“Accountant Su! Read this letter first! The Young Master of the Golden-Tiger Martial Clan in the Eastern Continent is offering fifty thousand Spirit Stones just to rent one square yard of ground on Black-Iron Moon for a week!”
“Wait! Look at this one from the Iron-Fist Sect! Their sect master says three thousand of his inner disciples are already standing outside Dry-Well Central Station with their bedrolls, begging to be drafted into General Tie’s blacksmithing squad without pay!”
Inside the command office of the No. 1 Planetary Volcano Forge, Hong Ling and six assistant clerks were buried up to their waists in glowing paper messenger-talismans that kept flying out of the postal array like snowstorms.
Abacus Su pushed his spectacles up his nose, holding a stack of letters in each hand as he looked at Pei Xuan across the desk.
“My Lord,” Abacus Su said, his voice quivering with the excitement of a man smelling a mountain of free silver, “ever since Sergeant Little Stone lifted that ten-ton bronze lion with one pinky finger on live television this morning, every Martial Artist on Planet Canglan has gone completely crazy! Normal body-refining cultivators have to spend thousands of Spirit Stones buying rare Heavy-Earth Pills or Gravity Jade Plates just to experience 2x or 3x gravity in a tiny cellar. Here on Black-Iron Moon, we have natural 10x Heavy Gravity plus your fused Heat-Transfer Floors covering the whole moon for free!”
