The evening breeze swept across the mountain ridges of Planet #100. It carried the fresh scents of pine, blooming spirit-orchids, and roasting spices.
Lin Mo stood at the edge of the grand marble terrace. Su Wan walked beside him, holding a newly minted bronze plaque.
“The registry is updated, Chairman,” Su Wan said. “Planet #100 is no longer listed as the Blood-Tax Citadel in the sector charts. From this hour forward, it is officially the Taichu Astral Hub.”
“Much better,” Lin Mo said, glancing down at the plaza. “Citadel sounded like a place where people got audited against their will. Hub sounds like a place where you can get a hot meal and a cup of tea.”
Down below, the transformation was already in full swing. Master Lu Jian’s construction teams had demolished the towering blood-red tax towers. In their place, wide wooden pavilions, open-air kitchens, and festive dining tables sprang up like wild mushrooms after rain.
Above the city, the fleet of fifty Nebula-Glider luxury yachts shuttled back and forth. They were not carrying dignitaries or weapons. They were loaded to the brim with giant wooden crates of organic cabbages, barrels of cold-pressed sesame oil, sacks of premium flour, and ice-packed crates of Star-Whale flank meat.
