109: Chapter 110 Well Center Line

When the third hammer fell, the well wind under the bridge turned into a dull roar.

It was like a beast pressed into the mud, unable to break free, yet still panting.

Grey Pupil's Sacrificial Fire roasted the underside of the bridge at an angle. Where the firelight reached, the black ash in the broken groove stopped spewing outward; instead, following the vibration of The Old Craftsman's hammer strikes, it retreated bit by bit, shrinking into the gaps of the teeth deep within the axle that had been gnawed crooked by the well wind.

The fourth hammer. Clang.

Wu Fu's fine workmanship thread had already been fed in two zhang, the thread stretched taut, and the cracks on the edge of the Worker Nest Egg Tray had spread another inch.

She gritted her teeth, claws digging into the surface of the tray, her nails nearly tearing off, yet she didn't make a sound.

Keeping records is a matter for later; if it breaks now, everything done before is wasted.

The fifth hammer. Clang.

Wen Zhao's old nail vibrated slightly behind the bridge line, the firelight at the end of the nail resonating with the return axle deep in the bridge's belly, emitting a very faint humming sound.

The wound on the web of his left hand had scabbed over, but it was shaken open again, oozing blood, yet the hand holding the nail did not loosen; instead, it gripped tighter.

The sixth hammer. Clang!

The Old Craftsman's short hammer finally stopped.

It wasn't that he had run out of strength, but that Nail Bone had called a halt.

"Enough." The grey copper fire in the broken axle flickered, like an oil lamp nearing its end. "Hit it again, and the axle will overheat. Old copper cannot withstand continuous hammering; it needs to breathe."

On the bridge surface, the grey wind gradually calmed.

It hadn't stopped, but the tearing force that had been drilling into the break weakened, like a receding tide.

Qiao Ye's shield leg was still stuck in the seventh tooth, his knees numb to the point of losing sensation, but he dared not pull it out, only asking in a low voice, "...Is it stable?"

Wen Zhao stared at the fire line box for a long time; the fire line patterns on the surface of the box changed from wild distortions to a gentle flow.

He let out a long breath, his voice hoarse, "The bridge line has stabilized."

Qiao Ye's shoulders completely slumped, and he nearly toppled over, but Wen Zhao grabbed him by the back of his collar, "Don't fall; the bridge deck is narrow."

"How many people can cross?" Qiao Ye asked while panting.

Wen Zhao measured again, his fingertips sliding across the fire line box, leaving a charred mark, "Three people, low fire, slow pace, can carry one cart of light materials."

Wu Fu's eyes lit up again, the exhaustion from just a moment ago swept away, "Can carry materials?"

Nail Bone immediately cursed, "Light materials! Did you hear me? Light! That look in your eyes says you want to stuff the whole cart frame up there. Stuff it up there and the bridge will break again; don't come crying to me when that happens."

Wu Fu's mouth twitched, "My ears aren't broken."

"Your sense seems broken."

Wu Fu nearly lunged to tear at his fire, but Grey Pupil's cane blocked her path. He didn't speak, merely shaking his head slightly.

Lu Jin watched the bridge line.

From single-person low fire to three-person slow passage, and even being able to carry a cart of light materials.

This progress was unassuming; there were no earth-shattering explosions, nor any phenomena of divine fire soaring into the sky.

But for the first section of the Lock Bridge behind the inner ring gate, this was a road that could be used repeatedly, a rope that could send people in and pull them back out.

The repair method provided by Nail Bone had already proven its value.

Instructor Han Tiecheng also saw it clearly; the fire patterns on the iron fire order rearranged themselves, condensing into a new combat directive: "Record."

The Black-Armored Recorder's pen flew across the paper, the tip scratching out a faint, crisp sound, "The remnant soul of Nail Bone guided the repair of the Lock Bridge return axle, with three Old Rat-folk craftsmen participating. The Worker Nest Egg Tray provided fine grey copper workmanship thread. Grey Pupil adjusted the Sacrificial Fire for angled roasting. Qiao Ye pressed down on the seventh tooth of the bridge deck, and Wen Zhao retreated one space to stabilize the nail. Lock Bridge passage upgraded to three-person low fire, slow pace, can carry one cart of light materials."

After hearing this, Nail Bone snorted, "At least you know how to write."

Instructor Han Tiecheng sneered, "Do you want me to list 'scolding others' as a merit for you separately?"

"Scolding them awake also counts as merit," Nail Bone replied unceremoniously. "If I had scolded a few more times back in the day, some bridges wouldn't have collapsed so quickly."

Qiao Ye couldn't help but say, "Your skin is quite thick."

"Craftsmen with thin skin were long ago burned away by the divine fire of those above urging for work," Nail Bone said indifferently. "Burned until not even slag remains; who would remember your good craftsmanship?"

Upon hearing this, The Old Craftsman of the Old Rat-folk paused the short hammer in his hand; something flashed in his murky eyes before quickly sinking back down.

Lu Jin also looked at Nail Bone, but Nail Bone acted as if he hadn't said those words. The grey copper fire circled the old cart frame, the light sweeping over the wheel grooves and the broken axle, as if checking its own injuries.

"Don't move this cart frame yet."

Wu Fu was immediately alert, her claws tensing again, "Why?"

"Its axle is broken at the return air vent. If you take it out, half the workstation will collapse, and all the old tracks below will crumble. If you want to take it away, you must first mend half a section of the empty bone axle, then seal the well wind vent. If neither is ready, moving it means gambling with the life of the entire Lower Workshop."

Wu Fu's eyes flickered, "You know how to mend it?"

"I do."

"How much material do you need?"

Nail Bone rattled off the list quickly, as if he had already calculated it, "Three bundles of grey copper workmanship thread, two pieces of old bridge skin, one Night Wing scorched plate. No spore ash, no nest paste, and the Sacrificial Fire only needs to roast at an angle."

When Wu Fu heard "no spore ash, no nest paste," her expression became very displeased, "Do you look down on Breeding Nest materials?"

"Breeding Nest materials nourish flesh, but an axle needs bone," Nail Bone said. "If you feed the cart frame flesh, it will grow crooked. Once it grows crooked, it won't be able to pull the Frontline Fire Hall; it will only be able to drag your own nest."

Wu Fu opened her mouth but was unable to refute him. She knew the properties of the materials too well; Nail Bone's words hit the nail on the head, leaving her with no leverage to argue back.

Lu Jin noted down these materials, his voice steady, "We will mend it next time."

Nail Bone said coldly, "Next time? The bridge has just come to life, the wind hasn't stabilized yet—where do you want to go?"

Lu Jin looked toward the depths of the outer ring of the Grey Fire Well.

At the end of the bridge line, the old copper tracks curved downward, bending into a grey mist so thick it could not be dissolved.

Deeper inside, a patch of grey-red light was caught by the well wind, appearing and disappearing, like some giant beast blinking behind the mist.

The Ruptured Furnace Seat was not in sight, but the scent of its remnant fire still wafted from the depths of the well ring, bringing with it a fishy sweetness that chilled one to the marrow.

Nail Bone's grey copper fire suddenly retracted into the broken axle, retreating very deep, as if frightened by something.

This time, he did not curse.

His voice was much lower, even carrying an imperceptible tremor, "Do not point the cart head in that direction."

Lu Jin asked, "The Ruptured Furnace Seat?"

Nail Bone's fire flickered, as if scalded by these four words, "Don't call out its name."

Wu Fu frowned, "Are you afraid?"

Nail Bone was silent for a long time.

The well wind passed through the bone seams of the old cart frame, emitting a faint, vibrating sound, like countless needles trembling gently.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice so soft it was like talking to himself, yet so heavy it hammered into everyone's heart:

"The craftsmen who revered that thing were all taken away to patch the furnace mouth."

"Those who survived only learned to be afraid."

Grey Pupil gripped his cane tightly, his knuckles turning white. Lu Jin did not immediately pursue the question; this sentence was already heavy enough, heavy enough that it required no explanation.

Nail Bone had no reverence for the Ruptured Furnace Seat, only fear—fear so great that the moment the name was mentioned, he even suppressed his cursing and retracted his fire.

Wen Zhao looked down at the old nail and suddenly said, "There is a drag mark at the end of the bridge line."

Nail Bone's fire emerged from the broken axle again, as if pulled back to his senses by these words, "A drag mark?"

Wen Zhao projected the old boot prints and black ash blood trail he had previously taken onto the bridge deck.

Two old repair-mark boot prints, their stride distance uniform; black ash blood seeped out beside the first boot print, and the toe of the second pointed toward the depths of the well ring, like a trail of footprints leading to hell.

Nail Bone stared for a few breaths, his firelight suddenly freezing, "Repair-mark boots."

Lu Jin said, "You repaired them?"

Nail Bone did not reply. He looked at the ledger board below the workstation on the well wall, and The Old Craftsman immediately understood, flipping to the line just mentioned—Western Lower Level Repair Team, Team Leader surnamed Lu, fire boots repaired once.

Nail Bone's fire stopped there, as if nailed down by that line of text.

"Lu Zhaoheng."

Lu Jin's voice lowered, yet it was like a string slowly tightening, "You mentioned this name just now as well."

Nail Bone acted as if he hadn't heard. He stared at the ledger entry, his firelight swaying slightly, as if looking at a very old face, "The sole of the fire boot was cracked by three inches, but he insisted it could still walk. I replaced half a set of well-bottom nails for him; he complained it was heavy, complained it made noise when walking, complained it chafed his feet."

Nail Bone paused, his voice taking on an indescribable nuance, like mockery, yet also like nostalgia, "Heavy means you can walk steadily; light means you get carried away by the wind. He didn't know a damn thing."

Lu Jin looked at him, enunciating every word, "What is the relationship between Lu Zhaoheng and Observer Lu Chenyuan?"

Nail Bone's fire shrank violently, as if stepped on its deepest sore spot, "You've asked too much."

"You know where my father's team went."

This time, Lu Jin did not let it go. His voice was steady, steady as a shield pressed onto the bridge, but inside the Frontline Fire Platform, the Grey Fire Well thin sheet had already lit up, and Duan Jun's secret mark was also heating up, as if responding to the agitation burning in his blood.

Nail Bone was silent.

Inside the broken axle of the old cart frame, only a very faint fire sound remained, like a heartbeat, and also like a sigh.

The return axle that had just been repaired under the bridge turned slowly for half a circle in the well wind, emitting a friction sound that was almost like a mournful wail.

Nail Bone finally extended a wisp of grey copper fire from the broken axle.

That wisp of fire veered away from the Ruptured Furnace Seat, following the hidden line that folded into the old copper tracks beneath the Lock Bridge, slowly lowering until it was almost touching the ground, as if trying to avoid some invisible gaze.

Then, he spoke, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper grinding against rust:

"Your father's team didn't make it out of here back then."

Lu Jin's pupils contracted slightly.

"Someone was escorting them," Nail Bone's fire trembled, as if afraid of disturbing something, "into the Well Heart Line."

Well Heart Line.

These three words were like three nails, hammered into everyone's ears.

In the depths of the outer ring of the Grey Fire Well, the well wind suddenly stopped.

It wasn't a calm; it was sucked in by something, like a mouth slowly opening in the depths, waiting for new prey to walk inside.

Lu Jin looked toward the grey-red mist behind the gate, toward the direction where the old copper tracks curved in, toward the darkness that not even half a gate anchor could illuminate.

The old fire in his sleeve burned hot.