Iron Frame and Sea of Sand

Lin Yuan looked up at the towering drilling rig. Its steel skeleton gleamed with mottled rust beneath the sun, like the remains of a giant eroded by wind and sand.

He took a deep breath, flexed his fingers, then seized the first crossbeam and sprang upward.

His movements were clean and sharp, like those of a mountain goat that had climbed all its life. His muscle memory was far more reliable than visual judgment.

His fingers hooked into rusted grooves, and the tips of his boots landed precisely on structural seams. Every step carried a rhythm that was cautious yet decisive.

The fierce desert wind swept rough sand past his ears. The metal framework gave off a deep hum in the wind, creating a heart-stopping sensation.

Seeing how agile Lin Yuan was, Director Miller, who had been worried about his physical condition, finally breathed a sigh of relief:

It seemed Lin Yuan had recovered well. He was not forcing himself to act while injured.

Lin Yuan swiftly climbed upward. In less than five minutes, he had covered more than fifty meters and reached the middle section of the tower.

Lin Yuan stopped there.

His gaze fixed on a severely oxidized section of framework above him—the metal surface was riddled with honeycomb-like rust pits.

"Need to be careful from here on..." he murmured, pulling a small hammer from the tool pouch at his waist and lightly tapping the steel beam in front of him.

Amid the dull thuds were faint brittle sounds, a sign that the metal's internal structure had been damaged.

For stability, most steel frameworks were built wider at the bottom and narrower at the top.

That meant the lower parts of the framework were denser and more resistant to corrosion.

But once Lin Yuan reached the middle of