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墨書 Inktalez
The sun blazed fiercely, scorching the skeleton of the city. On the construction site of Foot Odor Energy, dust mingled with gravel swirled in the air, which was thick with the scents of cement, machine oil, steel, and remnants of a bygone era. The smell was as potent as a beast born from the mating of industrial civilization and a post-apocalyptic wasteland—heavy, coarse, yet inexplicably full of vitality.
Lin Tianyou removed his lab coat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his tousled hair dancing in the wind. He stood behind a rickety folding table cluttered with notebooks, a tape recorder, a jug of cold water, and several stacks of documents. His eyes sparkled with intensity, resembling a scientist dissecting the world under a scalpel, scanning one by one the faces of those lined up before him, eager for rebirth.
"Can you weld? What materials have you worked with? Oxy-fuel or arc welding? Which factory have you worked at?"
"Next! What is your specialty? Can you read engineering drawings? Are you familiar with automated control systems?"
His voice was not loud but carried a rhythmic pressure, like an officer recruiting on the battlefield—there was little sympathy to be found, nor was it needed. This interview was not about "giving chances," but about "who can still fight."
Faces turned toward him—some were etched with deep wrinkles like carved lines, their brows and eyes filled with the history of being laid off and forgotten; others had deformed knuckles and skin as rough as dry tree bark, silently pulling out handmade craft samples, control modules, and disassembly diagrams of old mechanical cores from tattered bags.
Lin Tianyou's gaze scanned rapidly like a scanner; he was not searching for perfection but for survivors—those who, despite being trampled by the world, still gritted their teeth to preserve their skills and pride.
An old craftsman stood before him, hair white as snow and clothes tattered. The calluses on his palms were as hard as ancient tree bark. He quietly produced a hand-welded Electric Control Board that not only had neatly arranged wires and solid solder joints but also bore pencil markings on the back indicating the allocation logic of each signal line.
Lin Tianyou's eyes lit up instantly; without hesitation, he nodded. "You, Second District Electrical Control Setup. Next."
There were also younger individuals with weathered faces who arrived carrying tool bags. One even admitted he didn't know much technical skill; he only knew how to carry materials on-site, lay cables, and climb ladders. Yet he said, "There are no limits to what I can do as long as you let me stay."
This was not job-seeking; it was an act of loyalty—a counterattack against fate.
Lin Tianyou understood that he was neither a philanthropist nor a benevolent ruler. He was a madman composed of dreams and technology. What he aimed to build was not just a factory but a temple to prove his theories—and these people were the stones and steel beams of that temple.
In less than half a day, the first batch of recruits was organized. Temporary vests and helmets were immediately distributed to them, and rows of workers quickly lined up, following orders like a military unit, each taking their position. Some began to set up scaffolding, others transported materials, while some activated the concrete pumping trucks. The construction site transformed from chaos into a thunderous rhythm, as if a slumbering giant had been awakened, reborn from the dust.
The sound of horns echoed through the dilapidated streets as the first wave of steel frames was lifted into the air, the metal clashing and resonating with a heart-stirring sound. The foundation pouring process rapidly commenced, with measuring instruments and temporary power grids being connected simultaneously. The Foot Odor Energy Company—a name that had been mocked, scorned, and even cursed—was now laying down the first layer of its skeletal structure in this ruined city.
Lin Tianyou stood on a high platform, the wind howling past him. He gazed at the torrent of activity below, his eyes sparkling with an unearthly fervor. He understood that this was not merely the birth of a building; it was a sculpting of faith, the beginning of a reconstruction of civilization.
The city had long since died, abandoned and decayed, buried at the bottom of history.
But what he saw was not a corpse; it was bone.
And bones can stand again.
Meanwhile, Huang Haoran’s executive office resembled a precise strategic command center. On the massive electronic screen wall, data, charts, and public opinion trends surged like waves, updating rapidly as if the entire world's attention was being instantaneously controlled here. An electric current of tension and excitement seemed to flow through the air, stimulating everyone's nerve endings.
Dozens of employees were neatly arranged, their fingertips dancing swiftly across keyboards. The sound of typing fell like raindrops, conveying a silent yet intense battle of offense and defense. This group included social media marketing experts, seasoned online public opinion analysts, and those skilled at provoking heated debates among netizens with their sarcastic rhetoric—united by one goal: to make Foot Odor Energy Company the hottest and most controversial entity at present.
Huang Haoran lounged in his leather executive chair, his long fingers lightly tapping on the desk. His eyes reflected the flickering data streams and the flood of comments pouring into the discussion threads. He carefully observed netizens' reactions, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched the situation he had meticulously crafted gradually take shape.
Online, various voices surged like locusts invading every corner, quickly occupying the heights of public opinion:
“Foot Odor Energy is nothing but a scam! A company with such an absurd name dares to claim it will save the city?”
“Genius or madman? Huang Haoran aims to change the world with Foot Odor, investing in a bankrupt city—what is this man really after?”
"Deep Analysis! Foot Odor Energy has entered C City. Is it a commercial hype or is there something more to it?"
Skepticism, speculation, ridicule, sarcasm, and countless questions quickly thrust the Foot Odor Energy Company into the spotlight of public opinion, making it one of the hottest topics online.
Behind these voices, Huang Haoran was secretly manipulating countless marketing accounts, bots, and critics to amplify his "Mad Entrepreneur" persona. He understood that in this world, nothing attracts attention more effectively than an absurd and outrageous image.
"This is perfect; this is exactly the effect I wanted," Huang Haoran murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and certainty. He knew that the fastest way for a company to go from obscurity to fame, and then to global attention, was to provoke arguments, confusion, and frenzy among people worldwide.
What he sought was not just sales but also volume; not just profit but also global attention. He wanted everyone to ponder the question: "Is Foot Odor Energy the future?"
Huang Haoran stood up and slowly walked to the window, gazing at the bustling streets of the city, a faint smile playing on his lips. He calculated that everything before him was merely the beginning. He intended to use C City's decay and revival as a stage for the world to witness his madness and strength.
"Keep arguing, keep questioning, keep mocking..." The glint of ambition sparkled in Huang Haoran's eyes as he whispered to himself, "When all your focus is on us, that will be our best opportunity to rise."
He turned back and directed his employees to dive back into the information war. The entire office felt like a frontline in battle; the air was tense yet exhilarating, with everyone working efficiently and resolutely like soldiers.
Under such an information bombardment, the Foot Odor Energy Company quickly became a global focal point. This was precisely Huang Haoran's plan—madness, intrigue, and irresistible charm would grow louder amidst waves of skepticism, ultimately laying a solid foundation for his conquest of the world.
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