A rust-colored wind swept sand and gravel against the tin shack teetering on the edge of Scrapiron Town, making it clatter as if it might fall apart at any moment. Inside, Yin Bianyun huddled among piles of discarded gears and rusted steel plates. The heat in his forehead was almost enough to burn through his consciousness. He could feel his life draining through every pore, like steam escaping from a crack in one of the meticulously polished pipes in the Imperial Capital. Once a breach appeared, the pressure could never be contained again.
