The convoy had barely rolled out of the city when the world began to smell like iron.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
A thick, mineral tang drifted through the air, the kind that clung to the back of the throat and made one instinctively swallow. Before the steel mill itself even came into view, Qiu Qianfan spotted movement ahead on the road.
Carts.
Lots of them.
Oxen and horses strained against wooden yokes, hooves thudding in uneven rhythm as cart after cart creaked forward. Each vehicle was piled high with jagged black rocks—iron ore, raw and unrefined, still dusted with the pale gray scars of the mountain it had been ripped from.
They were all headed in the same direction.
Straight toward the steel mill.
Qiu Qianfan stared, eyes widening despite himself.
"So many carts?" he blurted out. "How long did it take to dig all this out? Don't tell me you waited years just to haul everything here at once."
The man leading the transport convoy immediately dismounted and bowed, spine bending with practiced respect.
"Reporting to Your Excellency," he said briskly. "This is three days' worth of ore."
Qiu Qianfan froze.
"…Three days?"
"Yes."
His breath hitched.
"In three days, you dug this much?" His voice rose despite himself. "Then explain this to me—why, for decades, did Puzhou always complain about iron shortages?"
The convoy leader straightened slightly, emboldened now that he was speaking of things he understood.
"In the past, Your Excellency, mining relied entirely on shoulders and hands. Men carried baskets, climbed ladders, hauled stone one load at a time. Slow. Dangerous. Exhausting."
He gestured vaguely toward the mountains.
"Now we've laid tracks inside the pits. Small carts run along them. Gear winches pull the carts out. Miners inside only dig and load. The men outside turn the winches. The ore comes out on its own."
Qiu Qianfan nodded slowly.
He didn't understand what a "gear winch" actually looked like—but he understood results.
And the results were staring him in the face.
As the two convoys merged, something startled the animals. One ox suddenly snorted, hooves skidding as it lurched sideways. The cart behind it tilted dangerously, its load shifting with a low, grinding groan.
"Careful—!"
Before anyone else could react, a figure shot forward.
Flat rabbit.
Gao Yiye's guard captain didn't shout orders or strike a heroic pose. He simply moved—hands bracing the cart's frame, boots digging into the dirt. Several guards followed instantly, bodies pressing in, shoulders slamming against wood and iron.
"Together!" someone barked.
They heaved.
The cart shuddered… then settled.
The ox was calmed. The load stabilized.
The convoy rolled on.
Flat rabbit and the others didn't immediately leave. They walked alongside the cart for a time, some pushing lightly, others chatting with the driver, laughter breaking out as the tension bled away.
Qiu Qianfan watched silently.
When flat rabbit had first marched into Puzhou with Xing Honglang, he'd looked like a rough bandit—simple, blunt, not especially clever.
But now?
Disciplined. Cooperative. Alert.
Qiu Qianfan glanced back at his own yamen runners.
They had watched the near-accident like it was street entertainment.
Not one of them had moved.
Bandits with better discipline than officials, he thought grimly. What a world.
Then the steel mill came into view.
It wasn't a single building.
It was a settlement.
Concrete walls stretched outward like a fortress, enclosing an industrial beast that breathed smoke and fire. A massive iron gate stood at the entrance, flanked by watch posts.
Across the gate, bold characters were carved deep into metal:
THE THIRD GENERAL STEEL MILL
Qiu Qianfan squinted.
"Third?" he asked. "You've built three of these already?"
Gao Yiye smiled lightly. "Yes. Third."
"Then where are the first two?"
"Chengcheng County and Heyang County."
Qiu Qianfan's brows rose.
"And this one?"
"This is the largest," she said calmly. "Puzhou has people. Chengcheng and Heyang do not."
He looked again at the vast complex.
Largest?
This is already nearly the size of my prefectural city.
"And this is only the beginning?" he asked weakly.
Gao Yiye's smile did not change.
Inside, heat slammed into them like a wall.
Dozens of towering furnaces roared, each one taller than a man and wide enough to swallow livestock whole. Flames pulsed within their mouths, smoke boiling skyward, turning the clouds above faintly red.
Qiu Qianfan gasped.
"This scale…" he murmured. "It's like Zunhua."
The imperial furnaces in Hebei.
Endless rows of fire, the court's iron heart.
The technology was the same—Song Yingxing's furnaces mirrored the court's designs perfectly. Anyone who had seen Zunhua would recognize them instantly.
Gao Yiye nodded toward the furnaces. "Bandits plague the land. General Xing now guards Puzhou. Weapons are needed."
Qiu Qianfan swallowed. "That is… reasonable."
They passed another workshop.
Inside, blacksmiths hammered long, thick iron bars—far longer than spears, far thicker than blades. Workers laid them on the ground, aligned them carefully, measured, adjusted, lifted, and hammered again.
Qiu Qianfan frowned.
"Those aren't weapons."
"No," Gao Yiye said. "Railway tracks."
"Railway… tracks?"
"They go on the ground," she explained pleasantly. "So heavy carts can roll easily."
He opened his mouth.
She continued, unhurried. "If we forge many weapons, we must move them quickly. Faster transport is necessary."
She tilted her head. "Isn't that reasonable?"
Qiu Qianfan nodded rapidly. "Entirely reasonable."
They walked on.
This time, there was no mistaking it.
Firearms.
Rows of blacksmiths in yellow hats worked under the sharp gaze of a blue-hatted foreman. They forged only barrels—nothing else. Each one was measured against a standard ruler, diameter checked again and again.
Uniform.
Precise.
Hundreds lay stacked nearby.
Qiu Qianfan inhaled sharply.
"I told you to make weapons," he said, voice tight. "Not this many. Are you planning a rebellion?"
Gao Yiye looked genuinely puzzled.
"Many?" she repeated. "This is only a few hundred."
She gestured broadly.
"Bandits come in tens of thousands. If Zijing Liang were to march here, that's three hundred and sixty thousand men."
She looked back at him, serene.
"How could a few hundred firearms suffice?"
Qiu Qianfan's mouth opened.
Closed.
"…Reasonable," he said hoarsely. "Far too many bandits."
At the rear of the complex stood a large building.
The canteen.
Though it wasn't mealtime yet, workers were already lining up, lunchboxes in hand, chatting easily as steam drifted from within.
Gao Yiye chuckled.
"Your Excellency," she said, "care to try the staff canteen?"
Qiu Qianfan stared at the line.
Then at the mill.
Then at the smoke-stained sky.
"…I suddenly feel," he said slowly, "that I may be living in a world I no longer fully understand."
Gao Yiye smiled.