The Grand Exhibition Pavilion of Canglan filled half a square mile in the capital’s artisan district. Its three stories of white marble and gold-trimmed cedar gleamed in the sun.
Inside the registration hall, a vaulted ceiling rose sixty feet above a polished jade floor. Sandalwood incense mixed with charcoal smoke and the thick scent of high-born pride.
Blacksmiths, formation experts, and alchemists from the empire’s thirty-six sects crossed the hall in purple and red silk. They carried jeweled hammers and jade-inlaid tongs. Their disciples followed, boasting about ancient bloodlines and secret quenching oils.
Austin waited near the central desk with his birchwood clipboard.
He wore his usual field clothes: a dented midnight-blue hard hat, denim work clothes, a leather tool belt, and steel-toed boots. His five-foot blue Stellar-Steel pipe wrench rested in the holster across his shoulder.
He studied the ceiling and frowned.
“Terrible site management. Those brass chandeliers must weigh three tons, and they’re hanging from decorative chains with no safety cables. No marked exits, either. Pack a thousand cultivators in here, add trailing silk robes and open flames, and one accident turns the whole hall into a stampede.”
Xiaoyao edged closer. The auras of the surrounding Foundation and Golden Core elders made his knees weak.
“Patriarch,” he whispered, “that is Grandmaster Mo of the Burning Sky Pavilion. They say his Seven-Flame Fire can melt dragon scales. And behind him is the young head of the Thousand-Array Sect!”
“I don’t care if he melts dragon scales. Look how he’s carrying that hammer. Fifty pounds on one shoulder, no support, back twisted. Ergonomic trainwreck. He’ll be crippled in five years.” Austin pointed with his pencil. “And that copper pot on cart three has an open flame under it and no pressure valve. One blockage and it goes through the roof.”
Near the entrance, Pug lay on the cool jade tiles. All three heads took turns chewing an iron wagon bolt he had found at the city gate.
Crunch. Snerk. Sssss.
Before Austin reached the desk, a young master in crimson brocade tried to push past him. The youth waved a velvet pouch of spirit stones.
“Out of the way, peasant. Make room for a true disciple of the kiln!”
Austin didn’t shove him. He simply lifted his clipboard and held the edge against the young master’s chest like a gate.
“Hold your horses, bub. Single file. No cutting.” Austin looked down. “And what are those shoes?”
The youth blinked. “What?”
“Silk slippers with paper-thin soles. Men are hauling anvils through here. One drops on your foot and you’ll be walking on paste. Wear safety toes or get out of the work lane.”
Pug’s middle head lifted. He sniffed the youth’s lavender-scented robe and snorted soot across the hem.
The young master saw six ruby eyes watching him. Violet sparks danced along Pug’s collar. He turned pale and backed into line without another word.
“Next applicant!” called a nasal voice.
Austin stepped up to the dark wooden counter.
“Morning. I’m checking in for the artisan expo. I need a vendor badge, yard pass, booth number, and the desk that handles standing scrap contracts. Sunset Peak wants regular buyers, tested grades, and the same weight scale on both ends.”
Royal Registrar Elder Han sat behind the ledger. He was a thin, sour official in saffron robes, with a crystal monocle perched on his hooked nose.
Han looked at Austin’s faded denim and the grease pencil behind his ear. Then he waved a perfumed handkerchief in front of his nose.
“A mortal laborer? In the registry of the Centennial Royal Expo? Did you get lost on your way to the wheelwright’s alley, boy? Or did a real artisan pay you to haul charcoal?”
“I’m an independent builder,” Austin said. “I have an official event quest and a booth to register.”
Han laughed. Several smiths nearby joined him.
“An independent builder? Listen closely, ditch-boy. This exhibition has three noble arts: Heavenly Artifact Forging, Ancient Array Carving, and High-Spirit Alchemy. We have no category for patching plows or caulking privy buckets!”
Austin opened his quest menu.
“Put me under Common Heavy Casting and Material Reclamation,” Austin said. “And make sure the booth has a twenty-amp supply or room for an external generator. I need steady power for my test bench.”
Han stared at him. “Twenty-amp? Generator?” Then he grinned. “Common Heavy Casting! The gutter division, where village smiths sell bent hinges for their fare home.”
He pulled a battered ash-wood token from a bottom drawer.
“The fee is ten spirit stones, laborer. Pay, or the guards will throw you into the beggar ditch.”
Austin reached into his work pouch. Instead of spirit stones, he produced a six-inch piece of bright orange conductite wire left over from the lightning diverter on Sunset Peak. He set it on the counter.
“I don’t carry local rocks. This is high-purity grounding wire. It’s worth more than ten stones. Keep the change as a processing fee.”
Han refused to touch it.
“Filthy peasant wire!” He stamped the wooden token and shoved it across the desk. “Table Ninety-Four! In the north courtyard, between the public latrines and the refuse burner. Enjoy the night-soil fumes while you sell your scrap!”
Cruel laughter spread through the hall.
“Table Ninety-Four! The dumpster corner!”
“Nobody has visited the north wall in a century!”
“Serves him right for tracking mud into the Academy!”
Austin held the token up to the light. #94.
He opened the exhibition plan in his HUD.
Austin’s eyes lit up.
“Table Ninety-Four. Easy waste disposal. Plenty of fresh air for welding fumes. No crowds bumping the tools or tripping over cords. Excellent site.”
He gave Han a sincere nod.
“Thank you, sir. Genuinely good booth assignment. It’s rare to meet a coordinator who understands workshop ventilation.”
Han’s smirk vanished. His monocle dropped against his chest.
He’s thanking me? I put him beside the latrines, and he’s praising my planning? Is he insane?
Austin pocketed the token and turned toward the exit.
“Xiaoyao, grab the mules. We’ve got a quiet corner with a solid floor. Let’s get the bench level before the crowd arrives.”
“Understood, Patriarch!” Xiaoyao said, grinning.
Pug stood and stretched. His triple yawn made the marble pillars hum and shook plaster dust from the ceiling. He wagged his stubby tail, clipped a stone rail with it, and trotted after Austin.
Behind them, Elder Han and thirty grandmaster blacksmiths stared in silence.