In the end, Mr. Iron Tower Liu did not get his wish and was ruthlessly rejected.
Was He Zhao the sort of person whose eyes would sparkle and who would immediately agree the moment he saw some so-called secret technique?
Yes.
Unfortunately, the price the other party offered was not high enough.
Clinging to Shen Xiangjun's slender, delicate legs was far better than clinging to some rough old man's hairy, sweat-covered ones.
By the time the class ended, most of the students' eyes were glazed over.
On one hand, they had hammered with all their might over and over, yet the Moor Metal had never deformed. On another, the number one of their specialty had struck them with a dimensionality-reducing blow. And on another still, they were questioning life itself, filled with enormous doubt toward their own talent.
How the hell did I even get into the Crafting Department?
I'm numb. My hands are numb, my heart is numb, my whole body's numb!
Maybe I should change majors. I'm tired.
Basically, the three moods above were enough to encompass everyone in Year One Class One.
Iron Tower, the Forging Master of the Crafting Department, was likewise in low spirits as he followed the students out of the Forging Room, sighing the whole way. When familiar colleagues ran into him, anyone who did not know better would have thought something had happened at home.
No matter how they asked or showed concern, he acted as if he had not heard them, returning to his office like the walking dead and sitting in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
In less than ten minutes, news began spreading through the department that someone in Old Liu's family had passed away.
It was not that everyone was gossiping. Based on his various behaviors,