed like a well-tuned engine.
Then the system delivered an unwelcome notice.
Austin read it twice. “That will bring visitors.”
Tie Kuang looked up from the blueprints on the workbench. “Invaders?”
“At first. After that, customers.”
Jiang Taixu reached for his carpenter’s pencil. “We still have twelve impounded dreadnoughts. I can put cannons on the ridge.”
Austin looked at him the way a builder looks at an apprentice who wants dynamite to pull a finish nail.
“No. People who cross a continent for a raid bring full treasuries. I would rather charge them than blast them.”
Li Xiaoyao stopped taking notes. “You want to sell tickets to a crusade?”
“I want to sell safe tours. A crusade damages property. A tour pays for maintenance.” Austin spread a fresh sheet over the table. “But nobody walks into a live work-yard without rules.”
He drew four zones. The surface plaza would hold ticket booths, marked lines, and a gift shop. Floors One through Three would form the standard public route. Visitors would see the conveyor hall, foundry, and cold-water plant from guarded paths. Floors Four through Eight would need a separate works pass and trained guides.
His pencil stopped above Floor Nine.
“Floor Nine is not part of a standard pass,” he said. “It stays closed to ordinary visitors. Any special raid booking needs my approval, a separate fee, and a full safety plan. If a patriarch does reach Floor Nine, I will handle customer service myself, with my pipe wrench.”
Tie Kuang pointed at the conveyor belts. “What stops a swordsman from jumping a rail?”
“Slow belts, steel guards, stop cords, and staff who can shut down the whole line.” Austin tapped the plan. “We expect bad choices. We design for them.”
Xiaoyao read the draft rules. “And if a famous elder refuses?”
“He stays outside.”
Austin handed him a badge and a clipboard. “You are Lead Ticketmaster. You control admission. Not me, not a king, and not a man waving a holy sword. If the route is full or unsafe, close the window.”
Xiaoyao straightened. “Even if they threaten me?”
“Especially then. Come get me, but do not sell the ticket.”
They spent the morning bolting brass turnstiles into the plaza. Austin checked each anchor and laid a level across the housings. Xiaoyao painted arrows and tested the scanners. Tie Kuang installed a gate that could close the public route without stopping the work lifts.
By noon, the mountain had nine working floors, clear visitor zones, and a ticket window with firm rules.
Austin pushed the first turnstile. It clicked once and locked behind him.
“Good,” he said. “Now let the crusaders come.”