A Startling Surprise for His Old Father

Wu Changkong saw the anxious look on his father's face, and warmth filled his heart.

In his previous life, he had been an orphan and had never experienced what it felt like to have parents worry about him.

Although his family was poor in this life, this simple, unadorned familial love was one of the most extravagant things he had lacked in his previous life.

"Sorry, Dad."

"I went to Skywater Academy for a look around. Today was their new students' registration day, and I wanted to see the excitement. I accidentally stayed too long."

"Skywater Academy?"

"Isn't that a place that only takes girls? What was a boy like you doing there watching the excitement?"

He paused, and the anxiety on his face gradually faded, replaced by helplessness. "Tell me in advance next time you're going somewhere. Don't run off without a word and leave me worried sick."

"Mm, I understand. Sorry, Dad."

Father Wu waved a hand and was about to turn toward the market when Wu Changkong spoke again. "Dad, I have another piece of news for you."

"What news?"

At that moment, Wu Changkong took a neatly folded sheet of paper from his chest and handed it to his father.

Father Wu accepted it and lowered his head to read.

He was not highly educated and could not recognize many words, but he knew the four characters for "Skywater Academy."

His eyes widened further and further, as though he had seen a ghost.

"Th-this is real?"

"Of course it's real."

"But doesn't Skywater Academy refuse boys? Did you tell them you were a girl?"

Wu Changkong's mouth twitched. "Do you think I'm the kind of child who likes lying?"

"Then what's going on?"

"The dean made an exception and accepted me personally. My talent is too good—they thought it would be a shame not to take me."

Father Wu froze for several seconds, then slowly nodded.

"That makes sense. You really do have what it takes."

"Come on! Let's have a good meal in town, father and son."

"There's a braised meat shop on East Street. Every time I pass by, the smell makes me drool. Today, thanks to you, we'll finally have some meat!"

Wu Changkong nodded. "All right."

Father and son walked side by side toward the market.

Two days passed in the blink of an eye.

At the western end of Water Source Town, behind the Wu Family's small courtyard, stood a crude forge built from rough stones and mud.

The forge was not large. Several old hammers and fire tongs hung on the walls, iron ingots were piled in a corner, and a brick furnace stood in the middle. Charcoal burned in its firebox all year round, filling the room with scorching waves of heat.

The clear, rhythmic clang of hammering rang out from the forge.

That sound had echoed through Water Source Town for more than a decade. The townsfolk had long grown used to it, and whenever someone passing by happened to hear it, they would merely smile and say, "Old Wu's forging again."

But the person in the forge today was not Father Wu. It was Wu Changkong.

Bare-chested, he stood before the blazing furnace.

The thirteen-year-old boy was still somewhat lean, but his muscles already formed smooth, solid lines.

His shoulders were broad, his back straight, his waist narrow, and his arms long and powerful.

His skin was naturally cool and fair. Beads of sweat slid down from his neck, winding along the grooves of his back muscles.

A hammer was clenched in his right hand, while his left held a red-hot sheet of iron with fire tongs. He struck it again and again.

His father had taught him the craft of forging by hand since he was young.

And when Wu Changkong had been very little, Father Wu had discovered that his quiet, taciturn son possessed an extraordinary interest in forging.

When other children were still playing in the mud, little Changkong could squat at the forge doorway and quietly watch his father work iron for an entire afternoon without even blinking.

Father Wu had naturally been delighted.

Though he did not possess much skill himself, he understood that a craft had to be passed on to someone.

Thus, from the time Wu Changkong was five years old, he had taught him by hand how to light the furnace, control the heat, select materials, quench metal, and hammer it into shape.

Little Changkong learned incredibly quickly—so quickly that Father Wu often wondered whether he had given birth to a genius.

Things that took other apprentices three years to grasp, he could do decently in three months.

Though Wu Changkong had not worked as a dedicated blacksmith in his previous life, his vast experience gave him perceptions of metals, ores, and heat far beyond those of ordinary people. Naturally, learning to forge took half the effort for twice the result.

The flames in the furnace reflected across Wu Changkong's face. His expression was focused and calm, his gaze locked onto the small object gradually taking shape on the anvil.

It was no longer an ordinary sheet of iron, but a small knife that had undergone two full days of repeated hammering.

The knife was roughly four inches long, with a slender blade and an edge as thin as a cicada's wing.

What was strange was that its blade was not made of ordinary steel, but of a translucent ice-blue crystal.

The blade had yet to be sharpened completely, yet one glance alone was enough to feel the chill rushing toward one's face.

Wu Changkong submerged the small knife in the quenching trough. With a harsh, piercing hiss, white mist rose.

When the mist dispersed, he lifted the knife out with his tongs, spun it twice in his hand, and carefully inspected the edge.

"The blade is finished."

Just then, the forge's wooden door was pushed open.

Father Wu entered carrying an iron bucket filled with freshly drawn well water, intending to pour it into the water vat beside the furnace.

His gaze casually swept over the ice-blue knife in his son's hand, and his steps halted. "You succeeded?"

"Yes."

Father Wu set down the bucket, walked to his son's side, and lowered his head to examine the knife.

He was a rough man and did not understand any profound principles, but after forging iron for his entire life, he could tell good from bad at a glance.

The material of this knife resembled none of the iron he had ever seen, and the cold air clinging to its edge was certainly not something ordinary quenching could produce.

"What does this knife do?"

"It doesn't look like a knife for chopping firewood, and it doesn't look like one for cutting vegetables either. Why make it so delicate?"

"This is an engraving knife. It's used to make Soul Tools."

"Soul Tools?"

"What are those?"

"They're... they're implements made by inscribing Soul Power onto objects with special techniques, giving them special effects."

"For example, weapons that can store Soul Power, boots that can increase speed, or necklaces that can release shields in battle. All such things are called Soul Tools."

Father Wu blinked. He clearly did not understand much, but he did not continue asking.

After all, there were eight things out of every ten his son said that he could not quite understand. He had long since gotten used to it.

"Then where did the material for this knife come from? I don't remember having any ice-blue iron like this."

"It was a piece of ice ore I happened to find two years ago when I went to the Far North to hunt for a Soul Ring."

"It was buried beneath a layer of frozen earth. I sensed that its aura was different from ordinary ore, so I dug it out and brought it back."

"Later, I smelted the ore into an ingot and kept it stored away without using it. I only took it out these past two days to forge this engraving knife."

Father Wu nodded as if he understood.