The Foreman Transmigrates to Ancient Times

The acrid smell of concrete mingled with the salty sting of sweat, fermenting in the July afternoon heat into a thick, sticky sludge. Yun Da'e took off his hard hat and roughly wiped his face with the towel around his neck. Droplets splattered onto his dust-covered work clothes, leaving dark spots that soon evaporated until only faint traces remained. “Director Yun, we've reinforced the formwork over here. Could you take a look?” A young worker hurried over with a somewhat ingratiating smile.