Old Hand held a Bull Demon rib flat before his eyes, examining the curve of the deeply processed bone.
The laser ruler of the auxiliary instrument marked node after node across the pale yellow bone surface, noting deviations down to the micron.
As usual, he patrolled the workshop while serving as quality inspector, conducting spot checks at any time. His standards were strict to the point of harshness.
"This one... is scrap."
Since it was scrap, Old Hand no longer treated it with such care. Gripping the end of the Bull Demon rib one-handed, he found it handled nicely enough. With a flick of his wrist, he used it as a pointer to whip the workbench until it cracked loudly.
"Last night, it was because of your shoddy work that I nearly lost all face in front of Mister Mo. His design, his process, all they ask of you is this bit of craftsmanship. If you can't even do that right, you may have the nerve to take the job, but I have no face to deliver it!"
The workshop workers around him remained fairly composed. Most kept their mouths shut and stayed quiet, and no one argued back.
Yet the workshop as a whole was still rather noisy. At least five times the normal number of people had been crammed into the assembly workshop. Of the hundred or so strong laborers from the Hengduan Seven Divisions, more than half had been stuffed in here.
The other half were next door.
As for the remaining elderly, weak, women, and children, they had been "settled" elsewhere. In short, the two groups had been separated, leaving people more room for speculation—and breeding even greater unease.
They could hardly avoid worrying. The current situation was almost identical to the so-called "return of the