The morning sun reflected off three thousand two hundred gleaming silver-glass skylights in the northern sector of Taichu Sanctuary City.
This was the newly completed Taichu Immortal Heavy Industrial Park.
Built in less than seventy-two hours by Master Lu Jian and fifty thousand well-paid artisan-cultivators, the complex stretched across four square miles of reinforced bedrock. Unlike the dark, choking magma caves of Mount Raging-Flame, the industrial park was clean, bright, and impeccably ventilated. High above the polished granite floors, massive pneumatic air-filtration arrays hummed with quiet efficiency, sucking away every trace of sulfur, ash, and oppressive heat before it could touch human skin.
Outside the main entrance, Grandma Chen’s cafeteria aunties were pushing rolling brass carts.
They handed out hot steamed scallion buns, crispy fried dough twists, and bowls of warm sweetened soybean milk to every arriving worker.
“Eat before you work, boys!” Grandma Chen scolded cheerfully, tapping a young smith on the arm. “No smith can swing a proper hammer on an empty stomach! Take two more buns!”
Standing in the central avenue were three thousand two hundred newly hired specialists.
There were four hundred master blacksmiths led by Ah Long, six hundred spirit-herb cultivators led by Old Chen, eight hundred array technicians, and fourteen hundred industrial alchemists. Every man and woman stood tall, their posture straight and their eyes wide with quiet awe.
