The rust-colored wind rolled up the gravel and slapped the crumbling iron house on the edge of the scrap iron town, making a "clang, clang, clang, clang" sound, as if it would fall apart at any time. Inside the house, Yin Bianyun huddled among stacks of scrap gears and rusted steel plates, the heat on his forehead almost burning through his consciousness. He could feel the vitality flowing through every pore, just like those carefully polished steam pipes in the imperial capital. Once cracks appeared, the pressure would no longer be able to stop leaking out.
