110: Chapter 110: The Scale is Initially Taken and the Framework is Beginning

On the platform railing of the second floor of the Dispatch Yard, the dew had just dried.

Chen Wuwang leaned there, a lock of his silver hair lifted by the morning breeze, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye reflecting the movement in the plaza below.

He hadn't slept all night, but he didn't feel tired. Instead, he felt an indescribable lightness—as if a corner of the mountain that had weighed on his shoulders for three years had finally been quietly lifted from behind.

The plaza was no longer the chaotic scene of people scrambling for the entrance like yesterday.

A deacon from the Dongling Wen Family stood before a floating light panel, sliding his fingers across it as he taught three newcomers how to upload data reports.

The man spoke with a bit of a local accent, but his logic was clear: "Use a unified four-digit code, the clan name abbreviation plus a sequence number. Stop writing things like 'my family's third son'; the System won't recognize it."

A Loose Cultivator nearby, carrying a rune case, scratched his head. "But back in Liuyun Valley, I was always called 'Old Seven'..."

"Now you are 'S-047'," the Wen Family deacon said without a change in expression. "Three failed entries, and you're kicked out of the collaboration team."

It was even livelier over by the Nanqiu He Clan. Several craftsmen surrounded a transport mecha with its outer shell removed, passing wrenches and psionic welding torches back and forth.

One of them squatted on the ground, measuring the Energy Pylon interface with a probe, a half-chewed blade of grass dangling from his mouth:

"This wiring is as aged as an old lady's teeth. Replacing the core without the shell? It won't last three days."

Another man laughed and cursed, "That piece of junk you scavenged from the black market back then would smoke as soon as it was powered on. You have the nerve to nitpick?"

"Hey, that machine saved my life!"

The two bickered, but their hands never stopped. Bolts were tightened one by one, Rune Conduits were re-embedded, their movements as practiced as breathing.

The women of the Beipo Liu Clan weren't idle either. They divided the temporary tent area into sections, one for children and one for the elderly, specifically routing construction paths around them.

A young girl carrying a medicine basket walked over timidly. The leading woman immediately went to meet her with a smile:

"Pest control, right? Register first. Two hours. You must be out by noon; there's hot soup inside."

The little girl nodded vigorously, her eyes shining like stars.

Chen Wuwang watched, his lips twitching slightly. He didn't laugh out loud, but his shoulders relaxed by half an inch.

He raised his right hand, and his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye instantly switched modes.

A global thermal map spread across his vision—the communication frequency was three hundred times higher than three days ago, the resource circulation efficiency curve was steady at its peak, and the automatic calibration rate of defense nodes was ninety-eight percent.

Not a single line was messy; not a single part was idling.

Order isn't something you shout into existence; it's something you run into existence.

He withdrew his gaze, turned, and walked down the steps toward the high platform in the center of the plaza.

As soon as his foot stepped onto the stone stairs, the noise below subsided.

The craftsmen debugging the mecha stopped their tools, the deacon teaching data closed his light panel, and even the frolicking children quieted down, all looking over in unison.

No one knelt, and no one cheered. They simply stopped their work in silence and stood tall.

Chen Wuwang didn't speak, nor did he look at them. He simply walked to the center of the platform, took out a Tactical Sand Table Projection Stone, and touched it with his fingertip.

Buzz—

A map of the outer reaches of the Eastern Wasteland appeared in the air, clear as a carving. Ten clan banners surrounded the main banner of the Head of the Chen Family in a protective formation.

Dozens of light spots flickered on the periphery, representing small clans and Loose Cultivator groups that had been contacted or had preliminarily attached themselves.

A red line slowly extended at the border, marked with the small words "Restricted Area."

This wasn't a battle map, nor was it a conquest order.

This was a pattern.

The wind swept across the high platform, fluttering the corners of his clothes.

He still didn't speak, just stood there. His shadow fell upon the map, perfectly covering a probe point closest to the core area.

Three breaths later, that glimmer of light flashed and quietly retreated.

He knew people were watching. More than one Divine Sense swept in from different directions, only to be quickly withdrawn.

They didn't dare approach, yet they were unwilling to leave, like wild dogs staring at a caged tiger—wanting to bite, but afraid of breaking their teeth.

He lightly raised his hand, the sand table folded up, and the projection stone fell back into his sleeve.

Below the platform, no one spoke.

But people began to work. The craftsmen picked up their tools again, the deacon opened his terminal, and the children lined up to walk toward the safety zone.

Everything was as usual, yet everything was different.

Because everyone knew—they weren't just looking for a way to survive.

They were already walking that path.

---

As night fell again, the lights in the Dispatch Yard did not go out.

Chen Wuwang sat back in front of the main control console, the data stream on the screen still scrolling.

The architecture of the "Alliance Expansion Protocol (Draft)" had completed its deduction. The dual-layer structure had been running stably in simulation for seventy-two hours with no crashes, no broken links, and no permission overflows.

He pulled up today's inspection footage and began playback.

First segment: Children chasing each other in the safety zone, their laughter crisp. A patrol followed five zhang behind, not disturbing them, but not straying far either.

Second segment: A white-haired elder sat by a heater outside a workshop, drinking soup from a coarse porcelain bowl and chatting with a young man. The firelight illuminated his wrinkles, which looked like dried orange peel.

Third segment: Craftsmen on shift change. One handed over a wrench, the other took it and gave the first a pat on the shoulder, the movement as natural as switching chopsticks.

He watched a bit more slowly.

He saw the little girl squatting by the Medicinal Field, carefully turning the soil with a wooden shovel. A beetle crawled over the back of her hand; she didn't panic, just gently blew a breath of air and continued her work.

Chen Wuwang's lips finally curled upward.

It wasn't pride or ecstasy, but something almost soft that pulled a faint wrinkle at the corner of his eye.

The wall was up.

He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes.

Three years ago, when he first transmigrated here, the Chen family was nothing but broken walls and ruins, with clansmen hiding in cellars gnawing on tree bark.

Back then, he had gripped a dagger and carved plans onto a stone table, blood dripping down from between his fingers. Only one thought was in his mind: "Either live standing up, or die kneeling. He chose the former."

Now, they had not only stood up but had also built eaves that could shelter others from the rain.

He opened his eyes, the blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flashing slightly as he pulled up the border anomaly log.

Several abnormal fluctuations in Spiritual Qi were marked. Their locations were scattered and their frequency low, like probing, or perhaps... sniffing.

He didn't order an investigation or trigger an alarm. He simply archived the data with the note: "Stored, awaiting analysis."

Then, he looked out the window.

In the distance, the Alliance city was brightly lit. Mecha patrol teams walked their established routes, signal towers transmitted stably, and people were still working overtime in the corners of the plaza.

A young craftsman squatted by a damaged Energy Pylon, holding a welding torch, humming a song as he repaired it. His voice drifted into the wind, the lyrics indistinguishable.

Chen Wuwang watched quietly.

Suddenly, he whispered, "The wall is up, and the wind will only get stronger."

As the words fell, he didn't move, nor did he look at the screen again.

He just sat there, his gaze falling on the edge of the main console—there, an unfinished holographic deduction map floated quietly, titled: 'Draft Architecture for the High-Level Management Team'.