The last rays of the setting sun finally withdrew from the stone-paved streets of the West District.
The bustling market, after a full day of noise, was like a beach after the tide had receded, leaving only disorder and desolation strewn across the ground.
The crowds had dispersed.
The vendors had already packed up their belongings and left in twos and threes. All that lingered in the air was the faint, sour stench of blood mixed with ale.
Su Chen remained seated where he was.
On the gray cloth in front of him, nine small jade bottles stood in a neat row, like silent sentries.
At the mouth of the last open bottle, the orange-red flame still burned tirelessly, the only source of light in this dim corner.
And the only warmth.
Time passed, second by second.
From noon until dusk, a full three hours.
No one paid him any mind.
Those who occasionally cast curious glances his way all wore the same expression they might give a madman when they heard his asking price of twenty gold coins. Then they shook their heads and hurried away.
His initial confidence and anticipation had long since been worn away by this cold reality.
A chill called self-doubt was spreading, bit by bit, from the depths of his heart.
Perhaps he really had been mistaken.
Perhaps this so-called "Rock Fire Seed" was nothing more than wishful thinking on his part.
In this world where might made right, without strength, even the most ingenious "product" was nothing but a joke.
Su Chen lowered his head and looked at his thin, lonely shadow reflected on the stone pavement.
He was getting ready to pack up.
Just as he reached out to put away the bottle of flame he had set out as a sample,
a hoarse voice sounded before him.
"Young man, how much for this flame?"
Su Chen's hand froze abruptly.
He raised his head.
At some point, a figure had appeared in front of his stall.
It was an old man, not very tall, and even a little stooped.
He wore coarse linen clothes riddled with grease stains and holes. His gray hair was tangled and unkempt, and his face was covered in deep wrinkles, like the bark of an old tree carved with a chisel.
Only his eyes stood out. Though cloudy, they held the keen sharpness of a hawk.
His hands were large and dark. Every inch of skin was covered in calluses and burn scars, and the spaces beneath his fingernails were packed with black iron filings and grease.
This was a blacksmith.
And a blacksmith who had spent his entire life at the forge.
The old man did not wait for Su Chen to answer.
His gaze remained fixed on the quietly burning orange-red flame from beginning to end, unable to tear itself away.
First came astonishment in those sharp eyes, then scrutiny, and finally a near-obsessive focus.
He slowly crouched down. As he moved, his joints made a faint series of cracking sounds.
He did not touch the jade bottle. He merely leaned his weather-beaten face toward the flame.
He observed it carefully.
He studied the color of the flame, the steady, almost motionless shape it held as it burned, and even flared his nostrils slightly, as though using his sense of smell to discern the purest heat it gave off.
Su Chen's heart began pounding wildly again, beyond his control.
He did not speak. He even held his breath, afraid of disturbing this unusual old man before him.
After a long while,
the old man finally straightened up and let out a long breath.
It carried a scorching scent, as if it had come from the depths of a furnace.
He looked at Su Chen, an indescribable light shining in his cloudy eyes.
"Fine flame."
The old man spoke hoarsely. His voice was not loud, but his certainty was as sharp as a cleaver.
"I've worked iron my whole life, and I've never seen a flame this clean."
He raised his callused hand and pointed at the flame.
"The color is pure. Its heat is gentle, not fierce. Most remarkable of all, it's so steady. Steady as a blacksmith's hammer in his hand, striking exactly where he aims, without wasting a spark of heat."
The old man described the greatest virtues of this "Rock Fire Seed" with precise, measured words.
His words struck Su Chen's heart like a heavy hammer.
Every doubt and every misgiving he had harbored before was smashed to pieces in that instant.
It wasn't that his product was bad.
It was that those people hadn't understood it at all.
A surge of excitement welled up in him. Even Su Chen's fingertips trembled slightly.
He forced himself to calm down and repeated the price in as steady a voice as he could manage.
"Twenty gold coins per bottle."
At the price, the old man's brow furrowed sharply.
"Twenty gold coins?"
His old-tree-bark face showed clear pain.
"Too expensive... far too expensive..."
He muttered to himself, yet his gaze never left the flame, filled with struggle and reluctance.
"Young man, could you... lower the price a little? How about ten gold coins?"
Su Chen fell silent.
Looking at the yearning in the old man's eyes, he couldn't say he wasn't tempted to give in.
But he knew he couldn't back down.
This wasn't just a matter of price. It was about establishing the value of his product.
If he gave in now, he would never be able to establish that value again.
He slowly, yet with absolute resolve, shook his head.
"Sir, this is already the lowest price."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an unshakable firmness.
"I can't take a single coin less."
The muscles in the old man's face twitched. A trace of disappointment flashed in his cloudy eyes.
He stood up, his stooped figure looking even more forlorn.
He seemed ready to give up.
Su Chen's heart sank at once.
Was the only hope he had about to vanish just like that?
The old man turned and took a step, but then suddenly stopped.
He looked back, staring fixedly at the flame, his expression torn with inner conflict.
He thought of the Black Iron Heavy Sword he had spent three months forging, yet had still been unable to temper into a perfect edge because the heat was uneven.
Then he thought of those inferior Beast Flames, their violent heat always burning away every trace of spirit in the refined iron.
After a long while,
he seemed to make up his mind and stamped his foot hard.
"Fine!"
He turned back, rummaged in his clothes, and pulled out a heavy money pouch wrapped in coarse cloth.
He untied it and poured the contents into his dark, rough palm.
Gold coins stained with iron filings and grease gleamed in the dim light.
The old man counted them carefully, then pulled a few crumpled silver coins and a pile of copper coins from an inner pocket. Only then did he manage to scrape together twenty gold coins.
He carefully held the money out to Su Chen.
"Young man, I'll take this bottle of flame."
His voice carried the resolute finality of someone throwing caution to the wind.
Su Chen looked at the hand holding out the gold, at the coins stained with sweat and hard work, and suddenly felt an indescribable ache and warmth rise in his heart.
He reached out and accepted the money.
It was heavy.
This was the first "official" income he had earned through his own efforts in this world.
Those twenty gold coins weighed far more than he had imagined.
They were more than wealth.
They were recognition and dignity—the first foundation stone he had laid to stand firm in this cruel jungle.
Su Chen put away the money pouch, then picked up the bottle of "Rock Fire Seed" and solemnly handed it, stopper and all, to the old man.
"It's yours."
The old man received the jade bottle as if it were a priceless treasure. He carefully put the stopper back in, afraid of letting even the slightest bit of flame escape.
He clutched the jade bottle tightly in his hand. At last, a genuine, contented smile appeared on his wrinkled face.
The deal was done.
The great weight that had hung over Su Chen's heart all day finally crashed to the ground.
He even felt an urge to give all nine of his remaining bottles to this admirable old man.
But he knew he couldn't.
Business wasn't charity.
Just as Su Chen was preparing to pack up and leave, the old blacksmith, who had already turned to go, stopped once more.
He turned back to look at Su Chen. A complicated look had entered those sharp eyes.
"Young man."
The old man spoke in a low voice.
"Let me ask you something. How much more of this flame do you have?"
Su Chen's heart stirred. He pointed at the nine jade bottles remaining on the ground.
"There are nine bottles left."
The old man's pupils contracted sharply.
He hurried back, picked up one of the jade bottles, and pulled out the stopper.
An identical, flawless orange-red flame rose into the air.
He picked up a third bottle, then a fourth...
When all nine jade bottles had been opened and nine flames of the purest orange burned quietly in the small stall,
the old man was completely stunned.
He reached out as if to touch them, but seemed afraid to profane the perfect flames. His fingers trembled in midair.
"Th-they're all the same?"
His voice quavered with disbelief.
Meeting his astonished gaze, Su Chen slowly nodded.
The old man stared fixedly at the ten flames, then looked at Su Chen.
After a long while, he let out a long sigh.
The sigh held astonishment and envy, but also the gentle admonition of someone looking at a junior.
"Young man, you're a fool."
The old man shook his head, his face full of regret.
"How could you bring something this good to a place like this to sell?"
Su Chen froze.
"This place..." The old man gestured at the empty market around them, his voice tinged with disdain. "It's full of rough fellows who trade their lives for money, and a few third-rate alchemy apprentices. How could they understand the value of this flame? To them, your flame is no different from those smoky, shoddy goods, except for the price."
He raised the jade bottle in his hand as if it were a priceless treasure.
"This flame shouldn't be used to forge hoes and kitchen knives."
The old man paused. His eyes blazed with an unprecedented light.
"It belongs in an alchemist's furnace!"
"Alchemists?" Su Chen's heart gave a violent leap.
"Exactly!" The old man nodded emphatically. "Only those noble alchemists understand what a stable, pure flame means for the success rate of a pill! They're willing to pay any price for a good flame!"
The old man looked at Su Chen as though he were a rough gem waiting to be polished.
His voice dropped very low, yet it exploded in Su Chen's ear like thunder.
"Don't waste your time in a place like this."
"Go to the Alchemist Guild in the city center, or... to the Miteer Auction House."
"That's where this flame belongs."
"There, this bottle of yours would fetch more than twenty gold coins..."
The old man held up two callused fingers and gestured.
"Double that. No, several times over, and people would still be fighting to buy it!"
Miteer Auction House!
Those five words were like a bolt of lightning, instantly parting every wisp of fog in Su Chen's mind!
He suddenly understood.
He held the heavy pouch of gold coins in his hand, but an unprecedented surge stirred in his heart.
He knew the old man's advice was worth a hundred, even a thousand times more than these twenty gold coins!
It was a broad, open road leading to the true high-end market!
"Thank you for your guidance, sir."
Su Chen stood and bowed deeply to the old man.
The bow came from the bottom of his heart.
The old man waved a hand, a faint smile on his face, as though he had completed something deeply satisfying.
He said no more. He tucked the bottle of "Rock Fire Seed" into his robe as tenderly as a treasure, then turned and shuffled away, disappearing into the distant darkness.
Su Chen stood where he was, motionless for a long while.
He looked at the nine clusters of flames burning quietly on the ground, then at the heavy bag of gold coins in his hand.
At last, his gaze passed over layer upon layer of rooftops and settled on the grandest, brightest building in the center of Wutan City.
The Miteer Auction House.
The night wind swept by, stirring a few dry leaves on the ground.
All trace of confusion had vanished from Su Chen's face.
He carefully put away the nine bottles of flame one by one, picked up the wooden box, and turned to leave.
His steps no longer wavered in the slightest.
They were firm and strong.
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