I Transmigrated into a Garbage Incineration Plant and Generate Power Every Day [Farming]

Also known as: #I Burn Trash in a Magical World After dying from overwork, Guan Jian, who worked mixing concrete on construction sites, transmigrates to another world along with the facility she built. Here, natural disasters reset on a weekly schedule. Zombies, floods, extreme cold, acid rain, you name it. She has a hard hat on her head, a reflective vest on her back, work gloves on her hands, and an unfinished bucket of concrete in her grasp. From the start, all she has is a shabby cave, with torrential rain pouring down overhead. But... 【Combustible material: low-grade corrosive, 18 MJ/kg】 【Combustible material: mutant animal fur, high oil content, heavy smoke when burned, 17 MJ/kg】 As Guan Jian watches the flame flickering at her fingertip, she suddenly remembers what the HR manager asked her when she started the job. “There’s no more garbage to burn in the country. Would you accept a long-term overseas posting?” She said, “I accept.” And so the Ash River Waste-to-Energy Plant, Asia’s largest super energy project, arrives in its loyal Middle World. Guan Jian: “I just want to help the mages in another world drive new-energy cars and work for Didi.” “Buying at top prices: cow dung, kitchen slop, rotten vegetable leaves, bone fragments, broken staffs, old leather armor. We’ll take large quantities of corrosive creatures!” “Trade for scissors, kitchen knives, and stainless-steel basins!” “Sir, you’re stepping in my cow dung.” Exchanging offerings for power: that’s what a god is. The gods worshiped by the Church need offerings of bread and fine wine. She eats rusty scraps of metal, rotten earth, and filthy animal carcasses, and produces an endless supply of fresh-baked bread, vegetable stew, soft cloth, and building materials. Skeletons turn the soil, myrtle trees water the crops, and dragons mix concrete. She is a benevolent evil god. Her faithful clasp their hands and devoutly recite their prayer: 【The Safe Production Almanac】 #No hand-mixing at the plant, no carrying loads on your shoulders instead of using tower cranes# #Make the most of clear skies, seize cloudy days, and treat floods and acid rain as good weather# #Work hard through earthquakes, push on through avalanches, squeeze in work during tsunamis, keep going when zombies surround the city, and give it your all in the frozen ground of extreme cold# #Work! Work! Work!# P.S. A goofy, feel-good power fantasy, with a CP Coming soon: My Fame Across the Stars as a Crutch-Seller to a Warrior Race Until the moment she transmigrated, Tu Tang had been working diligently for the marketing department. “Don’t write about tricks for dating. Change the perfume copy to ‘for no one’s approval.’ Write that it doesn’t matter whether they like it; what matters is that I think the breeze smells lovely today.” “I picked the guest for the one-day store manager event. I’m the one who made her famous.” “No matter what you’re selling, you need a good story. You can talk someone into buying the legs off a table.” Creating stars, marketing, packaging, advertorials... These irritating, two-faced jobs, full of lies, are what she relies on to make a living. When she wakes up, she finds herself in a storyless interstellar federation. War has coursed through the bloodlines of its people for dozens of generations. The steelborn are heavy drinkers, numb, emotionally dulled, and their birth rate continues to plummet. They have the longest war history in the universe and the thinnest book of art. Their only poem is a longing for a home planet they don’t even know exists. Here, material prosperity is extreme, but the spirit is impoverished. She’s surrounded by the universe’s most callous and brutal warrior race, while she is the frailest and strangest of all: a human from Earth. Tu Tang gives a dry laugh. “Can you give me two minutes to tell you a story?” In stories about domineering bosses pursuing their wives, crazy animal cities, Snow White and the Minions, red flowers represent love, four-leaf clovers represent luck, and burning paper offerings at a grave represents longing. Collectible toy shops and discount stores begin to blossom everywhere, and words like “TV series,” “pets,” “comics,” “actors,” “idols,” and “variety shows” appear on people’s smart devices... For the first time, the Federation’s people, who have been fighting for dozens of generations, have their emotional needs recognized. They call these stories “painkillers for the soul,” and this race, scarred by generations of war, gradually emerges from its grief. A new life seems to have truly begun. Everyone becomes peaceful, gentle, and courteous. Instead of war, they talk about dining tables, movies, clothes, and literature. Until their sworn enemy of ten thousand years, the silicon-based empire, makes a serious argument that the great storyteller is not, in fact, one of the steelborn. She belongs to all the galaxy’s nitrogen-based, sulfur-based, and plasma lifeforms, not to this cruel and violent carbon-based race. The steelborn, who have known love and peace for only a few years, instantly put on their uniforms. What are you doing? We’ll kill you, kill you, kill you! Theme: Build tomorrow with your own hands