When Qin Yao's group crossed the main street and turned into that narrow alley, the noise and bustle were immediately shut out behind them.
The alley was deep and shadowy, its ground paved with uneven broken stones, with mottled earthen or gray-brick walls on either side.
Just as the stall owner had said, at the end of the alley stood an old locust tree with luxuriant branches and leaves, spreading like a canopy and casting a broad patch of shade.
Beneath the locust tree stood a residence with a small courtyard. Its gate was ajar, and faint metallic clanging could be heard from within.
Qin Yao straightened his coarse cloth robes and stepped forward to lightly knock the door knocker.
A booming voice came from inside. "Who is it? The door isn't bolted. Come in!"
Qin Yao pushed the gate open and entered.
Coal and iron stock were piled in the courtyard, while the furnace against the wall had already gone cold.
A sturdy, dark-skinned old man sat on a low stool, holding a small hammer as he carefully tapped at an unfinished hoe blade.
He looked up, revealing a face reddened by furnace flames—lined with wrinkles, yet brimming with vigor.
Judging by his age, he was perhaps seven or eight years younger than Old Master Qin, but he was still past fifty.
"Sorry to disturb you."
As the elder of the family, Qin Dashan stepped forward first. He cupped his hands and said, "The owner of the food stall at the street corner mentioned that you have side rooms for rent?"
The old blacksmith set down his work, rose to his feet, brushed the coal dust from himself, and looked the three of them over.
His gaze lingered for a moment longer on Qin Yao, who stood tall and