157: Chapter 157 The Afterglow of the Celebration, The Descent of Angels

In the Chen Family courtyard, sunlight fell gently as cloud shadows slowly drifted across the azure sky.

The bluestone slabs in the square were bleached white by the sun, and the spots of light reflected off the mecha armor moved across the walls, flickering as if they hadn't yet recovered from the recent excitement.

Chen Wuwang maintained his previous stance, resting his hand on the calf joint of the "Po Xu Type-1."

His palm could feel the residual warmth of the metal shell, and a slight vibration persisted—it was the internal psionic circulation System running at low power.

He didn't move or speak; he simply let his breath sink slowly from his chest to his lower abdomen, pressing down inch by inch, as if trying to absorb all the echoes of that recent declaration into his body.

The two hovercars at the distant mountain gate had already disappeared behind the ridgeline, and the wind kicked up a few scraps of charcoal shavings, swirling them past his boots.

A child squatted by the stone steps, using a broken charcoal stick to redraw the two words "Strong Root," fingers smudged black, muttering, "Must write it deeper than yesterday."

Chen Wuwang's eyes twitched slightly, but he didn't look at the child or the steps. His consciousness sank down like plunging into a deep well.

At that very instant, nine words struck his Sea of Consciousness without warning—

"Three days later, an Angel Race caravan will pass by."

There was no image, no sound, and no explanation. It was as if the Heavenly Dao had casually dropped a remark, tossing a pebble that sent ripples through his heart.

The three claw marks on his right cheek suddenly burned, as if lightly scraped by an invisible finger.

His pupils contracted imperceptibly before returning to normal.

Near the edge of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye, he tapped twice with his thumbnail; a blue light flashed, and the frequency reset to zero.

They were coming.

It wasn't an enemy, a battle, or an exposed resource point. It was a caravan, and from the Angel Race at that.

His lips twitched; he didn't smile or frown, but merely whispered, "Quite an opportunity."

Just as he spoke, a young soldier carrying a Talisman Gun happened to walk by. He heard it, paused, and blurted out, "Family Head, is the... Angel Race very strong?"

The voice wasn't loud, but it was like a stone thrown into a newly calmed surface of water.

The busy crowd paused; some stopped in their tracks, some turned their heads, and even the women walking by the Medicinal Field carrying Spiritual Plants slowed their pace.

"Angel Race?"

"The kind that flies in the sky?"

The eyes of the younger generation lit up as they gathered in a circle, discussing animatedly. Some asked if they could trade for aircraft technology, while others debated whether their Light Energy Cores were more stable than spirit cores.

Some even suggested trading a 'Po Xu' for some blueprints.

The older clan members, however, remained silent.

An old craftsman stood at the entrance of the Artifact Refining Workshop leaning on his hammer, squinting at the eastern horizon and muttering, "Things from the sky—there's no such thing as a free benefit."

Another woman holding a child added in a low voice, "Don't provoke beings we shouldn't provoke; we've only just found our footing."

The baby in her arms, knowing no better, reached out to grab her earring, giggling, completely unaware of what the adults were discussing regarding immortals and monsters.

Chen Wuwang did not stop these discussions, nor did he respond.

He just listened, his gaze sweeping across each face—some eager to try, some deeply worried, and some utterly bewildered.

He knew these people had only just crawled out of the fear of "not being able to walk with heads held high," and now, hearing that great figures from the sky were passing by, their hearts would naturally churn.

Excitement for the future, worry for the unknown.

He slowly turned and walked toward the high platform. His pace was neither rushed nor heavy; each step landed precisely on the seams of the bluestone, as if measuring something.

Along the way, he noticed a new line of words added to the other side of the stone steps, smeared in red clay and crooked:

"Want to see people from the sky."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly; he didn't speak and continued upward.

After ascending the high platform, he took a Jade Slip from his robe and lightly stroked the surface with his fingertip, leaving three short lines of text:

"Reception Rites." "Defense Array." "Messenger Selection."

Having finished, he closed the Jade Slip and tucked it into a hidden pocket at his waist. His movements were crisp, without a hint of hesitation.

He knew these three matters could not be made public or arranged just yet.

The clansmen were not yet ready for contact of that level, even if it was just a passing caravan.

But he had to think ahead, record it first, and set up the signposts.

He stood at the edge of the high platform, back to the square, facing east.

The clouds over there were still surging, and the arcs of light were brighter than before, as if something truly was approaching.

The wind poured in from the mountain pass, blowing his silver-white ponytail, and the blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered slightly with the rhythm of his blinking.

He no longer paid attention to the mecha or the crowd, simply standing there quietly, like a mountain peak about to meet a challenge.

Below, the sounds of discussion gradually faded.

The young people walked away in small groups, some to the training grounds, others back to the workshops.

The old craftsman sighed and, leaning on his hammer, shuffled toward the Medicinal Field.

The child who wrote "Want to see people from the sky" was pulled away by his mother, looking back as he walked, his eyes full of reluctance.

A little girl squatted in the shadow of the mecha's projection, using a small stone to draw a circle on the ground, then two slanted lines like wings.

She looked up at the figure on the high platform and whispered to her mother, "Will we be able to talk to the people from the sky in the future?"

Her mother didn't answer immediately, but simply stroked her head and said softly, "When the Family Head says we can, then we can."

These words drifted up, but Chen Wuwang didn't hear them, nor did he need to.

He already knew which path to take.

New steps are not made by shouting; they are made by treading.

He raised his right hand and pressed it lightly against the stone railing of the platform.

The stone beneath his fingertips was rough and solid, still bearing the scratches from last night's carvings.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, his gaze had changed.

He was no longer the proclaimer, but the strategist.

He knew that in three days, a caravan from the far side of the star sea would pass through the East Barrens.

They might just be passing through, or they might have another purpose.

Regardless, this was an opportunity—an opportunity for the Chen Family to transition from being "feared" to being "needed."

He would not wait for them to speak first.

He would reach out first.

As long as he was accurate and steady enough, this single leap could cross the chasm between an ordinary Family and a top-tier power.

He slowly exhaled, as if purging the last trace of stray thoughts from his mind.

Then, he turned toward the Council Hall. His feet didn't move, but his Aura had already changed.

With the Jade Slip in his breast pocket, those three terms were like three nails, driven into every moment to come.

He knew it was time to gather his people.