Is It a Lamp? Is It Pastry? No, It Was Neither

Following Jiang Zhuo, we passed through the front yard, around the Martial Arts Arena, and headed towards the back yard.

"What brings you here today?" Jiang Zhuo asked as they walked.

Qin Wangchuan waved the characters in his hand. "I came to see Uncle Song, I want to ask him to forge an iron character for me."

"Then you've come to the right person."

Jiang Zhuo glanced at the words and nodded, "Your Uncle Song's skills are unparalleled; you won't find another like him for miles around."

"But you know his temper."

"I'll speak later, so don't say anything, or you'll get scolded."

Qin Wangchuan nodded and said nothing more.

After walking a few steps, Jiang Zhuo became increasingly eager to become a martial artist. Suddenly, she stopped, turned to look at him, and asked, "Do you want to be Martial Practitioner in the future?"

He didn't ask how he learned that move, he only asked this.

Qin Wangchuan shook his head. "I don't want to."

"I want to be a blacksmith."

"Blacksmith?"

Jiang Zhuo was taken aback for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in his brows easing. "Greetings, blacksmith."

He patted Qin Wangchuan on the shoulder and encouraged him, "Think about it, once you learn this skill, you'll never starve, no matter where you go."

"Who in town doesn't need a kitchen knife or farm tool repaired?"

"The martial arts school is always in need of weapons, and your Uncle Song is too busy to handle everything. If we give you some work to do, the money will come in."

"Save up some money for a few years, buy a decent house, get married, and have a few kids."

"Life is peaceful and stable."

"Don't be like me, with ambitions that were too high, struggling my whole life, only to end up with nothing. It's too late to appreciate what you've lost."

Qin Wangchuan listened without saying a word.

He knew that Eldest Brother Jiang had a child who had been carefully taught since childhood and was a very promising talent.

In his early years, Jiang Zhuo pursued excellence in everything, led by example, and placed his children at the forefront.

During a martial arts school's outdoor training trip, they encountered a fierce tiger in the mountains.

Everyone else was fine, except for Jiang Zhuo's child who didn't come back.

Since then, he has believed that stability is of paramount importance.

It was from that time that Jiang Zhuo began to rescue people with unfortunate lives, which could be considered a form of atonement.

Qin Rang was the first one he picked up.

Unfortunately, it's gone too.

As they spoke, the two arrived at the backyard.

It's called a courtyard, but it's more like a garbage dump.

Completed and unfinished weapons of all kinds were piled up haphazardly into several small hills.

It has everything, including swords, spears, and halberds, but swords are the most numerous.

The pile on the left was clearly more complete; each piece was polished to a shine, with neatly cut blades. Some of the swords even had thin ropes wrapped around their hilts, with notes attached to the ends for easy identification.

The pile on the right mostly consists of semi-finished products, some of which have some flaws.

They were piled up there, like a mess that hadn't been cleaned up yet.

Hearing footsteps, Song the Blacksmith Song, who was forging iron, didn't even look up.

"No jobs this month. If you're in a hurry, just grab one from there."

"Those who have already made reservations, go to the other mountain and find it yourselves."

"Eldest Brother Song." Jiang Zhuo went straight over the two small hills to greet him and briefly explained his purpose—to ask him to help type something.

"Character?"

Finally, Blacksmith Song looked up and slammed his hammer down with a loud thud.

"With my skills, you think I can type?"

He let out a soft, dissatisfied snort from the tip of his nose.

This was only possible because it was Jiang Zhuo; anyone else would have been kicked out long ago.

Jiang Zhuo stepped forward with a smile, "I know that typing with Eldest Brother Song's skills is like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, but there's no blacksmith in our village."

Blacksmith Song snorted again, but didn't press the matter. "Alright, I owe you."

"What word is it? Give it to me."

Jiang Zhuo's smile deepened, and he turned back to wave at Qin Wangchuan: "Come, come, let your Uncle Song take a look at the words."

Qin Wangchuan stepped forward and handed over the "Record" in his hand.

The Blacksmith Song took it and muttered, "The Qin Clan's brat."

He unfolded the paper, glanced at it, and was instinctively amazed.

"This handwriting is quite good, who wrote it?"

"I."

"You?" His scrutinizing gaze swept over me, looking me up and down, but he didn't say anything, just nodded. "Alright."

Come back in three days to pick it up.

After saying that, he turned around and silently gave the order to leave.

But Jiang Zhuo didn't leave.

"Mr. Song, there's actually another matter I've come to discuss."

"This child wants to be a blacksmith. Your skills are the best for miles around. Do you think it would be alright for him to learn from you for a few days?"

"A blacksmith?" Old Song didn't intend to take on an apprentice, but he wasn't in a hurry to refuse either.

He owed Jiang Zhuo a favor, and besides, Qin Rang had also helped him a lot.

I need to find an excuse to refuse.

After pondering for a moment, he turned his gaze to Qin Wangchuan, scanning him up and down, and then came up with an explanation.

"Too thin."

"And kid, don't underestimate blacksmithing just because it seems simple; it's a skill in itself."

"I know you young people are ambitious and unrealistic. Seeing how much they praise me makes you want to try it too."

"But you only see what's happening in this courtyard. They're bowing and scraping to me, extremely obsequious, not because they're afraid of this old man, but because they're afraid their weapons will break down at a crucial moment."

"Once I get my hands on the goods and leave this door, who will recognize me?"

There are more than one skilled blacksmith, and Non-Self the only one who can do it.

"Unlike those unfathomable Cultivator, who are indispensable once they step forward."

"So kid, go become Martial Practitioner."

"Inside the courtyard are Martial Practitioner, and outside the courtyard, you are still Martial Practitioner."

Blacksmith Song had spent half his life forging iron; he had seen too much and understood it all too well.

However, Jiang Zhuo was reluctant to let Qin Wangchuan Martial Practitioner, as the risks were too great. He hurriedly advised, "Elder Song, you know the dangers of Martial Practitioner. He's the only one left."

"Besides, I believe this kid isn't the type to just learn for fun. You should take him on."

Upon hearing this, Blacksmith Song's beard almost bristled. "No, no, I'm too busy to take on any apprentices."

"Kid, you—"

He turned his head to look, the words stuck in his throat.

Qin Wangchuan was looking down, gently stroking the object in his hand.

It was a sword, which I picked up casually from the pile of weapons next to me.

It was clearly just an inanimate object, but in his hands it seemed to come alive. His fingertips slowly slid along the Sword Spine, the movement very light, as if he were caressing something precious.

"It's a fine sword," he said.

The first sentence wasn't a request to take on apprentices, but rather these four words.

Both Blacksmith Song and Jiang Zhuo fell silent for a moment.

Qin Wangchuan raised his head. "I want to be a blacksmith for no other reason than to forge a sword."

"The finest sword."

"The best sword?" Old Song repeated subconsciously.

"Right."

What do you need that sword for?

"Use."

Blacksmith Song was taken aback.

He had lived most of his life and heard many answers—revenge, protecting one's family, and bringing glory to one's ancestors.

This is the first time I've heard someone say: Use.

One word.

It was as clean as a freshly forged sword, without rust or hindrance.

But upon closer reflection, it seems that this word contains everything.

It is used to kill enemies, to protect people, and to achieve great things.

He didn't speak because there was no need to.

Blacksmith Song stared at Qin Wangchuan for a long while.

"You use it?"

"I will use it." Qin Wangchuan paused, "The best sword should naturally be used by me."

Old Song didn't speak, but turned to look at Jiang Zhuo.

Jiang Zhuo didn't reply, but tried again to persuade him, "Eldest Brother Song, this child is an only child, and his father just passed away. Please do me a favor."

Old Song remained silent for a moment, then sighed.

"Alright."

"Come back in three days, take the calligraphy first, and we'll talk about it then."

Jiang Zhuo quickly thanked him and pulled Qin Wangchuan outside.

As Qin Wangchuan stepped out of the courtyard, he caught a glimpse of a person standing in the distance.

Zhou Heng leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes fixed on this direction.

His lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to rush up and yell at him—"You clearly have this ability, why did you hide it before?"

Were they deliberately trying to embarrass or humiliate me?

But he didn't.

The boy's pride was stuck in his throat, and he swallowed those words back.

Final.

Zhou Heng simply stood there, watching Qin Wangchuan, watching until that figure disappeared into the distance.

Qin Wangchuan did not turn around.

--

It was already dark when I got home.

Lights came on in the houses lining the streets, one by one, their orange glow seeping through the paper windows, making the quiet little town feel a bit warmer.

Although it only appears to be.

Qin Wangchuan walked slowly, the evening breeze blowing in from the alley entrance, causing the hem of his clothes to flutter gently.

He suddenly remembered that the yard was too dark, but the lights were off inside the house.

To be precise, it exists, but it's not bright enough.

So I took a detour and went to the general store at the end of the street.

The shop hadn't closed yet, and the old shopkeeper was bending over tidying up the door panels. Hearing that he wanted to buy a lamp, he pulled out an oil lamp with a shade from under the counter.

The glass cover was polished to a shine, and the base was made of brass, giving it a substantial feel in the hand.

"This one's good, it's windproof," the old shopkeeper said. "Hang it in the courtyard, and no matter how strong the wind is, it won't go out."

One hundred and seventy coins.

That's way too expensive!

Qin Wangchuan tried to negotiate the price for the first time, but it didn't work out.

The shopkeeper glanced at him, then at the sky outside, and without wasting any more words, gave him a bottom price.

"One hundred and fifty coins, I won't sell it for less."

Qin Wangchuan paid the money and came out carrying the lantern.

The sky completely sank.

There was no moon, but a few stars shone brightly, scattered across the sky.

He held a lantern in one hand and clutched the oil paper package that Jiang Zhuo had given him in the other.

The cakes were still warm from the oven; they were brought back by a senior member of the martial arts school after completing a mission, and everyone shared some.

Jiang Zhuo gave him her share.

The warmth seeped through the oil paper, carrying the aroma of sesame and sugar.

Qin Wangchuan walked in the alley, the lamplight flickering in front of him, the light and shadow swaying back and forth.

It's the same night, no matter what.

I felt very cold last night, so cold that I couldn't sleep.

But at this moment, the lamp in my hand is warm, and so is the oil paper package.

Thinking it over, he brought the lamp to his eyes and examined it for a moment.

That's strange.

Is it because of the lamp?

After saying that, he shook his head and continued walking forward with the lantern.

Even though no one was urging me, my pace quickened unconsciously.

All I could think about was tasting the cakes.

Such days don't seem so bad.