449: Chapter 449 Chen Tiezhu's Organization Greatly Improves Production Efficiency

The morning light had just slid down from the ridge line of the Qiming Plain, and Chen Wuwang hadn't even stepped out of the shadow of the plaza's high platform when the dispatch station's transmission array came chasing after him.

"Patriarch, Line 3 of the Artifact Refining Workshop is in chaos. The welding group and the etching group are fighting over workstations; they almost came to blows."

He didn't stop, merely tapping his ear. His voice was as cold as a freshly cast steel ingot: "Have Tiezhu take over with full dispatch authority. I'll take responsibility for any issues."

As the words fell, he had already crossed the psionic conduction channel at the edge of the training grounds, his feet crunching sharply against the gravel.

In the distance, a cloud of grayish-white steam was rising from the dome of the Artifact Refining Workshop, laced with the orange-red glow of burning spiritual fire. The humming grew louder and louder, as if the entire workshop was panting heavily.

He pushed open the heavy alloy door, and a wave of heat hit him in the face.

Figures darted through the workshop, robotic arms slid along tracks at high speeds, and the clanging of metal, shouted commands, and the roar of furnaces blended into one.

Several piles of semi-finished mecha skeletons were neatly arranged, with psionic circuits shimmering between the metal ribs like a galaxy buried within iron shells.

But the floor was a mess—toolboxes were scattered everywhere, a pile of chip modules was jammed in the conveyor belt, and two craftsmen were arguing over a control board until their faces were flushed red.

"I said install the Sensory Array first!"

"Bullshit! If the Feedback Interface isn't wired in advance, are you going to wait until the brain is installed to find out the limbs can't connect?"

Chen Wuwang stood at the door, frowning slightly, his finger unconsciously tapping the hilt of the Titanium Alloy Dagger at his waist.

Just then, a roar like a thunderclap erupted from the direction of the central control console:

"Old Li, take the welding group to Line A! Wang Wu, lead the etching group to Area B! Anyone who switches posts without permission will have three days of rations docked!"

It was Chen Tiezhu.

He stood before the console, clutching a modified spiritual flow conduit as a baton. His metal prosthetic left leg was firmly planted on the ground, and with a swing of his right arm, the conduit whipped out an arc of light, striking the blackboard beside him. The vibration shook dust from the charcoal-drawn flowchart.

"Listen up, everyone!" He turned around, his voice shaking the dust from the ceiling. "Don't obsess over a single mecha! We aren't blacksmithing right now; we're mass-producing an army!"

He kicked a toolbox out of his way with a loud 'clack' against the metal floor.

"Line A for eyes, Line B for brains, Line C for limbs—we're building mechas, not embroidery shoes!"

The crowd fell silent and then quickly dispersed.

Old Li shouldered his welding torch and hurried off, while Wang Wu grabbed a data pad and shouted for his team as he ran.

Several young technicians gathered around a terminal; hearing the commotion, they immediately straightened their backs, their fingers flying as they tapped in parameters.

Chen Wuwang walked slowly inside, his gaze sweeping over the countdown board on the wall: [Target: 100 units in 7 days | Produced: 7/100].

He walked over to a production line currently encapsulating Navigation Cores and saw an apprentice embedding a computing chip into a main control slot. The movements were crisp and clean, with almost zero error.

"How long does it take for this line to produce one unit?" he asked.

The apprentice looked up and wiped away sweat. "Reporting to the Patriarch, forty-seven minutes!"

The corners of Chen Wuwang's mouth curled up as his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye quietly activated. Data streams from various nodes appeared in his field of vision—

Line A averaged nineteen minutes, Line B twenty-three minutes, and Line C, slightly slower due to interface calibration, thirty-one minutes.

The overall rhythm was tight, and the flow of materials was without delay.

He turned to look at Chen Tiezhu in the distance, who was shouting while adjusting the angle of a robotic arm.

"Old Uncle!" he called out from afar.

Chen Tiezhu turned around, his face half-smeared with grease, and grinned. "What? Don't believe I can get this sorted?"

"It's not that I don't believe you." Chen Wuwang approached and gave a thumbs up. "I just didn't expect you to master the rhythm so quickly."

"Hmph." Chen Tiezhu flicked the conduit. "Back when we were digging out the Spiritual Vein, I survived seven days and nights without sleep. This is nothing."

"That's why I'm saying—" Chen Wuwang looked around, his voice deepening, "you're doing a good job. At this rate, we'll hit the mass production goal soon."

Chen Tiezhu froze for a moment, then burst into a hearty laugh that made the parts on the shelves jingle.

"Rest assured, Patriarch!" He thumped his chest, his metal ribs letting out a dull thud. "In this life, I, Chen Tiezhu, hate two things most—one is people saying the Chen family is incompetent, and the other is quitting a job halfway through!"

"I will certainly not fail this mission!"

Chen Wuwang said no more, simply nodding.

He walked slowly along the production line, seeing progress labels attached to the skeletons of each semi-finished mecha.

Every eighteen minutes, Line A pushed out a chassis with the Sensory Array installed; Line B followed in sync, and the calibration personnel on Line C had already begun preheating the Feedback Interfaces.

Floating trays automatically circulated materials, waste recovery chutes cleared debris on a timer, and even modules that failed testing had dedicated personnel for registration and repair.

Order had been established.

He walked to the control console and glanced at the total progress screen: [Produced: 23/100]. Sixteen more than just a moment ago.

"You divided the workers into three shifts?" he asked.

"Yes." Chen Tiezhu pulled up the schedule. "Six hours per shift, two hours of rest, with double-manning for key positions. What I fear most isn't being slow, but someone getting exhausted and welding the wrong circuit."

"You're doing the right thing."

"Also—" Chen Tiezhu pointed to the charcoal flowchart on the wall, "I broke the Navigation Core down into three major modules for parallel processing.

Before, a group of people would swarm around one mecha; now, three groups advance simultaneously. Efficiency has more than doubled."

Chen Wuwang stared at the crude but clear diagram and suddenly smiled.

"You're less like an Artifact Refining Elder and more like a natural-born production line manager."

"None of that flattery." Chen Tiezhu waved him off. "Hurry over to the Medicinal Field. Elder Lin said the new batch of Psionic Fluid will be ready tonight; we need to hook up the injection lines in advance."

"No rush." Chen Wuwang shook his head. "I need to make sure things are stable here first."

He stood before the console, gazing across the entire workshop.

Dozens of semi-finished units were lined up neatly, their psionic circuits shimmering like blood vessels within the skeletons;

Robotic arms slid back and forth, welding torches spitting fine blue flames;

The craftsmen performed their duties, their shouts rising and falling without a single wasted word.

It was bustling but not chaotic. Tense and orderly, it exuded a sense of control.

He knew that this mass production would truly succeed.

He raised his right hand and gently pressed it against the edge of the console. Beneath his palm, the metal panel vibrated slightly, like a beating heart.

"Old Uncle." He said in a low voice, "At this speed, a hundred units in seven days might not be enough."

Chen Tiezhu was stunned. "What did you say?"

Chen Wuwang didn't look back, merely saying flatly, "Prepare to increase the volume. Two hundred units. A second full-capacity production line must be pulled up within three days."

"Are you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy." He finally turned around, the three claw scars on his right face faintly visible through the steam. "I just know—the enemy won't wait for us to be ready."

Chen Tiezhu stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned and slammed the conduit onto the ground.

"Fine! Then let's do it bigger!"

He turned and rushed toward the dispatch terminal, his roar exploding once more:

"Listen up, everyone! The target has changed—two hundred units in seven days! Line A, speed up! Line B, add more personnel! Line C must open dual-track calibration before midnight tonight!"

The workshop instantly boiled over.

Some people jumped up and cheered, while others immediately dove into the terminals to change parameters. A young technician shouted as he ran:

"I'll go notify the Furnace Area! Tell them to fire up the backup furnaces!"

Chen Wuwang stood his ground, not leaving.

His gaze fell on the countdown board on the wall as the numbers just ticked over: [Produced: 24/100].

Steam rose, obscuring a corner of the nameplate.

He raised his hand and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead, his fingertips still stained with a bit of metal dust.