As the longsword hung in midair, the drop of blood quickly slid downward.
Without deviating even slightly, it slid straight down the middle of the blade to the tip.
At the sight of this, Old Wang and I both widened our eyes.
As long as that drop of blood fell into the brazier below,
Old Wang's sword-bestowal ceremony would be complete.
It would fulfill Old Wang's wish and allow me to take a good sword.
At that moment, I felt a faint sense of anticipation.
However, when the drop of blood gathered at the tip of the sword, I noticed something was wrong.
The blood had pooled at the tip, but it did not fall.
It simply clung there at the sword tip, suspended and motionless...
The blade was as smooth as a mirror, emanating a biting chill.
Yet that drop of blood hung from the tip, showing no sign of dripping, utterly still.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
A full five seconds passed, and the drop still did not fall.
Instinctively, I looked at Old Wang, who was holding the red string suspending the sword.
Old Wang clearly had not expected this either, and confusion appeared in his eyes.
Seeing that the drop of blood would not fall, he recited another incantation:
"Ou Yezi, patriarch of swordsmiths.
Today, your disciple has forged a sword; blade and hilt possess a sword heart.
Bestow it upon a hero, and it shall become a divine weapon; one day, its point shall stir the winds and clouds.
May its fame endure forever, carrying forth the sentiment of the forge!"
After he finished, the drop of blood still did not move.
It was as though it had frozen onto the sword tip and simply could not fall.
Like a dew drop at the