The impact of Old Man Tie’s heavy leather boots hitting the bronze collar of the Great Sluice Gate rang out like an anvil struck in an echoing cave.
Standing nine feet tall in his broad, battle-scarred titan bear beastman form, the Divine Smith cracked his thick knuckles. His right arm, grafted from iron-hard meteor-iron and pulsing with internal fiery forge-veins, hissed as cool cosmic ether collided with the red-hot metal of his shoulder plating.
He didn’t look at the shimmering curtains of distant auroras, nor did he pay homage to the majestic expanse of stars. Instead, Tie Shan spat a glob of bitter tobacco juice onto the gleaming sun-gold face of the royal gate, squinting down at the massive stone eight-sided spindle with deep skilled disgust.
“Look at this trash,” Tie Shan grunted, his deep, gravelly voice rumbling through the sub-space void. “They called themselves immortal craftsmen, but they couldn’t even edge a guide track properly. Soft royal gold on an intake pipe hub? Zero oil grooves on the bearing collar? These gold-trimmed fops in the clouds have been letting the stars do their thinking for ten thousand years, and their hands have turned to rotten bean curd.”
Gu Qingfeng drifted closer, his willow twig tucked loosely into his hemp sash. A dry chuckle rasped from the old swordsman’s throat as he shook his head.
