288: Chapter 288 Chen Tiezhu's Approval

Inside the workshop, blue light continued to flow between the equipment, and the machines hummed with a low, continuous drone.

The air was still thick with the metallic tang of heated metal, mixed with the faint scent of coolant. Chen Qiaoshou leaned against a support beam, gasping for breath, his arms going limp as he nearly slid to the floor.

He raised a hand to wipe his face, sweat dripping from between his fingers and landing on the black stone slab used for testing at his feet, where it hissed and sent up a thin wisp of white smoke.

Chen Tiezhu stood before the finished product rack, holding a Spirit Core that had just dropped into the slot, his fingertips tracing the patterns on its surface back and forth.

He didn't speak again, just kept looking and feeling it, as if he wanted to etch the object into the lines of his palm.

The lenses of his reading glasses reflected a cold light, masking the shifting emotions in his eyes.

After a long while, he sighed softly, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the machines: "This work... it's steadier than my thirty years of craftsmanship."

Finishing this, he took off his glasses, wiped the bridge of his nose with his sleeve, and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

In that moment, his spine slumped slightly; he didn't look like an Artifact Refining Elder, but rather an old craftsman who had been up all night.

He suddenly lifted his feet and walked toward Chen Qiaoshou.

One step, two steps.

His steps were hesitant, and he even paused halfway, as if something was stuck to the sole of his shoe.

But he didn't look down or back; he gritted his teeth and continued forward.

Finally, he came to a stop in front of Chen Qiaoshou. He was a head taller than the youth, and his shadow loomed over him like a wall.

He scratched the back of his head, the cuff of his work clothes brushing against his stubble and making a rustling sound.

"Kid," he said in a low, gravelly voice, "I was wrong before. I shouldn't have doubted you."

Chen Qiaoshou froze.

He looked up, eyes wide, lips moving, but no sound came out.

How long had he waited for these words? From the first day he was kicked out of the Furnace Area, to the third time his flowcharts were torn up, to yesterday when Chen Tiezhu said in front of the whole workshop, "You call that an assembly line? I could do better with a single welding rod."

But now, this iron-faced old man had actually lowered his head?

His throat bobbed, and suddenly he grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth: "I still remember how you used to break a single welding rod in half to make it last."

As he spoke, he raised his hand to wipe the grease and sweat from his face, taking the opportunity to push his soaked bangs back: "It's fine. We just need to work together and make the Technology Workshop a success."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. After speaking, he reached out and patted Chen Tiezhu's shoulder gently.

Once, twice.

It was like patting his own uncle.

Chen Tiezhu didn't dodge or respond, just twitched the corner of his mouth and moved his throat.

He gazed at Chen Qiaoshou for a moment, then reached out to gently brush the messy hair from Chen Qiaoshou's forehead, whispering: "Fine, I'll give you credit for having guts."

The wall between the two of them cracked with a click.

Chen Wuwang had been standing by the main console all along, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye reflecting the pale blue data stream of the production line.

He wasn't in a hurry to step forward; he just watched, the corners of his mouth curling up bit by bit.

Only then did he walk over slowly, his boots tapping against the metal floor—clack, clack, clack—like he was keeping time.

He walked between the two, placing a hand on each of their shoulders with a firm grip, pulling them closer together.

"Yo," he grinned, his eyes gleaming brightly, "Did the sun rise in the west? Uncle Tiezhu is actually admitting he was wrong?"

Chen Tiezhu glared at him: "Cut the nonsense."

"I'm not talking nonsense." Chen Wuwang stopped smiling and straightened up. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried weight: "But from today on, we are a family, working together for the technology of the Chen family!"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over their faces: "If anyone dares to say our workshop is no good again, I'll be the first to object."

Chen Qiaoshou felt a sting in his nose and quickly lowered his head to rub his face.

Chen Tiezhu didn't speak, just slowly raised his hand to put his reading glasses back on.

The gaze behind the lenses swept over the entire production line—the blue light of the energy conduction rails flowed like a river, the mechanical arms rose and fell in an orderly fashion, and the Spirit Cores in the finished product slot were arranged neatly like a troop of soldiers waiting to be deployed.

He suddenly spoke up: "At tomorrow's assembly, I'll talk about the 'heat' experience of traditional furnaces, and you, kid, will fill in the part about data control."

Chen Qiaoshou looked up sharply: "Are you really willing to go on stage?"

"Not go on stage?" Chen Tiezhu huffed, "I've worked here for thirty years, but I've never taught anyone how to refine a 'Living Artifact'. Today, my eyes have been opened."

He turned and walked toward the tool rack, saying as he went: "Don't leave tonight. I'll look through some old blueprints and mark out a few key nodes for you."

"Okay!" Chen Qiaoshou's voice went up an octave.

Chen Wuwang stood where he was, watching the two figures walking one after the other, and suddenly smiled.

He didn't speak, just shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingertips brushing against the sensation of the System interface—that thing was quiet and still.

That was fine; he didn't need it today.

He looked up; the workshop was brightly lit, and the blue light reflected on the walls like a sea of stars.

Chen Tiezhu was bending over, rummaging through a drawer, and Chen Qiaoshou leaned in to point things out, their heads close together, their shadows overlapping.

In the distance, the first batch of packaged Spirit Cores already had labels on them, with the red paper reading: "Trial run successful, first-day production: 217 units."

Chen Wuwang walked over, picked one up, and ran his fingertips over the smooth runes on the surface.

"Old man," he called out to Chen Tiezhu's back, "From now on, change these labels to gold foil."

Chen Tiezhu didn't even turn his head: "Gold foil your head! Isn't saving ink better than anything?"

"You lack vision," Chen Wuwang laughed and scolded, "Once every workshop does this, the Eastern Wasteland is going to change."

"Change?" Chen Tiezhu finally turned back and glanced at him, his eyes complex but containing a flicker of light he couldn't hide: "I think you're trying to refine the furnaces into running Essence Spirits."

"Isn't that perfect?" Chen Wuwang tossed the Spirit Core into the air and caught it steadily: "The Essence Spirits listen to me, and the furnaces listen to me too. Our Chen family's fate will be in our own hands."

Chen Qiaoshou stood to the side, listening to the two bicker, and suddenly felt all his fatigue vanish.

He looked up at the lighting array on the ceiling, then down at his own hands—they were still covered in welding slag, grease, and scratches, but now, the things these hands created could transform the entire workshop.

He took a deep breath, walked back to the main console, and opened the design interface.

The blueprint for the new assembly line was still flickering; he clicked on it and began marking the key nodes Chen Tiezhu had just mentioned.

Chen Tiezhu finished looking through the drawings, walked over to take a look, and suddenly pointed to the energy diversion zone: "Here, add a manual emergency valve. Don't rely entirely on the System."

"Okay, I'll add it." Chen Qiaoshou nodded.

"Also," Chen Tiezhu pointed to the detection array, "leave a physical interface for the calibration module, so it can be adjusted even if the power goes out."

"Understood."

The two stood there, heads together, swiping back and forth on the screen.

Chen Wuwang didn't disturb them; he just leaned against the support beam, watching quietly.

In the workshop, the machines operated as usual, and the blue light flowed like a river that would never run dry.

Chen Qiaoshou suddenly smiled: "Do you know? When I was a kid, I used to pick up scrap metal and dream of the day I could enter the workshop, even if it was just to sweep the floor."

Chen Tiezhu glanced at him: "Aren't you here now?"

"But back then, every time you saw me, you chased me away."

"Chased you away?" Chen Tiezhu sneered, "You even stole my welding torch!"

"That was just... because I wanted to try it so badly."

"Hmph." Chen Tiezhu turned around, pretending to organize his tool bag, but his voice lowered, "Now... you don't have to steal it anymore."

Chen Wuwang heard this and suddenly threw his head back and laughed twice. He wasn't acting crazy, and there were no blood-colored patterns—it was just a pure laugh.

"Alright, alright," he said, "At tomorrow's assembly, one of you will talk about technology, and the other about experience, giving a lecture to the whole clan. I've even thought of the title—'From Welding Rod to AI: Thirty Years of the Chen Family Workshop'."

"Stop making trouble." Chen Tiezhu threw a screw nut at him.

Chen Wuwang dodged it by tilting his head, laughing even harder.

The workshop lights remained on, and no one mentioned leaving.

Three figures intertwined in the blue light, sometimes arguing, sometimes laughing, and sometimes silently looking at a certain section of the blueprint.

Outside, the sky was gradually brightening, and the morning mist crept over the window sills, but here it remained brightly lit, with the machines humming like a song that hadn't finished playing.

Chen Qiaoshou leaned back in his chair, rubbing his sore eyes.

Chen Tiezhu handed him a cup of hot tea—a rough porcelain cup with a chip on the rim.

"Drink some, don't wear yourself out," he said.

Chen Qiaoshou took it and blew on it; the steam blurred his vision.

He looked down at the tea swirling in the cup and suddenly felt that the taste was a bit like home.