Master Artisan Chen Liu had spent his entire life crafting spiritual calligraphy, imbuing each stroke with generations of ancestral wisdom and his own accumulated karmic merit.
He was a cultivator of the brush, not of the sword or the Qi furnace. His skill lay in channeling harmonious energies into written form, creating talismans of prosperity, scrolls of protection, and meditation aids that vibrated with subtle truths.
His workshop, a sanctuary of peace in the bustling Lower Layers of Sector Theta-4, was his universe. Because of the accident, he almost lost it. But now, it was saved.
He reread the confirmation message on his comm-tablet for the tenth time as his old eyes blurred with unshed tears of relief.
The Iron Mountain Finance Guild's repo-drones, which had been grinding their way through his outer security seals, had suddenly powered down, their red optical sensors dimming.
A terse, automated message from Iron Mountain's central processing hub had followed.
