Chapter 172: Steampunk and “Angel Investor”

Passing through the spatial vortex felt like being spun dry by ten thousand dehydration machines at the same time, then tossed into a drum washing machine and violently churned seventy-nine times in a row.

When the dizzying sensation of the world spinning finally faded, and a solid feeling came from beneath his feet, Zhang Daniu was the first who could not hold it in. With a “wah,” he nearly vomited out all the spirit beast meat he had eaten last night.

“Good heavens… the ‘user experience’ of this place gets worse reviews than Ten Thousand Souls Cavern!”

He braced his hands on his knees and gasped for breath.

Zhao Wuji, although his face was also pale, relied on his professional habits and immediately took out his small notebook, his pen tip trembling as he wrote:

【S+–level project on-site inspection record: the spatial teleportation stage has room for optimization. It is recommended that future development include a ‘paid VIP no-dizziness channel,’ which can serve as a new profit growth point.】

Chu Feng paid no attention to these two clowns. His gaze had already been firmly seized by the scene before him.

Here, there was no imagined immortal cave dwelling, no jade towers and pavilions suffused with spiritual energy.

What entered his eyes was something unimaginably enormous—a deserted… factory.

Yes, a factory.

The dome was so high that its limits could not be seen, supported by countless rust-covered steel frames, over which crawled unknown metallic vines.

On the ground, crisscrossing tracks were laid out. Mining carts that looked like rhinoceros beetles lay overturned, with piles of spirit stone slag that had long since lost their luster scattered inside.

The air was filled with a heavy smell, a mixture of machine oil, rust, and ozone.

Most eye-catching was the center of the factory: a steel behemoth as massive as a mountain range, composed of countless gears, pistons, copper pipes, and pressure valves.

It had long since ceased operating. Its cold metal shell was covered in scars left by time. Yet that kind of industrial violent aesthetics that seemed capable of tearing apart the heavens and reshaping the world still made everyone who saw it feel a wave of insignificance and shock rising from the depths of their soul.

“Th-this… what kind of magic treasure is this?”

Feng Zhiruo murmured to herself. In the inherited memories of the major families of the Western Regions, there had never been such a bizarre yet magnificent creation.

“Magic treasure?”

Zhao Wuji’s eyes shone like two light bulbs.

“Consultant Feng, your perspective is too narrow! How could this be a magic treasure? This is clearly a complete ‘high-end equipment automated production line’!”

“Look at those tracks over there, and those mechanical arms… my heavens, if this thing could be restarted, how many times would our group’s ‘production capacity’ increase?!”

Murong Xue did not speak. She only frowned and picked up a fallen screw from the ground. The craftsmanship of that screw was extremely precise; the spacing of the threads was exact down to the tiniest fraction, far surpassing the level of any artifact-refining sect in the current Mortal Realm.

Alarm bells rang loudly in her heart.

A traverser capable of creating such a civilization—his strength and wisdom were likely far beyond anyone’s imagination.

And such an existence had still failed.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Chu Feng’s voice suddenly rang out, carrying a gravity unlike ever before.

He pointed at the seemingly random scratches on the ground.

“These were not formed naturally.“

“These are… scars left behind after the collapse of laws.”

Everyone felt a chill in their hearts. Only then did they realize that although this space was stable, it was permeated everywhere with an aura of death. The laws here seemed as if their skeleton had been ripped out, leaving only a hollow shell of skin.

Just at that moment.

“Creak—”

A piercing sound of metal grinding came from inside the massive steel behemoth.

Everyone instantly went on guard, spiritual power surging beneath the surface.

They saw a hatch covered in gauges and valves slowly open, and a half-transparent… soul form floated out from within. It wore an old, coarse tweed suit, a monocle, and had hair neatly combed without a strand out of place.

That soul looked like an old scholar in his fifties. His expression was haggard, yet in his eyes burned a kind of obsessive, fanatical flame.

When he saw Chu Feng’s group, he was first stunned. Then, an unbelievable ecstasy erupted from his eyes!

He ignored Zhang Daniu’s mountain-like physique, ignored the breathtaking beauty of Feng Zhiruo and Murong Xue. His gaze locked on Chu Feng with deadly intensity, greedily—like a beggar who had starved for eight hundred years suddenly seeing a Manchu–Han Imperial Feast.

More accurately, it locked onto Chu Feng’s well-tailored robe, emblazoned with the group’s logo, clearly expensive at a glance—the “CEO Limited Edition” dharma robe!

“Praise the God of Steam! Praise gears and levers!”

The old scholar’s soul trembled with excitement. With a blink, he floated in front of Chu Feng. Because he was too agitated, he even passed straight through Chu Feng’s body, then awkwardly floated back again.

“Sir! Oh, honorable sir!”

He spoke excitedly in an operatic tone.

“Just look at your attire, look at your extraordinary bearing!”

“You must be a successful, far-sighted gentleman who knows how to appreciate a ‘great undertaking’… an ‘Angel Investor,’ am I right?!”

Chu Feng: “……”

Zhang Daniu, Zhao Wuji, Feng Zhiruo, Murong Xue: “……”

The entire abandoned factory fell into dead silence.

Zhao Wuji silently drew a question mark in his notebook, crossed it out, then drew another question mark.

【Target appeared. Preliminary judgment: mental state unstable.】

【Demand: seeking investment.】

【Suspicion: how does he know the term ‘angel investor’? Could it be… a long-lost fellow townsman of the President?】

The old scholar paid no attention to the strange atmosphere at all. Like a salesman who had finally found an outlet to vent, he grabbed Chu Feng’s sleeve in one motion (though he grabbed nothing), spittle flying everywhere (though it was merely fluctuations of soul power).

“Sir! Let me tell you, my project is absolutely revolutionary!”

“‘Spiritual Energy Steamification’! ‘Runic Assembly-Line Production’! ‘Standardized Flying Sword Industrial Casting’!”

“My business plan is already prepared!”

“Valuation, market analysis, profit projections… I only need a little—just a little start-up capital, and I can leverage the entire world!”

He pointed at the gigantic steel behemoth behind him, his eyes glistening with tears.

“Do you see it? ‘Heaven’s Dao No.1’! This is my life’s work! My masterpiece!”

“It can convert the energy of a low-grade spirit stone mine into enough power to drive a hundred thousand puppet soldiers!”

“But they… they didn’t understand! Those ignorant, backward native cultivators!”

“They called my theories ‘heretical nonsense’!”

“They called my masterpiece a ‘monster that devours spiritual veins’!”

The old scholar’s soul fluctuated violently, his voice filled with endless grievance and fury.

“I failed… my company went bankrupt… I was mercilessly eliminated by the ‘market’…”

He suddenly raised his head and looked at Chu Feng with an almost pleading gaze. On the lens of his monocle, it seemed as if a glimmer of moisture flashed by.

“But, sir!”

“Investor, sir!”

“My theory was not wrong! It was this world that was wrong!”

“Now, you have come! You are my hope! My salvation!”

He spread his arms wide, using every ounce of strength he had to let out a thunderous shout.

“Please, you must—invest in me!”

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