Telier

Early in the morning, Luosaier Gustav left his residence by carriage, passing through the increasingly lively Bo'ersi District and heading south into Xiakelusi District. Following the gradually ascending road, the carriage climbed toward the Pulley Church on Kelusi Mountain. Unlike those nobles who preferred to draw their curtains tight to shut out all the street noise and bustle, Luosaier had leaned against the window from the moment he stepped into the carriage, observing the true face of this city with keen interest. In stark contrast to the languid, slow pace of noble life, this was the busiest time of day for the city's lower classes. The streets teemed with textile workers hurrying to work. Handcarts loaded with silk thread and dyes rattled past on either side. Porters carrying heavy wooden crates and bundles of fabric shuttled between the walkways connecting different buildings. Vendors along the road hawked bread, hot soup, and cheap liquor at the top of their lungs, striving to coax a few copper coins from workers who had not yet found time for breakfast. The pedestrians' attire fell into sharp contrast. Some passersby wore long coats, tight trousers, and white silk stockings, with tricorns whose brims curled upward on their heads; they deliberately steered clear of the muddy water and freight along the street edges. Others wore shirts and trousers that were noticeably worn and stained with mud or grease, sporting neither wigs nor the hats that denoted respectability. The same street, yet two entirely different lives... Luosaier watched out the window with a touch of wistfulness, though his gaze was soon drawn to a workshop facing the street. Through the open window, he could see several wooden looms as tall as a full story in operation. Workers sat before the machines, repeatedly pumping pedals and pushing levers to send shuttles darting between the warp threads, while workers perched above made adjustments to the mechanism, guiding silk threads of different colors to weave the desired patterns. These machines appeared fairly complex, yet they still relied on human muscle. Workshops near the two rivers enjoyed slightly better conditions, capable of driving some of their looms with water power. Those bordering Kelusi Mountain harnessed the wind power from the hillslope windmills instead of manual labor. Both systems had been promoted by the Craftsman Church and maintained by its believers, forming one of the vital foundations through which the church established its influence in Suxite. Yet whether human, water, or wind power, it showed that this world had accumulated a substantial store of mechanical knowledge. It lacked only a steady power source free from the constraints of geography and weather. In Luosaier's mind, structures such as pistons, cylinders, boilers, and flywheels surfaced in rapid succession, along with various physical principles he had encountered only in textbooks, videos, and online resources before his transmigration. It was not that no one in this world had thought of harnessing steam power, but the primitive designs had been utterly impractical. Only a handful of mine shafts used massive, inefficient steam contraptions to haul heavy ore carts, with no one ever imagining that such machines could be miniaturized and made practical for any place in need of motive power. And that was precisely what a transmigrator ought to do! The more he thought about it, the more excited he became, as if already seeing countless machines belching white steam to replace human labor, iron rails linking Suxite and Telier, and himself hailed as the founding father of Yindisi's industrialization—written into this world's history textbooks, with some physical constant named in his honor. Of course, none of this could be achieved without the Craftsman Church. Neither the materials and equipment nor the technical personnel versed in mechanical knowledge could be organized by the Gustav family alone. Only by relying on the believers and clergy spread across the entire country could the concepts in his mind have a chance to take physical form. In that case, he had to demonstrate sufficient sincerity, though he couldn't hand over all the knowledge at once... Luosaier leaned against the window, fingers lightly tapping the armrest, swiftly formulating a plan for himself. He would start with relatively simple technologies directly tied to the Suxite Weekly—the printing press, papermaking, and inks—before gradually improving looms into higher-efficiency versions, and then smoothly inventing a practical steam engine under the pretext of motive limitations. Each step would build upon the previous one, appearing as the fruit of a clever young man steadily studying, understanding, and inventing under the aid of a potion, rather than knowledge that had materialized out of thin air in his mind. After all, judging from his recent contact with them, the members of the Machinery Heart of the Craftsman Church did yearn for knowledge and encourage invention and improvement, yet they remained equally wary of anything from unknown origins, especially knowledge gleaned from ravings or dreams. Captain Dante had reminded him more than once that certain entities in the Beyonder world used knowledge as bait, leading people to believe they had received revelations while unknowingly succumbing to their corruption. Speaking of which, did that gathering above the gray fog count as a "revelation" of unknown origin? Luosaier's thoughts shifted as he recalled another strange occurrence that had recently befallen him. Every four weeks at noon on Sunday, an irresistible force pulled his consciousness—or rather, his spirit body—into a space shrouded in gray fog. There stood a lofty classical palace, an ancient bronze long table, and twenty-two high-backed chairs. Several of them were already occupied, and Luosaier had joined midway as the fourth member. Besides them, seated at the head of the long table was that mysterious entity whom the other members addressed as "Mr. Fool." He was permanently enveloped in fog, His features indistinct. From the gathering's beginning to its end, He hardly ever spoke on His own initiative, merely observing their exchanges in silence, as if doing so purely for His own amusement. Luosaier had initially thought He might be some powerful Beyonder, but the more he pondered it, the more convinced he became that only "He"—a pronoun reserved exclusively for deities and angels—was fitting to address "Mr. Fool." Fortunately, aside from Him, the other three members were fairly amicable. The dark-haired young man spoke the Luen language most naturally, as though he had lived in the Luen Kingdom since childhood, though he might simply be using standard pronunciation deliberately to conceal his origins. The petite blonde woman spoke with a slight awkwardness, occasionally pausing before complex vocabulary, clearly not a native speaker of Luen. As for the other brown-haired man, he spoke with a pronounced rolled r, reminding Luosaier of small south-central nations like Lenburg, or perhaps the Feineibote Kingdom, which worshiped the Earth Mother. Last week had marked the third session of that gathering and Luosaier's second time attending. After confirming that Mr. Fool did not demand sacrifices or a change of faith from anyone, he had relaxed considerably, even taking the initiative to draw closer to the others, attempting to take advantage of their different regions and access to different resources to make exchanges. According to Luosaier's experience, only the spirit body seemed to be drawn into the gray fog space. Coins and other physical objects on his person could not be brought inside, so the most suitable things to trade were knowledge and intelligence. He had originally intended to use basic mysticism knowledge he had learned from the Machinery Heart that did not violate the church's secrecy regulations to trade for useful information, only to quickly discover that the other three were likewise Beyonders whose grasp of corresponding knowledge was in no way inferior to his own. At the next gathering, he would likely need to bring out something genuinely belonging to a transmigrator to pique their interest. Yet the greatest question remained "Mr. Fool." Why did He gather several Beyonders from different places, and why did He remain silent, offering only brief reminders at the beginning or conclusion? That antique candlestick had clearly harbored an abnormality, but the Craftsman Church found nothing unusual after inspecting it, and he had ultimately gifted it to Moerwan Dulang according to his original plan. After observing him for several days, the man seemed not to have encountered any bizarre incidents either. This led Luosaier to believe that entering the gray fog space was a special perk that belonged to him as a transmigrator—a hidden storyline prepared for the protagonist. Unless someone possessed a certain uniqueness, they would never catch the eye of "Mr. Fool." As he mused, the carriage slowed, rounded the final bend along the hillside, and came to a stop before the Pulley Church. Luosaier did not enter immediately, instead turning to look down at the city of Suxite below. The sails of windmill after windmill turned against the morning breeze. Endless textile workshops stretched between the foot of the mountain and the rivers. Further in the distance lingered the morning mist, yet to fully disperse, along with rooftops and chimneys illuminated by the morning sun. This will be the cradle of industrialization... A swell of pride rose in Luosaier's chest. Smoothing his coat, he turned and stepped into the church, following the familiar hidden passage down into the underground area of the Machinery Heart. Unlike the slightly sacred atmosphere of the murals, holy emblems, and sermons above, the corridor here resembled a gigantic machine workshop. The low roar of meshing gears and mechanical friction echoed from various rooms, inducing a restless agitation, as though one's own spring were being wound tight. Passing an open workshop door, Luosaier noticed a modified printing press running steadily. The new transmission structure made the pressing and lifting motions far smoother, while the ink-application mechanism was considerably more efficient, reducing the need for human intervention. Watching the craftsmen skillfully operate the machine rebuilt according to the schematics he had submitted, a profound sense of satisfaction welled up inside Luosaier, and his body felt noticeably lighter. Over this period, he had already discovered that whenever he drew schematics, invented, or improved something, and it was genuinely understood, built, and put to use by others, this feeling would emerge—a gratification not one bit inferior to having his accomplishments recognized by Xialuote. Why am I thinking of her again... Luosaier withdrew his gaze and briskly walked to Captain Dante's office. Raising his right hand to knock, he caught the faint sound of conversation coming from behind the ajar door. "...Telier... attack... evil cult... Creator..." As he listened, the smile on Luosaier's face slowly vanished, and his brow furrowed bit by bit. Telier? Xialuote should have arrived there by now! *** Delayed several times along the journey, it was not until the morning of the fourth day that Baron Suolun's carriage finally rolled onto a main thoroughfare that had been tamped and widened enough to accommodate four carriages abreast. The roadside fields and earthen banks were gradually replaced by low brick-and-stone houses. Passenger carriages and four-wheeled freight wagons converged from various roads, creeping forward through the kicked-up dust. Their destination was the economic, political, cultural, and artistic capital of the entire Kingdom of Yindisi: Telier.