Outside Dry-Well Border Station #801, a small wooden toll and tax booth painted in cheerful yellow-and-white stripes sat right beside the gleaming end of the golden [Light-Year Sword-Rail Express] tracks. A wooden sign nailed to the roof read:
> [TAX & LAND REGISTRATION WINDOW #1] > Hours: 24/7. Please form a single line. No spitting, no littering, and no flying swords above shoulder height.
Inside the booth, Hong Ling was stacking bundles of newly printed Homestead Deeds while Abacus Su oiled his second-favorite brass abacus. Around the station plaza, millions of newly registered mortal farmers and asteroid miners stood behind yellow safety ropes, eating steaming Meat-Belly Giant Potatoes and watching the starry sky with wide eyes.
Suddenly, a piercing whistle of cold metallic Qi tore through the vacuum of space!
SHING—SHING—SHING!
From the direction of the Green-Lotus Star System, three hundred dazzling silver streaks of light shot across the dark void like a storm of shooting stars. Leading the formation was Senior Brother Chu Feng (Rank 7 Peak — Nascent Soul / Planetary Lord), the number-one inner-sect prodigy of Ten-Thousand Sword Mountain. He wore a spotless snow-white robe embroidered with silver cranes, a jade crown holding up his long hair, and stood with his hands behind his back atop a seven-foot-long crystal flying sword.
