musicians of old

Chapter 861 Acquaintance
As Fanning walked deeper into the ground, the cement slabs beneath his feet gradually transformed into steel grating.

The creaking sound as people stepped on it, along with the occasional rustling of dust falling, made one doubt its sturdiness. However, overall, the tunnel was widening, and the grilles were actually quite stable.

This "central control zone," built by the remnants of the Special Patrol Department in a short time and under harsh conditions, was dug into the entire mountain range. The deeper you go, the more obvious the traces of artificial excavation become, and the denser the steam pipes above the passage become. The air changes from the damp and cold outside to damp and hot, and is filled with the smell of rust.

The carbonized lamps cast swaying spots of light between the pipes, illuminating the blurry figures of the patrol teams who darted past beneath their feet and occasionally over the crisscrossing pipe racks overhead.

“Interesting. This building structure is much more aesthetically pleasing than the scaffolding that your esteemed hall erected in the ruins of the ‘incinerator’ back then.”

Fanning lifted the guitar that had slipped off his shoulder and looked around with a half-smile.

"Well, the main problem is that there isn't enough space; there isn't enough space anywhere."

"Master, you flatter me. Each control zone was built too hastily, and many designs were not planned in advance."

Seeing that the usually taciturn Master Fanning had suddenly spoken up and made a few comments, the two experts from the Special Patrol Department who were in the lead quickly smiled and explained.

Although the overall size of this space gradually increases as you walk further in, the visual feeling actually becomes increasingly cramped.

Because it's too crowded and too "vertical".

Fanning encountered many people along the way, but none of them were on the same path as his group—the patrol team and the workers moved by using shaky freight elevators, nearly vertical riveted steel ladders, and narrow suspended walkways connecting different levels.

After walking for another five minutes or so, this crowded, chaotic, yet forcibly incorporated into a kind of cold order vertical maze finally appeared completely before everyone.

A huge hollowed-out cylindrical space!

Deepest at the bottom lies the roaring core power zone, where the massive steam turbines loom in the shadows, and maintenance personnel swarm like ants. Parallel rings form the production and living areas, with densely packed "grid houses" layered like a honeycomb, connected by platforms, corridors, and staircases, their dim lights emanating from countless small windows. Higher still are more complex areas, where massive mechanical devices and more intricate brass pipes converge, all with heavily guarded entrances.

The space was utilized to the fullest extent, with every inch filled with functional structures: pipes, cables, warehouses, signal bells, ventilation valves, material hoisting rails... People moved through it, their steps hurried, their faces tired, their eyes a mixture of numbness, vigilance, and even a hint of barely perceptible madness.

Fan Ning actually felt a slight headache, a feeling she hadn't experienced outside.

Steam filled the space amidst beams of light of varying sizes. The noises of various machines, the whistles and commands of guards, the suppressed conversations, and the occasional sobs echoed and clashed repeatedly in the enclosed space, creating a white noise that, while not loud, caused a persistent, dull ache in the head.

Fan Ning emerged from the passage at a higher level within the cylindrical space, but the team leader continued to lead the way, indicating that he should climb the suspended ladder to an even higher level.

Occasionally, a sudden commotion would break the tense order of the environment. Once, while passing a supply distribution point, a gaunt man suddenly let out a shriek that sounded inhuman, frantically scratching his throat. Something was moving rapidly under his skin. The nearby guards stepped forward without hesitation, tackled him with a specially made rubber net, and dragged him away. The whole process was efficient and cold, and the surrounding crowd simply avoided him indifferently.

On another occasion, a woman who appeared to be a mother was arguing with a guard, seemingly on the verge of a breakdown. Our passing team overheard the gist of the argument: the woman was holding a baby, trying to lull it to sleep, when suddenly she felt the swaddled infant become unusually heavy. She turned on the gaslight and discovered the baby was gone, replaced by an extremely dense, self-folding mass of darkness. The investigators have now isolated this inexplicable object pending further investigation.
Fan Ning brushed past these "untimely" unexpected commotions along the way, and with a crowd of people leading the way, he arrived at the higher area.

"If the food supply and safety issues can't be resolved in ten more nights, then we should replace them." "The production area's quotas are already being increased as much as possible. These people got into trouble because they were greedy for the sweetness of those mushrooms and berries from outside! Furthermore, the safety audits are riddled with loopholes! In my opinion, once the quotas are further increased, prohibiting supplementary external food supplies is the long-term solution!"

"I'd like to ask Mr. Solti, with that pitiful quota, are you planning to just throw the rest of the people out to fend for themselves? Besides, the smell of those 'gray algae mud,' 'ground bean,' and 'engineer mushrooms' is enough to drive anyone crazy! If we don't open a channel for them to occasionally taste something fresh, meaty, or sweet, I bet the disciplinary squad's work will soon be completely unsustainable!"

"None of you need to argue. If the supply and security issues can't be resolved, then we'll replace the staff. We're also short-staffed for the field team leaders right now."

From a distance, Fan Ning could hear the sounds of an argument escalating between several groups of people inside the walls.

The passageway here was slightly wider, but still filled with pipes and warning signs. There was less white steam in the air, but more of the smell of engine oil and disinfectant.

Shouts, arguments, and silences alternated as the guard saluted Fan Ning, then stopped and turned around in front of a metal door inlaid with an intricate brass gear lock.

After a series of complex and skillful operations, the gears meshed with a heavy sound, and the door slid inward.

Behind the door is a small, functional cabin with a surprisingly simple and clean layout. A metal tabletop, a fabric sofa, and a few chairs almost take up the entire space.

A pale, glaring carbon filament light bulb hung from the ceiling, its light shining directly on the man sitting at the counter stirring his coffee.

An acquaintance.

It is Lassus.

Laszczuk, who made it into the top ten at the Harvest Arts Festival and received the "Gift of Wheat" medal because two masters withdrew, was recognized as a successor.

Several investigators or officers stood in front of him, their faces flushed from arguing. But when Fan Ning entered, they fell silent and retreated one after another, their chests heaving.

"You look much more haggard, Inspector General and Musicologist."

"Mr. Fan Ning is joking. I'm afraid there are neither masters nor inspectors these days."

Lasus's appearance was even more gaunt and withered, as if some invisible pressure had squeezed out all the moisture from him. His dry, long hair had also lost its last bit of luster, but his eyes, under the pale light, still maintained or "supported" a cold, analytical sharpness.

"How does it feel to have come all this way? Our half-sinkable, half-destroyed ship is still holding up reasonably well, isn't it?" The man stirred the thick, dark liquid in his cup with focused concentration, and wisps of strangely rich, bitter smoke rose from it.

"No need to be modest, I certainly couldn't do this," Fan Ning scoffed.

“Perhaps you can do far more than this.” The man, however, did not care about the subtle sarcasm in Fanning’s tone. He stood up and gestured for him to follow. “Enough with the formalities. The leader’s will requires our full efforts to carry it out. Please follow me, Master Fanning.”