The textile worker who suddenly dropped dead in front of him made him raise a question of the soul: why has productivity increased dozens of times over, yet workers must put in even longer hours of labor just to maintain the same standard of living as before?
If he were to take this question to the Differential Machine for an answer, Wu Chang could already imagine it: before the problem was solved, Stilan would merely be in dire straits; after it was solved, it would likely be reduced to scorched earth.
He bundled all the intelligence from the mechanical workshop into his personal space, then returned to Bai She Avenue to discuss how to handle what had happened last night.
The next morning, when the residents of Grimland woke up and saw Bai She Avenue looking like a ruin, they immediately fell into panic.
What had happened—was it a violent clash among the Stilan Council's top brass, or had someone launched an armed coup?
