Combined with the change left over from testing the weapons, Han Feng's total assets had steadily broken the forty-thousand mark.
He swiped a finger across the screen, savoring the sense of security that came with such a hefty number.
"Thank you, Captain."
"You've earned it."
Zhang Hao clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated admiration.
In the distance, the farm's director, Lei Zhen, stood atop a massive wooden crate, his burly figure raising a mechanical prosthetic limb high in the air, its surface glinting with a metallic sheen.
"To Golden Ears Farm! And to all the brothers who've bled and sweated for this land!"
"RAAAH!!"
The workers' cheers mingled with the pilots' boisterous banter, rising up into the sky.
The bonfire swayed violently in the night wind, and the crackle of burning wood was incessant.
It was a joyous symphony, a sound incredibly precious in this post-apocalyptic world.
At the very peak of the fervent celebration...
