Factory 17 was a giant steel box. Four sheets of metal with chunks ripped out for windows, plus a sheet to seal up the ceiling, welded together overnight, with a rash of chimneys dotting the top. Like its sixteen siblings it’d been thrown up in a flash—they’d burned down an abandoned building near the seaward edge of the Lower City, swept away the ashes, and up the Factory came.

When Ruyi swept through the gaping warehouse doors the guards posted there saluted her. They pretended not to look at her, playing at professionalism, but she could feel them watching her go out of the corners of their eyes. She could feel their nervousness; she grinned. She liked making people a little nervous.

Outside seemed a different world than inside, even though the doors were thrown open. Inside was smothering hot, so humid you couldn’t sweat, so humid you could feel the wetness of the air down your lungs. There was a constant low growling, the sounds of burning logs, nearly drowned out by the cavernous sloshings of elixirs on lodestone. Every little thing in here seemed to echo. She could hardly hear herself think, much less speak.

These sounds all came from the brewing stations, lined up in rows. Stone ladders perched over the lips of huge lodestone cauldrons—only lodestone could handle the heat and the pressure needed to brew batches of elixir this big. Even the stirring rods had to be scaled up. The Alchemists, in their clear masks and their drab splash-resistant aprons, seemed almost comical, like children trying to cook with adults’ tools.

Ruyi strolled through, nodding. She stopped at a station. “Alchemist!” she called, shouting to be heard over the din. The Alchemist turned to look at her, then nearly fell off her ladder when she saw who it was.

“Grandmaster Yang!” she cried. She tried to bow atop a ladder and nearly fell over again. Ruyi stifled a giggle.

“You’ve got good control,” she said. “But dampen the flames. We’ll want the intensity about half that of a normal brew—the higher you scale, the longer the ingredients need to soak, the slower you’ll have to boil them.”

“Yes, Grandmaster!” The Alchemist, who looked to be middle-aged, blushed at Ruyi’s words.

She scrambled down and started fiddling with the heating arrays at the cauldron’s base. Nodding, Ruyi moved on.

Most of the hard work was done. Ruyi had helped design the place, approve the scaled-up instruments, had yapped orders at the workers all weekend. Now the brewing went smoothly.

Good thing, too; they badly needed it. The Post had gone conspicuously silent about the war these last few weeks, but new army recruitment posters flew up every night. They were hanging banners over the main thoroughfares promising five bronzes for each new recruit. So many were joining the Alchemist’s Guild couldn’t keep up.

Even the gangs joined up—they were swallowed into the Guard as ‘divisions.’ The Red Scarf Knights, who’d gone around threatening revolution, were now the Emperor’s pet dogs, or so Ruyi heard whispered. The Demon threat had brought everyone together. And not in a way she was sure she liked.

***

“Forward march!” called Jin, and his squadron of spearmen stamped forth, bristling in triangle formation. They were drilling on a barren plain on the other side of the White River.

“Stop!” said Jin, and they firmed up as one.

“Fire!” he roared, and they thrust out their spears. Gouts of flame roared out, pouring into each other, condensing into one smooth flickering red-white wall.

“Cease,” said Jin, nodding. “Take a rest, everyone! Great work today.”

They dispersed when he said; it was like he had them on strings. He was, to Ruyi’s irritation, a natural leader. He always spoke like he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was empathetic yet firm, knowledgeable and prescient. He was, in short, pretty much exactly who he was with her.

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Why could he get away with being the same person in public and private? It wasn’t fair. But she could hardly voice that now; she smiled and clapped for him, as a good sister should. She’d complain on the carriage ride home.

***

Tingting dropped by that evening. She wore a short sapphire blouse embroidered with silver and a silvery skirt that went well with it; she looked lovely. But then again Ruyi figured she looked lovely in anything.

Ruyi let her hand go before she came into the tearoom, but Jin still did a double-take.

“You’re the liaison,” said Jin.

“That’s right,” said Tingting.

Ruyi was conscious of his deadpan stare, but she took a sip of piping hot tea and tried to ignore him.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” said Tingting innocently. Jin turned back to her.

“No, not at all. I’m merely surprised—I would’ve thought my dear sister would’ve told me.”

“Slipped my mind,” said Ruyi. She was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hide behind her teacup.

“Right.”

“How was your first week as Captain?”

“Good. I’ve started three regiments on the Rising Sun Art, and I expect to have them trained on the basics, and ready for deployment, in under two months’ time. Recruitment has gone almost too well. Some of our men are leaving stable established careers to join up. I’ve compiled a report.” He pulled out a ledger bursting with papers.

“Where would you like me to begin?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Tingting brightly. “I’ll leave the details to you, Captain—I get the idea. My Father will be most pleased. Thank you kindly.”

“Uh… right—”

Tingting turned to Ruyi. “How was the factory tour? I heard a cauldron nearly blew up. Are you alright?”

“None of it got on me,” said Ruyi. “We got it under control pretty quickly.”

“You’re working yourself too hard,” said Tingting. “You brew so much, you put out so much research, and you still go out inspecting.” She put a hand on Ruyi’s knee. “You should rest more.”

“Pssh.”

“I mean it,” said Tingting, leaning in. She had such big expressive eyes, and when Ruyi stared into them sometimes she felt everything else fade away. “I worry about you…”

“Aww… you shouldn’t…”

“Here. I made you this—”

She brought out a silver-thread bracelet with a clear gemstone, glowing with a mesmerizing inner light—like there was a tiny sun trapped deep in the crystal. “It’s for good luck.”

“It’s wonderful,” breathed Ruyi. “Thank you.”

“If you need anything, um, please just tell me… anything at all…”

“Excuse me,” said Jin, voice cracking. “What is happening?!”

“What?” they said at the same time.

“I—” He looked between them. “Nevermind,” he sighed. “Our briefing is over. Thank you for coming, liaison Song.”

“Mhm,” said Tingting. “I have some time, I can stay a little longer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Jin blandly.

“I’ll walk you out,” said Ruyi, rising.

“No,” said Jin. “No, you won’t. Princess, this way, if you please?”

But the Princess wouldn’t take his arm. She smiled innocently. “But… I want Ruyi.”

Jin was speechless as Ruyi shoved him out of the way and took Tingting’s hand. They made for the door together. Tingting leaning against her chest as they walked, sighing happily.

“Rue, remember what we talked about?” Jin’s voice was like a mosquito’s buzzing, smaller and smaller. “Friends?”

She ignored him.

***

Next morning, halfway through her stack of morning letters—mostly from admirers—she found one from Mother. Mother had gotten special permission to invite Ruyi to take a trip to Li Clan Headquarters in the Dragonspire Province. Apparently the Li Clan was straining under all its new members; it was hit especially hard by the Showers but it couldn’t support them all. They wanted factories too.

Dragonspire was close to the fighting; the demon invasion had carved out pockets along its edges, and half the army was massed along the border, trying to hold. So Ruyi’s factories were also to serve as a fueling post for the army. The army was sending its own set of special advisors, Imperial Alchemists, to learn from her methods.

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to accept or not; she was busy enough with her work here. She wasn’t sure whether she could spare the time. Then it said Father would be there.

Her escort this time wasn’t Sen—it was a rotund, white-whiskered Nascent Soul Master named Po Li. Ruyi was both disappointed and relieved.

“Mistress,” said Master Po, bowing before a carriage. But the creatures pulling it weren’t horses; they had antlers like silvered thunderbolts, and scales lathered their bodies neck-to-hooves. Serpent’s tails teased the air behind them, and their whinnies sounded like the soft tinkling of far-off bells.

“The Main Clan has dispatched qilin for you,” said the Master. “Magnificent, aren’t they? Come, come! Today’s journey goes by air.” He seemed giddy as he stepped up to the reins.

Only then did she realize the carriage was floating. The whispering she heard wasn’t the wind—it was arrays at the carriage’s bottom.