This isn't a wish-fulfillment novel, and there is no transmigration. There is only the helplessness of the times.
This is no legend, but a record. Spirit-storage stones turn spiritual energy into copper coins, and flesh and blood into mining waste. The immortal sects open their gates to machinery and capital, not ordinary people. In the Four Seas Merchant Guild's ledger, more than a hundred "blood seedlings" are worth only a line of cinnabar. At the docks, abacuses click as a thousand laborers are replaced overnight by camel spirits. Lu Qingshan punches Old Master Huang, but can't smash the ironclad new order. Mo Yichen chants and draws talismans, but can't save the boys and girls whose souls are locked away in the burning building. Zhao Mingyuan fits a gear-driven hand onto an amputee girl's arm, but the other end of the gears is connected to a blood pool. The Industrial Revolution of the cultivation world reveals not a road to ascension, but a death poem for the countless masses.
