It swallows the roughness and spits out the sharpness. The flames of 1600 are not destruction, but a ritual of rebirth—impurities turn to ash, and molten steel becomes as smooth as a mirror. Every electric arc is a translation of the earth's heartbeat; every boil is a rewriting of the elemental order. The refining furnace forges "almost perfect" into "precisely perfect," teaching metals restraint and sharpness, and empowering humans to imagine a sky that is higher, lighter, and cleaner. At this moment, the flames are still dancing on the furnace walls. They don't say they're tired; they simply ask, "For the next batch, how do you want the world to be renewed?"