The message on the communication jade clicked off with a soft crystal chime.
Lin Mo stood on the third-floor balcony of the Taichu Central Immortal Culinary Palace. A fresh breeze blew across the wide terrace, carrying the rich scent of Grandma Chen’s simmered ginger and dragon-shrimp broth. Down below, the broad avenues of white cobblestone stretched outward like clean spokes on a giant wheel.
Two hundred thousand refugees walked along the tree-lined canals. They were no longer starving wanderers in rags. Dressed in clean blue cotton tunics, they carried bags of fresh grain, inspected new stone workshops, and laughed in the afternoon sun.
Beside Lin Mo, Su Wan adjusted her silk cuffs and checked her audit ledger.
“The eastern residential sectors are completely occupied, Chairman,” Su Wan said, her tone crisp and steady. “One hundred thousand employee villas are filled. The water circulation arrays are operating at full capacity. But our outer perimeter remains vulnerable. Boss Huo’s cartel scouts have been circling the northern hills like starving jackals.”
“Jackals don’t scare me,” Lin Mo said, leaning his forearms on the carved cedar railing. “Jackals only bite when they think you have weak fences. How are the girls doing on the central spire?”
