Lin Qingzhou changed into his faded coarse-cloth jacket. He didn't wear his usual neat clothes; it was a habit of his.
He picked up his battered but gleaming toolbox and glanced back at Na'er, who was dutifully clearing away the dishes, before heading out.
At dawn, Aolai City lay beneath a thin veil of mist. The air carried the salty tang of the sea breeze and the steam rising from breakfast shops.
The streetlights had just gone out. Every now and then, a few hovering cars silently swept across the sky, casting fleeting shadows.
Though it was only a small coastal city in the eastern part of the Sun Moon Federation, it was still a modern city in its own right, even if it couldn't compare to bustling Mingdu. Vending machines stood on street corners.
The shops lining the streets had automatic doors, while in the distance, the metal exterior of the Spirit Pagoda branch building reflected the cool hues of the morning light.
He hurried along the familiar streets. A few crumpled Federation bills rustled softly in his pocket. They were what remained from last month, when he had helped Master Mang Tian rush through a batch of orders.
His master had shoved the money at him without changing expression, saying,
"This is the pay you earned. Don't expect me to praise you."
Thinking of his master's face, clearly satisfied yet stubbornly stern, Lin Qingzhou's lips curled slightly. His steps grew a little lighter.
He pushed open the glass door beneath the sign that read "Mang Tian Forging Studio." The distinctive smell of machine oil, coolant, and metal dust washed over him.
The studio wasn't small, measuring around two hundred square meters.
On the left just inside the entrance stood a whole row of metal shelves against the wall, neatly stacked with steel and semi-finished parts of various sizes.
On the right was the work area Mang Tian was proudest of. A high-precision CNC forging machine stood idle there, with a hydraulic forming system beside it. Farther inside were a laser cutting table and a heat-treatment furnace.
The ventilation system in the ceiling hummed steadily and low, constantly drawing dust and hot air out of the room.
Yet in this thoroughly modern studio, the most prominent spot was occupied by a set of ancient equipment.
Beside the workbench at the very center stood an old-fashioned anvil. Years of hammering had polished its surface until it shone like a mirror.
More than a dozen hand-forging hammers of various sizes hung in neat rows beside it. Each handle had been worn smooth by the imprint of a hand.
The quenching trough nearby steamed faintly, with several freshly formed rough pieces still soaking in the water.
This was Mang Tian's rule: machines could handle the rough work, but anything that truly tested one's skill had to be hammered out, one strike at a time.
He often grumbled that things made by machines had no soul.
For saying that, he'd been mocked by his peers more than once as an old-fashioned fossil. But the strange thing was, business was best for this very fossil. Even Soul Masters from neighboring cities made special trips to order from him.
Other people might not know, but Lin Qingzhou did.
Mang Tian was a true blacksmith, while his other peers were little more than ordinary smiths. That was why Mang Tian's business so often attracted Soul Masters.
Lin Qingzhou had just set down his toolbox and hadn't even had time to light the forge when a booming shout came from inside.
"You're three minutes late!"
Mang Tian strode out of the office in the back.
He looked to be in his early fifties, with gray at his temples. He wore a dark blue work jacket riddled with little holes burned by sparks and steel-toed work boots.
His fingers, long accustomed to working with metal, were as thick as old tree roots. The grease beneath his fingernails never washed out.
Every wrinkle on his face looked as if it had been carved by a lathe—deep and hard. Yet his eyes were as sharp as a blade fresh from the forge, and when he looked at someone, he always carried an imposing air.
Lin Qingzhou reflexively glanced at the electronic clock on the wall and couldn't help protesting.
"Master, it's not even time yet..."
"If I say you're late, you're late."
Mang Tian interrupted him without changing expression. He strode to the workbench and hefted a wrench in his hand.
"That batch of orders from the agricultural machinery station in the south of the city came in yesterday. They need a whole set of drive shafts for grain dryers. High precision, large quantity, urgent job. You're working on it with me today."
Without looking back, he flung an iron hammer toward Lin Qingzhou. It weighed at least twenty pounds, but Lin Qingzhou caught it smoothly with one hand, without even the slightest hint of strain on his face.
Mang Tian saw it from the corner of his eye. The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, but he quickly resumed his usual cold expression and snorted.
"What good is brute strength? If you're so strong, go haul cargo at the docks. What are you doing here?"
Lin Qingzhou had long since gotten used to his master's sharp tongue. He just smiled without answering.
As it happened, his Innate Divine Strength was a little window left open for him in the depths of despair.
Back then, he had just failed to awaken a Martial Soul and discovered that Tang Wulin was in this city. He had taken the opportunity to keep an eye on the protagonist's movements, scouting the area as he went and figuring out how he might survive in the future.
Later, he happened to pass Mang Tian's studio and saw the middle-aged man swinging a hammer at the forge. With each blow, the patterns on the iron seemed to come alive.
He watched for the entire afternoon, and a thought suddenly occurred to him.
He had no Soul Power, but he possessed strength far beyond that of his peers. Didn't blacksmithing boil down to strength and a good eye?
So he gritted his teeth and worked up the courage to ask Mang Tian to take him on as an apprentice.
Only later did he learn that the middle-aged man hammering iron before him was Mang Tian, Tang Wulin's first blacksmithing master in the original story.
He still remembered exactly what had happened that day.
"I don't take apprentices." Mang Tian didn't even lift an eyelid. He sat on a folding chair by the door, holding a cup of tea, his voice colder than a winter anvil. "This place is small. I can't afford to keep freeloaders."
"I can be an apprentice. I only need meals..."
"I said no."
Mang Tian cut him off. "I've seen plenty of brats like you. Everything looks new and exciting, then you're gone in three days. An apprentice without patience is just a waste of my tea leaves."
But Lin Qingzhou didn't leave. He stood outside the studio from morning until dark.
He came again the next day.
And the day after that.
By the fourth day, Mang Tian finally lost his temper. He smashed his teacup on the ground and cursed.
"Are you a mule or something? Why are you so stubborn?" Then he angrily tossed Lin Qingzhou a grease-stained apron and pointed at the steel billets piled in the corner like a small mountain. "Move all of these into the storeroom and stack them properly. No dinner until you're done."
And that was how Lin Qingzhou became the only apprentice at Mang Tian Forging Studio.
Mang Tian never called him by name. Sometimes he'd point at a piece of material and say, "This scrap is only good enough for you to practice on." When Lin Qingzhou managed to make something decent, he'd merely grunt, "At least you haven't been eating my food for nothing."
Yet this was the same man who, when he discovered the blood blisters covering Lin Qingzhou's hands, silently tossed him a bottle of imported hand cream.
When he paid him at the end of the month, he'd slip him a few extra Federation bills, then insist he'd "counted wrong because his eyesight was failing."
Mang Tian had graduated from Eastsea Academy with a proper degree in blacksmithing, and in his day, he'd been one of the best blacksmiths in Aolai City.
He had been a genuine master craftsman.
But luck had never been on his side. His Soul Power had been stuck at rank forty, unable to rise no matter what he did. Then the Blacksmith Association underwent a reform, and someone without connections like him was pushed to the margins. In the end, he simply quit and opened this studio.
He claimed not to care, but every now and then, after drinking too much, he'd get red-eyed and reminisce to Lin Qingzhou about how he'd once nearly made it to the Blacksmith Convention.
Of course, that was Mang Tian's version of events. Lin Qingzhou had a different take.
After all, in the original story, Mang Tian could speak with the president of the Blacksmith Association in Eastsea City. That hardly meant he had no connections. His master was simply too proud to accept the truth.
"Clang!"
Lin Qingzhou brought the hammer down, sending sparks flying in a fierce burst.
He firmly gripped the red-hot steel billet with the tongs and set it on the anvil, then raised the hammer high.
His movements were nimble and focused. Every blow drew on his inborn strength, hammering the billet with a deep, resonant clang.
Today, his unease kept growing, like the darkening gloom outside the window. He didn't know what had happened, but he sensed that something bad was about to happen.
This blow was to beat down the fear in his heart.
"Clang!"
With the next blow, he thought of Na'er wolfing down her bowl of egg fried rice. He thought of the trembling yet utterly resolute "Brother" she had whispered while hugging him.
He thought of how he had approached her with an ulterior motive, only for her clumsy dependence to slowly melt the ice in his heart.
This blow was to protect the hard-won warmth he had found.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Mang Tian stood to the side, watching Lin Qingzhou hammer away with a focus bordering on desperation. He paused for a moment.
The boy was a little stupid, but his refusal to give in reminded Mang Tian of his own student days at Eastsea Academy.
Every so often, he found himself thinking that if this boy could awaken a blacksmith-type Martial Soul, even an auxiliary one, his future would be limitless.
But he had never said it aloud. Only now and then, late at night, did he drink a couple more cups of wine in silence.
After a moment, he turned and went back into the office. He took a small metal Bracer from his desk drawer.
The Bracer was a dark silver color, its surface engraved with fine patterns. Tiny shock-absorbing pads were embedded in the joints. It was a piece of protective equipment designed specifically for blacksmiths, capable of absorbing some of the recoil from hammer blows.
It wasn't cheap. He'd saved up three whole months' worth of private money to buy it.
Mang Tian held the Bracer and walked over to Lin Qingzhou. He opened his mouth, then suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
After a moment's hesitation, he simply set the Bracer on Lin Qingzhou's toolbox and gruffly said, "Found it in the scrap pile. I can't use it anyway. Wear it or don't."
Lin Qingzhou stopped working and looked at the Bracer.
He recognized the brand. Last month, when he'd accompanied Mang Tian to the equipment shop to pick up supplies, his master had stood there for a long time, only to leave without buying anything.
He picked up the Bracer and turned it over. Sure enough, he saw the brand-new manufacturing date on the inside. It had been made just three days ago.
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