The inn stood at the corner of a busy street—

  a four?story brick building with a painted bed sign above the door

  and a smaller line of text beneath:

  Steam Inn — Comfortable Lodging, Hot Water Available.

  Sunri pushed the door open.

  Warmth washed over them.

  The lobby was unexpectedly spacious,

  lit by a grand gas chandelier whose blue flames flickered like quiet stars.

  Dark carpet muffled their steps.

  Brass pipes ran along the ceiling, humming softly.

  Behind the counter stood an elderly man in a perfectly pressed suit,

  polishing the brass surface with a white cloth.

  “Welcome to the Steam Inn,” he said.

  “Lodging?”

  “Three rooms,” Sunri replied.

  The old man pulled out a thick ledger.

  “Names? How many nights?

  Standard rooms are two silver per night,

  deluxe rooms three.”

  Sunri hesitated—

  they had no idea how long they would remain in this world.

  Before he could answer,

  Ye Lingyun placed a Qingfeng Sect gold coin on the counter.

  The old man froze.

  He lifted the coin to the light,

  bit it lightly,

  and nearly dropped it.

  “This… this is pure gold?

  Sir, you’re paying with a gold coin?”

  “Is that not acceptable?” Ye Lingyun asked, frowning.

  “It’s acceptable,” the old man said quickly,

  “but one gold coin could pay for a month in a deluxe room.

  Are you certain you want to use this for three nights?”

  Sunri stepped in,

  explaining that they were new to the city

  and unfamiliar with local prices.

  The old man eventually accepted the coin

  and returned a heavy pile of silver and copper coins,

  along with three brass keys.

  “Third floor—304, 305, 306.

  Dinner is served in the lobby from six to eight.

  If you need hot water, inform the counter half an hour in advance.”

  He hesitated, then lowered his voice.

  “A word of advice.

  Avoid going out after dark—

  especially not to the Lower District.

  Things… haven’t been peaceful.”

  “Because of the Steel Vein rebellion?” Sunri asked,

  using the name from the newspaper.

  The old man’s expression tightened.

  “What the papers say… take it lightly.

  Kyle Roan—

  I’ve met him.

  He doesn’t seem the type to rebel.”

  He paused, eyes flicking toward the window.

  “But the waters of this city run deeper than the steam pipes.

  Be careful.”

  The implication was clear.

  Sunri nodded and led the group upstairs.

  The Rooms

  The rooms were simple but clean.

  A brass speaking tube protruded from the wall—

  a horn-shaped device connected to a pipe disappearing into the building.

  “What is this?” Ye Lingyun asked, leaning close.

  Lin Che spoke into it.

  “Hello.”

  A few seconds later, a muffled voice echoed back:

  “Do you require anything, sir?”

  Sunri jumped.

  “No, just testing,” Lin Che replied.

  “New guests always play with the speaking tube,”

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  the voice chuckled.

  “Call if you need service. Good night.”

  Ye Lingyun stared at the device, stunned.

  “A thousand?mile voice?transmission technique?”

  “Sound waves traveling through a sealed pipe,” Lin Che said.

  “Not magic.”

  Ye Lingyun ignored the explanation

  and turned to the gas lamp on the wall.

  He twisted the switch—

  a blue flame ignited instantly.

  “No fire striker?

  How does it light itself?”

  “Possibly a pilot flame or—”

  “Enough,” Ye Lingyun said.

  “It lights. That’s what matters.”

  Pardy sat on the bed,

  small shoulders slumped.

  The gray, plantless world seemed to drain him more than the others.

  Sunri knelt beside him.

  “Are you tired?”

  Pardy nodded,

  leaning into him.

  Mo-Dou hopped onto the bed,

  curling beside the child like a silent guardian.

  Dinner

  At six, they went downstairs.

  A few tables had been set up in the lobby.

  The food was simple—

  stewed vegetables, bread, roasted potatoes,

  and a thick soup.

  Sunri chose a corner table.

  Lin Che examined each item before eating,

  muttering about sanitation.

  Ye Lingyun poked a roasted potato repeatedly,

  curious about its texture.

  Pardy barely ate,

  sipping only a little soup.

  At the next table, two workers whispered:

  “…The Steel Vein Brotherhood has gone mad.

  Trying to seize the power core—

  that’s suicide.”

  “But my cousin works in the Lower District.

  He said he didn’t see Steel Vein people attacking anyone.

  It was the guards who rushed in first.”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down!

  The papers already said it—

  Steel Vein rebelled, the Guardians suppressed them.

  Do you want to lose your job?”

  “I just think… Kyle Roan isn’t that kind of man.

  He’s kept the pipes running for years.

  Why would he suddenly rebel?”

  “Who knows.

  Just stay out of it.”

  Sunri listened quietly.

  Lin Che adjusted his glasses.

  “When official narratives contradict the accounts of the lower class,

  it usually indicates systemic concealment.”

  Ye Lingyun frowned.

  “Doctor, what do you mean?”

  “He means the newspaper might be lying,” Sunri said softly.

  “And the truth may be far more complicated.”

  Mo-Dou’s ears twitched.

  The cat stared toward the window,

  as if sensing something beyond the fog.

  The Next Morning

  Sunri decided to head to the Lower District.

  Lin Che insisted on going.

  “If we encounter injured people, I can help.

  And the sanitary conditions in this industrial environment

  need assessment.”

  They changed into second?hand clothes

  bought from a thrift shop

  and set off.

  The air grew harsher as they descended the sloping streets—

  cheap coal, industrial wastewater,

  crowded bodies,

  and old grease.

  Every breath carried grit.

  Buildings leaned close together,

  their walls wrapped in thick steam pipes.

  Some joints hissed constantly,

  releasing white vapor.

  Pardy buried his face in Sunri’s shoulder,

  clearly distressed.

  Lin Che frowned.

  “The particulate concentration here

  is at least three times that of the Upper District.”

  They reached a small square.

  A crowd had gathered.

  Everyone stared upward—

  toward the space between two buildings.

  A siege was underway.

  Seven guards in dark blue uniforms

  surrounded a single armored man.

  Steam hissed from ruptured tubes on his suit.

  His mechanical gauntlet glowed faintly red,

  overheated.

  His voice carried across the square—

  hoarse, furious, desperate.

  “I’ve maintained this city’s pipes for fifteen years!

  Who among you ever cared about the Lower District?

  Who cared about the workers killed by pipe explosions?”

  “Kyle Roan!” the lead guard shouted.

  “Surrender!”

  Sunri’s breath caught.

  The name.

  The photograph.

  The newspaper.

  And now—

  the man himself.

  The world had finally pulled them into its current.