Beginning with the Ubume Bird-Chapter 560 - 56 - The Flesh is Weak (Part 1)

Chang Yu stood in front of the rusting machine, his body reeking of scorch and the rotten smell of traditional Chinese medicine.

He recalled the afternoon many years ago when he’d first seen a steam train. It was a moment of steel, sparks, noise, and surging power that left the fifteen-year-old boy utterly shocked beyond words. Since then, hammers, gears, springs, valves, and the swirling flames and steam had become Chang Yu’s closest companions, with whom he shared an unspoken understanding.

Just like today.

The incomprehensible jumbled text and abstruse, intricate diagrams in the Book of Creation were to Chang Yu a series of vivid comic strips.

He felt as if he had personally witnessed an unheard-of barbaric era: various reptiles curled up under palm trees, the land covered with hard red soil, the ocean floor occupied by bony fish, and the apex Predator—a giant dragonfly with transparent wings—while the primitive bipeds used rudimentary iron tools to fend off various beasts.

Until one day, the bipeds found an odd shell on the beach capable of evaporating seawater, shaped somewhat like a hot pot...

The lives of the bipeds were revolutionized from that day forth.

Inspired by the native shells, they developed an entirely new natural philosophy. Driven by the desires and intelligence of the bipeds, the materials they forged ranged from native shells to earthenware and bronze. The products derived from "natural philosophy" evolved rapidly with each new day.

Cloud-piercing spires almost touching the sky, marine submersibles diving more than a hundred thousand meters below the sea, and steam components that could replace most of an organism’s organs.

The bipeds, who called themselves scholars, established a city-state named R’lyeh—the zenith of their era.

The scene froze there.

All manners of bizarre, beyond-mortals’ imaginations of technology and knowledge swept through Chang Yu’s soul like a roaring river. The peak technology that had once brought glory and destruction to R’lyeh and could make twenty Tri-Orb Devices run simultaneously was unveiling the tip of the iceberg before Chang Yu.

Chang Yu snapped the Book of Creation shut. His heart throbbed with sharp pains, and he even suspected that he might die from a hypertensive crisis at any moment. Still, he bit his lip hard, remembering the hard-earned knowledge.

That was but an inconspicuous stream in the ocean of R’lyeh’s knowledge, yet it had already taken him a long time to digest.

The machine emitted a shrill hum, sparks flew, gears turned, and Chang Yu donned his monocle with a copper frame. His skinny shadow flickered in the gloomy room, and occasionally, the shadows of various unnamable steam tools in his hands danced menacingly in the light of the fire.

After about two or three hours, Chang Yu assembled a set of oddly shaped steam-powered equipment.

It consisted of a brass mask that covered the nose, mouth, and chin, connected to a single handed copper arm armor and a leg guard of the same color. At first glance, it resembled a scrappy half-suit of solo armor.

Chang Yu sat sprawled on the ground, rolled up his trouser leg, unwrapped the bandage on his leg, and fitted the leg guard. He gently twisted the spring, and two brutal hooks pierced through Chang Yu’s wound. His eyes bulged as he arched his neck and let out a muffled groan, beads of sweat forming immediately on the tip of his nose.

About two minutes later, Chang Yu stood up and took a few steps back and forth. His right leg miraculously regained its strength to support him!

With an impassive face, Chang Yu put on the brass mask. Brown tubes connected the arm armor to the leg guard. Stains on his body, disheveled sweat, and the cumbersome brass gear added a phantasmagoric post-apocalyptic steam style to his appearance.

Click-clack!

Finally, Chang Yu fitted the arm armor onto his right hand and surveyed his room—littered with remnants of machines he’d dismantled and repurposed.

Only one miniature steampunk exoskeleton was still intact,

it was merely sixty to seventy centimeters tall, with a structure that was lean and fluid, unlike the usual bulky exoskeletons. The steel limbs had curves indistinguishable from muscles, and two steam pipes ran from bottom to top, penetrating the ribs and shoulders, but the neck was empty without a head.

Each part of the exoskeleton could be disassembled freely. Aside from being worn, it could also autonomously perform some simple combat animations.

This steam gear, designed by Chang Yu and polished by Li Yan, was constrained by limited resources and hurried time pressures. Technologically, it barely reached a Hex-Core, but it was certainly the weakest and shoddiest Hex-Core exoskeleton in history...

Chang Yu stared at the miniature exoskeleton for a while, reached into it, fiddled with a knob, and immediately the entire exoskeleton fell apart, disassembled into piles of parts on the ground.

"Let’s start over,"

Chang Yu murmured hoarsely. His right arm armor split in the middle, extending four or five differently tooled metal limbs.

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"I have a very excellent employee who designed the final plan for the Giant Ymir just a few days ago. He is the pride of Enfield."

St. Yves was beaming, "Come over here, Robert. This is the esteemed Mayor of San Francisco."

Robert managed a strained smile and bowed to shake hands with Mayor Michael.

"Promising young man."

"You flatter me."

St. Yves patted Robert’s shoulder, "He solved the high-energy overload problem of the Hex-Core Giant Ymir with a brand-new technology. This technology will be applied to a completely new transport machine, and our factory will no longer need so many Chinese. Free from these parasites, San Francisco will usher in a brighter future."

"Ahem, excuse me, St. Yves, could you come over for a moment?"

Robert pulled St. Yves into a corner and growled in a suppressed tone, "Chang modified the Giant Ymir, and you use his technology to transform transport machines, aiming to push his compatriots out of this city? To leave those hard workers destitute? How can you do such a thing?"

"Robert, I’m your boss. You should watch your tone."

St. Yves’s face was relaxed.

He glanced over the lavish ballroom filled with graceful ladies and proper gentlemen, all of whom wore easy smiles. Some conversed softly about the day’s deadly fire, but it was quickly drowned out amidst the numerous gossip items, not causing any stir.

"Dear Robert, our age is changing by the day; it’s so fast that certain things are bound to be forgotten, and certain people are destined to be sacrificed. The Statue of Liberty won’t remember a big-toothed man with braids. But she will surely remember you."

St. Yves straightened Robert’s clothes, "Relax, the party is about to start, and you are our star."

Robert’s fists clenched then relaxed, and he finally deflated, "I might keep my mouth shut, but both you and I understand that the real star isn’t me."