289: Chapter 289 Mo Yuan's Conspiracy

Morning light had just crested the ridges of the Eastern Wasteland, the blue light of the Technology Workshop was still flowing, and the machines hummed as steadily as breathing.

The metallic tang in the workshop, mixed with the scent of coolant, had not yet dissipated, and the image of Chen Qiaoshou leaning against the support frame, panting, seemed to still hang in the air.

But a thousand miles away, deep underground.

There was no light.

Only walls spliced from black metal and living tissue, like the internal organs of some giant beast, slowly squirming.

Twelve mechanical Puppets stood still like tombstones, forming a circle, with dark red liquid seeping from their joints, flowing along the grooves in the ground into the sunken console in the center.

The eyes of one of the Puppets suddenly lit up with red light, projecting a distorted image—

Blue light flowed, energy conduction rails ran like rivers, mechanical arms rose and fell in an orderly fashion, and spirit cores were arranged neatly in the finished product slots.

The image flashed and vanished.

On the throne before the console, Mo Yuan moved.

He did not open his eyes, but his left hand lifted, his knuckles tapping lightly on the armrest, once, then again, the rhythm as steady as some kind of code pulse.

"Heh..." He chuckled, his voice kept extremely low, as if squeezed out of a rusted iron pipe, "An assembly line? Can Artifact Refining also use an assembly line?"

His fingers stopped.

He slowly opened his eyes.

His pupils were pure black, devoid of light and devoid of emotion.

"They have cast the Dao into iron shells." He stood up, his footsteps steady as he walked toward the console, the soles of his boots pressing onto the sticky ground with a faint, clinging sound.

"Mortals use machines to replace inner fire, and data to replace enlightenment... This is not cultivating the Dao, it is blasphemy."

He pressed his palm into the console groove.

The twelve Puppets opened their eyes simultaneously, their mechanical eyes lighting up in unison, the humming sound layering upon itself, like the prelude to some ritual.

The ground split open.

Thirteen black shadows rose from below, silent and soundless, not even raising a speck of dust when they landed.

They knelt in a circle, wearing cloaks that obscured their faces, with numbers engraved on their shoulder armor: Shadow Diver One through Thirteen.

Mo Yuan stood on high, looking down at them.

"The Chen Family's Technology Workshop." He spoke, his voice processed through multiple modulators, sounding like metal scraping, or perhaps electrical static, "Last night, they completed the trial run of a new production line."

No one spoke.

But among the kneeling crowd, the fingers of two people twitched slightly.

"I do not want you to kill anyone." Mo Yuan continued, his tone terrifyingly calm, "I do not care about the lives of those craftsmen. What I want is for their 'light' to be extinguished."

He raised his hand, his fingertips sweeping through the air, and a virtual star map appeared—the terrain of the Eastern Wasteland was clearly displayed, with the location of the Technology Workshop marked by a red dot.

"Target: The core energy conduction rails, the energy distribution hub." He said in a low voice, "The method of destruction is not limited. It can be a short circuit, a frequency error, or causing the furnace to lose control while at full capacity. But remember—"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the thirteen people.

"You must not expose your identities. You must not leave any traces. If you fail... do not return."

As the last sentence fell, the air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Shadow Diver Seven's fingers clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He knew what that meant—the failures would not be retrieved.

They would be left there, to be discovered by the Chen Family's patrol mechs, interrogated, publicly executed, and become specimens to deter other traitors.

"Yes." The thirteen people replied in unison, their voices kept extremely low, as if ground out from their throats.

Mo Yuan did not speak again.

He retreated to the throne, sat down slowly, and closed his eyes, as if falling into a deep slumber.

The thirteen black shadows began to retreat, their movements synchronized and silent, as if swallowed by the darkness.

Until the last person disappeared into the crack, the secret chamber returned to silence.

The eye-lights of the twelve Puppets extinguished one by one.

Only the star map on the console continued to flicker, the red dot firmly pinned to the location of the Technology Workshop.

Mo Yuan still kept his eyes closed, but his lips moved slightly, spitting out a very soft sentence:

"Let their light... stop forever before tomorrow comes."

...

The underground passage wound and turned, the rock walls were wet and slippery, and seeping water dripped onto the metal stairs, making a monotonous "tap, tap" sound.

Shadow Diver Seven walked at the end of the line, his right hand tightly clutching a black chip under his cloak—that was the key to accessing the Chen Family's outer surveillance System, obtained three days ago in exchange for three corpses.

He slowed his pace by half a beat, and taking advantage of the shadows at the corner, quickly pulled a micro-map from his sleeve, using his fingernail to scratch a mark at the "Energy Conduction Rail Main Control Zone."

Shadow Diver Six in front noticed the movement and glanced back.

Seven immediately withdrew his hand and lowered his head to follow.

"Don't pull any stunts." Six said in a low, hoarse voice, "He can hear you."

Seven did not respond, only nodding lightly.

He knew "He" could hear.

Although Mo Yuan did not come, he was everywhere. Those Puppets were not just tools, but more like his scattered eyes and ears. Any thought of betrayal, even if it flashed through one's mind for only a second, could be captured.

But he knew this mission was wrong.

Not because of the danger—the work they did was always life-threatening.

But because the target had changed.

Previously, it was to kill some Elder, destroy some Formation, or steal some relic. But this time, it was to destroy a "production line."

An... assembly line that ran automatically by machines.

He didn't understand what that was, but he knew the Chen Family was different now.

Three months ago, he had seen a self-patrolling mech on the border of the Eastern Wasteland—it had no Cultivator controlling it, relying on built-in rune arrays for autonomous decision-making, firing rune cannons directly after detecting enemies, accurately hitting targets three hundred zhang away.

At that moment, hiding behind a rock, he felt a chill all over.

That was not cultivation, that was something else.

And now, what they were going to destroy was the source of such things.

He did not know if he was preventing a disaster, or delaying a change that was destined to come.

The group reached a fork in the road, with three passages ahead leading to three different directions in the Eastern Wasteland.

"Split up." Shadow Diver One spoke, his voice cold and hard, "Meet at the border in two quarter-hours, disguised as the remnants of a merchant caravan, and slip in during the lax inspection period."

The group dispersed.

Seven walked alone into the left passage, his footsteps heavy.

He touched his chest, where a yellowed piece of paper was hidden—it was the last word his younger sister wrote before she died: "Brother."

She died in a Zerg raid three years ago, back when the Chen Family had not yet risen, the various tribes of the Eastern Wasteland fought their own battles, and the common people were like grass.

He joined the Shadow Council to survive, and so that one day he could kill the monsters that slaughtered his village with his own hands.

But now, he was being sent to deal with a Family that had protected countless villages.

He stopped, leaned against the rock wall, and caught his breath.

In the distance, a very faint ticking sound came.

Like some kind of timer ticking.

He jerked his head up.

There was no source.

But he knew it was not an illusion.

That was the rhythm of the Technology Workshop—the pulse of the machines running, faintly coming through the earth.

Tap, tap, tap.

Like a heartbeat.

Like a countdown.

He gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

At the end of the passage, the light of day shone faintly.

He turned back to look at the darkness behind him one last time.

Then, he walked into the morning mist.