Pushing through the glass turnstile of the Taichu Sanctuary High-Tech Park gate with a large black umbrella in hand, Lin Mo looked out at the five hundred men and women standing silently in the cold morning drizzle.
Their breath formed pale clouds in the morning chill. None of them carried umbrellas. Some had wrapped their worn wool scarves tight against the wind, but their shoulders were soaked through.
Beside Lin Mo, Academician Fang Dequan hurried down the concrete steps, clutching his coat against the damp breeze.
“Old Zhao?” Academician Fang stopped at the perimeter line, his eyes wide. “Is that really you, Zhao Tiebi?”
The elderly man at the front of the crowd took off his canvas cap, revealing hair as white as frost. His posture was ramrod straight, like a weathered iron pillar. His face was etched with deep lines from decades of furnace heat and metal dust.
[Target: Zhao Tiebi. Goodness Score: 93/100. Eighth-Grade Master Fitter, lifelong honest industrial craftsman.]
Behind him, five hundred green health and morality bars glowed brightly in Lin Mo’s vision. Not a single person in the crowd fell below eighty-two. Most hovered around eighty-eight to ninety-three.
Lin Mo stepped forward and held the black umbrella over Master Zhao’s head.
