Xiang Fan stood in front of the headquarters building of Qixing Company, looking up at the giant metal tower rising from the ground, and couldn't help feeling a lot of emotions in his heart.
"Back in the Lingxiao Sect, the only mechas I could touch were scrap metal. Now, I'm standing at the doorstep of a leading mecha manufacturing company. Even though I'm just a repairman, I'm still a legitimate employee."
Looking up, a massive holographic advertisement hung suspended on the building's exterior. Mechas slowly unfolded, their psychic armor radiating a dazzling glow. The roar of the power reactor seemed to shake the soul. In the ad, a Foundation Establishment-stage test cultivator piloted the latest model of Qixing Battle Armor, engaging enemies in a virtual battlefield. Flying swords shot like meteors, psychic cannons blazed brilliantly. Every shot was imbued with a perfect fusion of science fiction and the artistic conception of cultivating immortals.
Xiang Fan couldn't help but smack his lips. "This is what we call a true sense of the future... Much cooler than Lingxiao Sect's crappy textbooks."
However, as the elevator sinks all the way down, he is about to face his own "workplace reality" - away from the high-end mechas in the advertisements, and directly rooted at the bottom of the maintenance workshop.
"bite!"
The elevator door slowly opened, and before Xiang Fan could take a step, a unique smell of engine oil and burnt circuits hit him in the face, rushing straight into his nose, choking him so much that he couldn't help coughing twice.
"Ahem... Is this a maintenance workshop? Why does it feel like I've entered an alchemy furnace?"
The scene before him was a world away from the glitz and glamour of the building's upper floors. There were no floating projections or polished metal walls. Instead, the floor was covered in oil stains, scattered parts, and a few disheveled, exhausted monks rummaging through the wreckage of mechas.
The most exaggerated thing is the "intelligent lighting system" above the head - the psychic lights that should have automatically adjusted their brightness, half of them have been completely extinguished, and the remaining half are still flickering unsteadily, as if they will completely stop working in the next second.
"Newcomer?"
A stocky, gray-haired old monk came over and looked at Xiang Fan.
Xiang Fan nodded hurriedly: "Yes! Yes, senior!"
"Senior?" The old cultivator was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Boy, don't give me those empty words, just call me Hong Xiu. There are no seniors or juniors here. It all depends on strength and skills."
He casually patted the remains of a dilapidated mecha next to him and said calmly, "Don't be fooled by the shabby appearance of this workshop, but it supports quite a few people. Although the work is a bit dirty and tiring, as long as you are willing to do it, at least you won't starve to death."
Xiang Fan nodded repeatedly, feeling a lot more cordial in his heart.
"Come with me and I'll introduce your job to you." Hong Xiu turned and left, and Xiang Fan hurriedly followed.
The maintenance workshop was extremely large. After passing through a narrow passage, Xiang Fan saw two completely different areas.
On the left—bright light, spotless floor, neatly arranged rows of advanced psychic maintenance stations. Foundation-building monks in clean work clothes manipulated rune tools, maintaining a brand-new mech. Their demeanor was calm, their movements precise, even accompanied by automated psychic manipulators delivering tools to them. The entire process was orderly and streamlined.
The right side was pitch black, littered with greasy dirt, worn-out parts, and busy Qi-training monks. They were either banging away under the chassis of a mecha, or dragging parts around. Occasionally, one could hear the screams of a monk who had accidentally been blown away: "Ah! Damn, why is this mecha short-circuiting again!"
Xiang Fan was stunned and asked Hong Xiu in a low voice: "Uh... why is there such a big difference?"
Hong Xiu curled his lips and looked disdainfully at the group of foundation-building cultivators on his left. "Those guys are responsible for the maintenance of advanced mechas and psychic equipment. They're paid incredibly well. Just by moving their fingers, they can get ten times our salary."
"What about us?" Xiang Fan had a bad feeling.
Hong Xiu shrugged: "Look to the right."
At this moment, a cultivator in the Qi training stage was struggling to tighten a spiritual energy pipe. Suddenly, a ball of sparks burst out from the core module of the mecha, which directly bounced him out. He hit the wall and slid down, and his hair was burnt to a crisp.
"Ahem! Who the hell connected this mech's rune circuit wrong?!" The unlucky fellow coughed and roared, but no one paid him any attention. Instead, someone laughed and joked, "Brother, your salary is gone again, right?"
Xiang Fan's mouth twitched: "...salary gone?"
Hong Xiu patted him on the shoulder and said earnestly, "Remember, we pay you based on the number of repairs you complete, not the time you spend repairing. So if your repaired part still explodes after repair, then your work is in vain."
Xiang Fan suddenly felt his scalp tingling: "...Can I go to the left?"
"Sure." Hong Xiu narrowed his eyes and looked at him with a half-smile. "Let's talk about it after you've established your foundation."
"..."Xiang Fan was silent on the spot.
Xiang Fan was taken to the maintenance area on the ground floor, where he was greeted by a group of workers in stained work clothes. They sat or stood around several battered mechas, some busy repairing damaged parts, while others leisurely wiped away grease stains with tools. Despite the mess, the entire workshop exuded a strong sense of life.
"Hey, Team Leader Hong, is this the new guy?" A bearded man emerged from under the mecha's chassis, shook his greasy hands, and looked Xiang Fan up and down, his eyes filled with uncertainty. His name was Zhao Shi, a veteran in the repair shop. He was incredibly strong, and it was said that he could bend a psychic board into a twist with his bare hands.
"Him?" A young cultivator poked his head out from the other side, a burning psychic welding rod in hand, his expression etched with suspicion. His name was Li Fan. He had a quirky personality, but his repair skills were widely recognized. He often boldly transformed mechas—sometimes for good, sometimes for disaster.
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