Chapter 1321 - 1261. Production Began

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In the humid, sprawling coastal cities of the deep south, the merchants and tribal leaders grumbled loudly in the taverns, wondering if the golden age of Lie Fan’s rule had finally given way to the tyrannical greed that inevitably poisoned all emperors.But the most emotional reaction occurred in the heartland. In Xu Province.

In a small, dusty teahouse in the city of Pengcheng, a group of elderly men sat around a low table. These were men whose hair had turned white, whose hands were scarred from a lifetime of labor.

These were the men who remembered the warlords. They remembered the tyrannical taxes of Emperor Ling, the starvation, the yellow scarves, and the absolute chaos before Lie Fan had marched out of Huai’An and stabilized the world.

When the local magistrate, standing perfectly straight, his voice echoing with the mandated ’One Voice’ inflection, finished reading the edict in the street outside, the old men sat in heavy, mournful silence.

One of them, a retired farmer missing two fingers from an old bandit raid, slowly set his teacup down. His eyes were wet.

"He’s finally done it," the old man whispered, his voice cracking with a profound, foundational disappointment. "I told my sons it would never happen. I told them our Emperor was different from the Han tyrants. But... the throne changes a man. The hunger for silver always wins in the end. The honeymoon is over."

For a fleeting volatile week, the Hengyuan Dynasty held its breath. The sudden shock of the tax increase created a massive, continent spanning reservoir of discontent.

It was the perfect breeding ground for rebellion.

In the shadowed corners of the empire, the opportunists began to move. Disgruntled former nobles who had lost their monopolies, wealthy merchants looking to protect their margins, and ambitious regional commanders who saw a crack in the Emperor’s armor began to whisper in the dark.

In a dimly lit tavern in the Jingzhou commandery, a former minor lord stood on a table, holding a cup of cheap wine, attempting to whip the angry, drunken patrons into a frenzy.

"He bleeds us for his iron toys!" the former lord shouted, his face red with exertion. "He speaks of Kushans and Parthians, but we all know the truth! He is building a pleasure palace in Xiapi! He is no better than Emperor Ling! It is time we reminded the Son of Heaven that the power belongs to the—"

He never finished the sentence.

From the shadows of the tavern’s rafters, a figure clad entirely in dark gray silk dropped silently to the floor directly behind the agitator. Before the man could even register the movement, a thin but razor sharp garrote wire was slipped around his throat.

With a brutal, flawless, completely silent motion, the Oriole Agent jerked the wire tight and snapped the man’s neck.

The agitator collapsed onto the table, dead before his wine cup hit the floor. The Oriole Agent looked out at the terrified and paralyzed patrons, with a cold and dead emptiness in his eyes. He didn’t say a word. He simply stepped back into the shadows and vanished.

The message was in place.

Across the entire continent, the Oriole network, the true terrifying intelligence apparatus of Lie Fan, executed a massive, synchronized, and completely silent purge of dissent. There were no public trials. There were no martyrs made in the city squares.

Anyone who attempted to organize resistance, anyone who tried to leverage the anger of the peasantry into political action, simply disappeared in the night.

The swift, brutal excision of the agitators prevented the anger from coalescing into a movement. And without leaders to fan the flames, the sheer, brilliant psychological engineering of Lu Su and Chen Qun’s edict began to take root in the minds of the common people.

The shock of the tax hike began to fade, replaced by the relentless, ubiquitous narrative of Hengyuan nationalism.

In the public academies, the state sponsored teachers passionately explained the geographical reality of the Kushan threat. They drew maps on chalkboards, showing the terrifying proximity of the western alliance. They spoke of the horrors of invasion, the burning of crops, and the enslavement of children.

The narrative shifted. The conversations in the teahouses and the marketplaces changed.

The old farmer in Xu Province, who had wept at the breaking of the promise, looked at his healthy, well fed grandchildren playing in the courtyard. He looked at his sturdy brick house and his overflowing grain silos. He realized what he stood to lose if the ’barbarians’ breached the western passes.

"It is three percent," the old man muttered to his sons, his jaw tightening with a newfound, grim resolve. "Three percent of a full harvest is better than keeping everything of ashes. We are the people of Hengyuan Dynasty. We pay for our own scales."

The patriotism caught fire. The brilliant framing of the ’Imperial Defense Contribution’ overrode the mercantile sting of the tax. The people didn’t just resign themselves to paying it, they began to view it as a badge of honor, a tangible proof that they were contributing to the invincibility of the greatest empire in human history.

When the harvest season arrived, the collection was absolute.

There were no riots. There were no burning tax wagons. The silver and grain flowed from the provinces, from the islands of Yamato, from the frozen forests of Goguryeo, and from the deep southern jungles. It flowed along the imperial highways and the grand canals, a massive, unstoppable river of wealth converging on the capital.

The heavy iron reinforced doors of the Ministry of Finance vaults in Xiapi groaned open, pushed by teams of sweating guards.

Mi Zhu stood in the center of the subterranean vault, surrounded by absolute, unimaginable wealth. Mountains of pure silver ingots, stacked higher than a man could reach, glittered in the light of the oil lamps. The sheer volume of the ’Contribution’ had not just solved the capital crisis, it had overflowed the ledgers.

The Minister of Finance let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. The gambit had worked. The empire had bent, but it had not broken.

Mi Zhu walked to a small desk set up within the vault. He unrolled two heavy parchment requisition forms, pre stamped with the Imperial Jade Seal.

He picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and signed his name with a sharp, decisive flourish to the bottom of the first form.

Release ten million taels of silver and unlimited iron reserves to Minister Liu Ye for the immediate, mass production and track laying of the Iron Centipede.

He signed the second form.

Release five million taels of silver, unlimited coal, and unrestricted labor battalions to Master Zhuge Liang for the continental construction of the Imperial Optical Telegraph Network.

Mi Zhu handed the signed authorizations to a waiting courier.

"Take these to the Imperial Workshop immediately," Mi Zhu commanded, his voice echoing off the mountains of silver. "Tell them the treasury is open. Tell them to immediately began the work."

The young courier did not speak a word. He didn’t need to. He recognized the sheer importance of the two sealed parchments he had just been handed by Mi Zhu. He bowed deeply from the waist, his hands cupped respectfully, and received the mandates from the Minister of Finance.

He spun on his heel and sprinted from Mi Zhu’s office, his boots echoing sharply against the damp stone stairs. He burst out into the chaotic, sprawling courtyard of the Ministry, the overcast sky of Xiapi threatening rain. He vaulted into the saddle of his waiting horse, a swift, lean courier breed from the northern pastures, and spurred the animal into a dead gallop.

He tore through the bustling administrative districts, ignoring the shouts of merchants and the blaring horns of heavy supply wagons. He was carrying the lifeblood of the new era, and he rode as if the Kushan cataphracts were already at his heels.

The Imperial Workshop, situated on the northern edge of outside of the capital, was not merely a cluster of foundries. It was a fortress. The massive, towering brick walls were ringed with deep defensive trenches, and the primary gates were cast from solid, reinforced iron. It was designed to repel a siege, protecting the terrifying technological secrets of the Black Dragon.

As the courier’s exhausted horse skidded to a halt before the massive gates, a dozen heavily armored imperial guards, their repeating crossbows unslung and resting at the ready, instantly blocked his path.

"Halt!" the captain of the guard barked, his voice muffled slightly by his heavy iron visor. "Identify yourself and state your business! This sector is restricted and was under imperial control. No unauthorized personnel may approach the gates without permission."

The courier, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, didn’t argue. He reached into his leather satchel and pulled out the two sealed parchments, holding them aloft.

"I am a Priority One courier attached to the Ministry of Finance!" he shouted, ensuring his voice carried over the distant, rhythmic pounding of the drop hammers inside the walls. "I bear two mandates bearing the seal of Minister Mi Zhu, stamped with the Imperial Jade Seal! They are for the immediate, personal attention of Minister Liu Ye and Minister Zhuge Liang! I have been ordered to deliver them directly!"

The captain’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. He stepped forward, closely inspecting the crimson wax seals. The intricate carving of the Black Dragon, combined with the specific mercantile seal of Mi Zhu, was impossible to forge perfectly.

The captain immediately snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute. He turned to his men, waving his arm in a sharp, arc like motion.

"Open the gates!" he roared. "Let the courier pass!"

The heavy iron doors groaned on their massive hinges, slowly pulling apart to reveal the suffocating, chaotic, soot stained inferno of the Imperial Workshop. The courier spurred his horse forward, plunging into the deafening noise of the industrial beast.

He found the two ministers in the primary assembly courtyard, surrounded by dozens of master smiths and frantic apprentices. They were standing over a massive, incredibly detailed blueprint of the optical telegraph tower’s pneumatic base, arguing loudly over the exact tolerances required for the brass release valves.

The courier practically threw himself from the saddle, dropping to one knee before the two soot-stained geniuses.

"Minister Liu! Minister Zhuge!" the courier panted, holding out the two sealed parchments. "From the Ministry of Finance. Minister Mi Zhu sends word. He said... he said to tell you the treasury is open. You are to immediately begin the work."

Liu Ye and Zhuge Liang stopped mid argument. The deafening noise of the courtyard seemed to fade into the background. They looked at the courier, and then at the sealed scrolls in his hands.

Liu Ye snatched the first scroll, breaking the seal with a blackened thumb. Zhuge Liang took the second, unrolling it with careful, deliberate precision.

As they read the mandates, ten million taels of silver for the locomotive, five million taels for the telegraph, and unrestricted access to the empire’s iron, coal, and labor reserves, a slow smile spread across Liu Ye’s face.

"He did it," Liu Ye whispered, the magnitude of the allocated wealth staggering his brilliant mind. "The Emperor actually managed to gather up the funds. We have the silver."

Zhuge Liang closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a long, slow breath. The anxiety that had been gnawing at the edge of his thoughts, the fear that their brilliant designs would rot on the drafting tables due to a lack of capital, instantly vanished.

"The blood is flowing, Liu Ye," Zhuge Liang said softly, opening his eyes, the Sleeping Dragon fully awake and vibrating with intellectual energy. "We no longer have to wait for when we start build and assemble everything. We have the mandate to build the world."

Liu Ye whirled around, his voice rising to a frantic, booming roar that cut through the industrial din.

"Master Huang! Lady Yue Ying!" Liu Ye bellowed, waving the requisition form in the air like a battle standard.

From the shadows of the adjacent primary foundry, Huang Chengyan and Huang Yue Ying emerged, wiping grease from their faces with heavy rags.

"What is it, Liu Ye?" Huang Chengyan asked, noting the manic gleam in his colleague’s eyes. "Has the pressure gauge failed again?"

"No!" Liu Ye laughed, a sound bordering on absolute hysteria. "The treasury has opened! We have fifteen million taels of silver! We have unrestricted access to the iron reserves!"

Yue Ying stopped dead in her tracks, the dirty rag slipping from her hands. "Fifteen million?" she breathed, her mind instantly converting the abstract wealth into tons of cast iron and miles of steel cable.

"We begin immediately," Zhuge Liang commanded, his logistical genius instantly taking control of the chaos. He turned to Huang Chengyan. "Master Huang, you are to requisition every available drop hammer and casting mold in the secondary foundries. You will cease all production of standard agricultural plows. The foundries will produce nothing but the cast iron masts, the steel louvered frames, and the pneumatic cylinders for the telegraph network. I want fifty complete towers cast, assembled, and ready for transport by the end of the month."

Huang Chengyan’s eyes widened at the impossible timeline, but he simply nodded, his jaw setting with grim determination. "The fires will not go out. I will run three shifts of casters."

"Lady Yue Ying," Liu Ye turned to the brilliant metallurgist. "The Iron Centipede requires your focus. The prototype boiler held the pressure, but we need to reinforce the riveted seams. If that engine is pulling fifty loaded cargo carts, the internal pressure will be monstrous. We need thicker steel, and we need you to oversee the forging of the continuous flanged rails. We cannot afford a single brittle section of track, or the entire train will derail."

"I will personally oversee the smelting of the rail steel," Yue Ying promised, her eyes burning with a fierce, competitive fire. "I will blend a new alloy, introducing a higher carbon content to increase the tensile strength. The tracks will hold the beast."

"Then send the petitions to the quartermasters!" Liu Ye roared, clapping his hands together. "Empty the warehouses! Bring me the iron, bring me the coal, and bring me the men! The era of steam begins today!"

Miles away, within the serene, quiet confines of the Imperial Study, Lie Fan sat behind his mahogany desk. The heavy, gold trimmed doors were closed, shutting out the relentless bureaucratic hum of the palace.

He held a small, unsealed slip of parchment in his hand. It was a brief, coded message delivered by an Oriole Agent just moments prior. It confirmed that the courier had successfully delivered the treasury mandates to the Imperial Workshop, and that the foundries were currently shifting to maximum, unrestricted production capacity.

A slow, profound smile graced the Emperor’s features. He leaned back in his leather chair, closing his eyes, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

It was done. The most dangerous political gamble of his reign, the ’Imperial Defense Contribution’, had held. The common people, fueled by the brilliant nationalist propaganda orchestrated by Lu Su and Chen Qun, had swallowed the tax increase without sparking a continent spanning rebellion. The silver had flowed, and the machines were being born.

’They accepted it,’ Lie Fan thought, a wave of genuine relief washing over him. ’They truly believe in the Black Dragon. They believe in the empire we have built.’

It was a humbling realization. He had relied on his modern knowledge and his system to forge the weapons and the agricultural systems, but he had relied on the absolute, fanatical devotion of the ancient people to fund the next leap in human evolution. He was dragging them out of the mud and into the industrial age, and they were paying for the privilege with tears of patriotic pride in their eyes.

’I will not fail them,’ Lie Fan swore silently to the empty room. ’I will build the telegraphs to watch the borders. I will build the trains to supply the legions. When the foreign enemies finally decide to test our strength, they will not face an army of men. They will face a machine that cannot be killed.’

For the next three months, the industrial sector of Xiapi ceased to be a mere workshop, it became a sprawling, apocalyptic engine of creation. The sky above the capital was permanently stained a deep, bruised purple by the relentless, churning smoke of the blast furnaces.

The ground vibrated constantly, a never ending, rhythmic earthquake generated by the massive steam powered drop hammers pounding red hot iron into shape.

The production was a masterpiece of organized chaos, overseen by the four greatest minds of the era, and strictly audited by the watchful, pragmatic presence of Mi Zhu.

The Minister of Finance did not simply release the fifteen million taels of silver and retreat to his vault. He practically moved his office to the courtyard of the Imperial Workshop. He set up a heavy teakwood desk amidst the soot and the noise, surrounded by a phalanx of nervous accountants.

Mi Zhu audited every single requisition form. He tracked the massive convoys of raw iron ore arriving from the western quarries, cross referencing the weight against the output of the foundries to ensure not a single ounce of imperial metal was being skimmed or wasted.

He negotiated many uncompromising contracts with the coal merchants of Bingzhou, securing thousands of tons of fuel at heavily discounted bulk rates. He was the cold, calculating ledger that kept the fiery, manic genius of the inventors grounded in economic reality.

Under Huang Chengyan’s relentless supervision, the secondary foundries churned out the massive, thirty-foot cast iron masts for the optical telegraph. The logistics of moving the completed towers were staggering.

They were too heavy for standard transport. Liu Ye had to design specialized, reinforced heavy duty wagons, pulled by teams of twelve draft oxen, just to move a single disassembled tower out of the city.

As the towers were finished, they were immediately dispatched westward. Massive labor battalions, funded by the new tax, were already cutting a brutal, straight path through the forests of the Hexi Corridor.

They were building heavy stone foundations on the highest, most visible mountain peaks, spacing them exactly fifteen miles apart, ensuring absolute, uninterrupted line of sight for the spyglasses.

Simultaneously, within the primary foundry, Yue Ying was performing the metallurgical miracles. She had perfected the higher carbon steel alloy required for the flanged rails. Thousands of laborers were currently tearing up the old, wooden wagon ways that connected the western stone quarries to the capital. In their place, they were laying down the heavy, continuous iron tracks, securing them to thick wooden cross ties with massive iron spikes.

______________________________

Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 37 (204 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 1,010 (+20)

VIT: 659 (+20)

AGI: 653 (+10)

INT: 691

CHR: 98

WIS: 569

WILL: 436

ATR Points: 0