The formal announcement of Lin Tao’s appointment was read from the high marble stone railing of the Central Smelting Pavilion at the hour of the noon bell.
Three hundred laborers stood assembled in the grand courtyard, their clean linen tunics fluttering in the mountain breeze, their tools resting neatly on their shoulders. The fiery ash on their boots had been swept clean. The iron melted rock waste gutters now flowed with clear runoff water from the northern snowpack. Above the ziggurat, the sky was a brilliant, flawless azure, the poisonous chemical clouds fully scattered by the fire’s clean exhaust.
The noon sun stood directly overhead. It cast the shadows of the three hundred assembled laborers straight beneath their boots. On the high marble stone railing, the gold silk scroll flapped crisply in the rising updraft. Elder Song’s proclamation rolled over the volcano bowl. Then, every man on the sorting terraces felt the invisible yoke of old family bondage snap from his shoulders.
Elder Song stood at the center of the platform, wearing his full ritual sable robes, reading the royal gold silk scroll with the booming, ringing power of a high judge:
“By decree of the Grand Punishment Trial and the Outer Sect Logistical Bureau: debt-bound laborer Lin Tao, having showed extraordinary vigilance, load-bearing genius, and unbending loyalty in preserving the strategic assets of the Azure Cloud Sect, is hereby cleared of all labor obligations and raised to the rank of Chief Checker of Outer Sect Facilities!”
“His attendant, Tie Shan, is raised to Marshal of Arms, with full court power to enforce checker office directives across all outer sectors!”
“The Lower Potion Slag Pavilion is officially redesignated as the First Independent Metallurgical Works, running under the sovereign management of its resident craftsmen, with full debt pardons and permanent grain allocations granted to all workers!”
The final word echoed off the dark rock cliffs. Then, the courtyard erupted into ear-splitting, tearful celebration.
Old Wu and Deacon Chen climbed the stone steps, bearing the newly stitched banner of the First Independent Metallurgical Works. The banner was rough linen dyed in madder root, but the insignia was painted with spotless care. An iron metal pen crossed with a heavy pry-bar. It was surrounded by the twelve-toothed gear of an ancient Precursor drive. It wasn’t the crest of a noble bloodline or a mystical lineage. It was the symbol of working hands that understood the metal they shaped. The laborers cheered until their voices turned hoarse, surging forward to touch the hem of Lin Tao’s new checker’s robes. Men who had known only the whip and the iron shovel threw their fists into the air, roaring their thanks to the heavens.
Each of the three hundred craftsmen lined up to press their ink-stained thumbprints onto the registry of the new independent works, cementing their sovereign status under sect law.
In the quiet darkness of the stone hut of Pit Seven, Lin Tao and Tie Shan made their final preparations. The room was clean, swept of ash. On the wooden table, four high-grade steel chisels lay neatly lined up, their edges sharpened on oilstone until they caught the sunlight like mirrors. Tie Shan carefully wrapped thirty pounds of dried highland beef in oiled lotus leaves, packing them beneath the spare water skins in his heavy wicker basket. At the bottom of Lin Tao’s pack rested the six precious rolls of Precursor building schematics. He was wrapped in layers of waxed canvas to protect them from rain and snow.
Lin Tao didn’t wear silk or gold lace.
He wore a clean, durable tunic of dark charcoal linen, heavy with leather stitching around the shoulders, his green jade spatial ring turned inward on his right hand, and the heavy star-iron checker’s token hanging securely from his hemp sash. At his right hip rested the four-inch cold-drawn steel land-mapper metal pen in its polished leather sheath. The cold steel felt familiar, balanced, an extension of his own nervous system. For the first time since transmigrating into this harsh, unforgiving world, he possessed the legal power to walk the high roads without being stopped by every petty deacon with an iron whip.
Beside him towered Tie Shan, dressed in a matching charcoal vest that left his massive bronze arms bare, his twelve-pound iron pry-bar polished to a dark, mirror-like sheen. Tie Shan hefted the iron bar. It tested its balance with a single swift swing that hummed through the quiet room.
The two companions walked down the wide dark rock stairway of Pit Seven. There, their worldly belongings had been neatly packed into two heavy wicker baskets.
Old Wu stepped forward at the gateway of the volcano bowl. He held out a sealed clay pot jar of fresh honey-marrow broth.
“For the road, Inspector Lin,” the old smith said, his eyes moist with deep, paternal emotion. “The outer peaks are cold. But the prayers of three hundred free men will follow your boots.”
Lin Tao took the jar, securing it inside his basket with a nod.
“Keep the water filters clean, Old Wu,” Lin Tao said softly. “Check the charcoal beds every fourteen days, and don’t let anyone force the fire valves.”
“On our lives, Checker!” Old Wu promised, bowing deeply until his forehead nearly touched the road.
Lin Tao and Tie Shan turned their backs on the smoking volcano bowl. Then they stepped onto the southern mountain highway.
The road wound upward through the jagged granite passes toward the high outer peaks. There, the towering runic pillars of the Grand Defensive Boundary Array reached toward the clouds like the ribs of an ancient cosmic cage.
Beside Lin Tao, Tie Shan tightened the hemp straps of his wicker basket. The giant glanced back one last time at Pit Seven. The place where they had slept on frozen melted rock waste, eaten moldy sorghum. Then they fought for their lives against corrupt overseers. Now, thirty-nine smoke-blackened smiths stood on the terraces, raising their cups of barley wine in solemn salute.
“Good change,” Tie Shan rumbled, his voice low and shaking with quiet pride.
“A machine that runs cleanly is always better than a machine that tears itself apart, Tie Shan,” Lin Tao replied softly. “Now, let’s see what the high peaks have built.”
The melted rock waste heap was conquered. The books were balanced. It was time to audit the sky.