Learning to forge 2

Mang Tian strode over to the soul-powered force-measuring screen. When he saw the number 1500 glaring back at him, he froze on the spot, his eyes filled with utter shock.

This assessment had merely been a test he had casually devised to discourage the boy.

For a child of only six, even lifting a ten-jin hammer with one hand was difficult. Steadily completing a thousand proper hammer strikes should have been utterly impossible. He had intended to use this harsh trial to make Tang Wulin recognize the gulf between them and give up voluntarily, sparing his friendship with Tang Ziran without forcing himself to accept such a young apprentice.

Never had he imagined that the six-year-old before him would easily overcome the obstacle he had casually set, even exceeding the requirement by five hundred strikes—all in a mere half hour.

Emotions surged through Mang Tian, leaving only one exclamation in his heart: A genius. This is an absolute forging genius!

Suppressing his shock, he said in a deep voice, "Do it again. Let me see."

Without the slightest hesitation, Tang Wulin tightened his grip on both hammers again, his calm gaze settling on the metal billet before him.

The next instant, the steady hammering rang out once more.

Mang Tian watched closely. As a veteran blacksmith, he saw through the mechanics of every swing at a glance.

From beginning to end, the boy never hammered with brute force. Each downward strike borrowed the momentum of the fall, and each lift followed through to dissipate the recoil. He redirected force as smoothly as drifting clouds and flowing water, his control of the rhythm flawless.

Even many certified first- and second-rank blacksmiths fell far short of such consummate skill in dissipating and controlling force.

A six-year-old child who had grasped the core principles of exerting force in forging without a teacher, combined with physical strength far beyond ordinary people—he had practically been born for the forge.

Mang Tian could not help marveling inwardly: A six-year-old child, wielding ten-jin hammers, delivering a thousand strikes in half an hour, and already possessing top-tier force control. What terrifying innate strength and forging talent.

He did not call a halt, quietly watching the boy continue swinging.

The number on the screen soared again: 1600, 1700, 1900, 2000...

By the time the count reached 2015, Tang Wulin's arms had gone completely numb. He could no longer feel them; only his body's instincts kept mechanically repeating the hammering motion.

Seeing this, Mang Tian finally barked, "Stop!"

The instant the word rang out, all the strength holding Tang Wulin's body taut drained away. The hammers fell from his hands with a clatter, and he toppled straight backward.

Mang Tian reacted swiftly, stepping forward to catch his slight frame and keep him from crashing onto the cold, hard metal floor.

Supporting the boy, who was so weak he seemed unconscious, Mang Tian no longer held the slightest contempt for him. Only wholehearted approval remained.

In forging, talent was certainly important, but perseverance and willpower were rarer still.

Someone with peerless talent who could also grit his teeth and persist until his strength was utterly spent, remaining neither arrogant nor impatient and never abandoning his resolve—only someone with both heaven-given gifts and extraordinary determination deserved to walk the path of forging and had a chance of becoming a truly powerful blacksmith.

Two hours passed in a flash, and Lang Yue arrived at the workshop on time to pick him up.

The moment she entered, she noticed that Mang Tian, normally fierce and aloof, was looking at Tang Wulin with a rare gentleness in his eyes.

Although redirecting force could dissipate most of the impact, holding the hammers barehanded for so long had subjected his palms to repeated friction. They were covered in blood blisters, with the skin rubbed raw in several places—a horrifying sight.

Having recovered a little strength, Tang Wulin recalled the question Mang Tian had asked earlier and quietly waited for his next lesson.

Mang Tian looked at the boy solemnly and slowly explained the most fundamental truth of forging:

"Remember this: using a machine mold to pour metal directly into shape is called casting. It has never been forging."

"In this day and age, mechanical forging is already widespread. Machines can produce parts with specifications that do not deviate by a hair, hundreds or thousands of times more efficiently than human hands. But metal has a spirit. It has life."

"A machine's blows hold nothing but cold force. They have no emotions, no intent, none of the focus and painstaking effort a blacksmith pours into the work day after day."

"True forging has always been something a blacksmith creates with his own hands, hammer strike by hammer strike. Every swing, every tempering, blends a little more of his spirit, will, and strength into the metal."

"The human heart enters iron; Hundred Refinement gives birth to a soul. That is the true meaning of forging."

Mang Tian's usual severity had faded, his expression considerably softer. Turning to Lang Yue, he praised them sincerely. "You and your husband have raised an extraordinary child."

With that, he handed her a bottle of specially formulated healing ointment.

Lang Yue took it, her eyes instinctively falling to Tang Wulin's palms. When she saw the abraded skin and wounds seeping blood, her heart clenched. Her eyes reddened instantly, and tears nearly spilled.

Tang Wulin hurriedly shook his head gently and smiled with feigned ease. "Mom, it's fine. It really doesn't hurt at all. How could anyone become a real blacksmith without hurting their hands? Not only did I pass the test, Uncle Mang Tian even said I have talent and told me to keep at it. See? Aren't I amazing?"

His tone was light, doing his best to ease his mother's concern. He did not want her worrying over this.

Seeing Tang Wulin put on a brave face, Lang Yue struggled to rein in her emotions and held back her tears.

When the two returned home together and pushed open the door, they found Na'er obediently leaning over the table, watching television. This was the first time since bringing her home that Tang Wulin had settled down to take a proper look at her.

Her simple white dress set off skin as luminous as snow. Her short, silvery hair was soft and fluffy, and as her crystal-clear amethyst eyes shifted, they seemed to conceal countless memories and secrets.

Looking at the innocent little girl before him, Tang Wulin marveled inwardly: So this is the Silver Dragon King.

As he watched the innocent, well-behaved Na'er beside him, with not a trace of the Dragon God's cunning apparent, Tang Wulin felt like crying but had no tears. Inside, he wailed frantically.

Silver Dragon King, oh, Silver Dragon King, please, please don't set your sights on my Golden Dragon King bloodline.

It's not that I can't bear to part with it. If I had a choice, I honestly wouldn't want it. Protagonists in other novels can lose their Supreme Bones and still scrape by alive, but I'm different. Every lifeline in my body is bound tightly to the Golden Dragon King's seals. This raging bloodline is the very root of my life. If you really extract its source, I'll drop dead on the spot, with no chance of survival.

From the bottom of his heart, Tang Wulin wanted nothing to do with this ruinous Golden Dragon King bloodline.

If I remember correctly, my future cultivation will keep me teetering between life and death every single day. Advance too quickly, and my body explodes; too slowly, and my bloodline runs wild. Every day will be a walk along a knife's edge. But there's no helping it. This is the fate I was born with, not something I can throw away just because I want to. From beginning to end, it's a burden the Golden Dragon King forced on me.

Whenever he recalled the wretched entanglements later in the original story, Tang Wulin's scalp prickled, and helplessness filled his heart.

Starting at Eastsea Academy, Gu Yue had approached him with a clear purpose. Every step closer had been intended to deal with Na'er, until she eventually discovered the Golden Dragon King bloodline and sought to reclaim the other half of the Dragon God's power.

Yet as they spent more time together, she developed genuine feelings. Her feigned closeness became true love, and love and hatred tangled into knots that neither cutting nor unraveling could undo.

Then came their forced separation and the marriage tournament that shook the entire continent. She publicly sought a husband, forcing him into a desperate corner where he could neither advance nor retreat.

But what rankled most, leaving him unbearably aggrieved, was the misunderstanding within that illusion.

Even after he learned that everything had been caused by an illusion and none of it was real, he still felt as though an inexplicable shadow had settled over his head.

Though that cuckold's green hat did not actually exist, thinking about it always left him uncomfortable.

Tang Wulin stared blankly at the quiet, well-behaved Na'er beside him. His eyes were calm, but his thoughts churned.

He had to admit that, in taking Na'er in now, he ultimately harbored a trace of self-interest.

The novel's plot was, after all, a fictional story. But the Silver Dragon King before him truly existed—an ancient Dragon God bearing the fate of the entire soul beast race. Stories and reality could not be lumped together.

He had never naively assumed that, once grown, Gu Yuena would willingly abandon a revival planned for ten thousand years and set aside her people's blood-deep hatred for the sake of romance, as she had in the original story.

If she truly could disregard everything for love, he could only marvel sincerely that the God of Love's power was far too great.

For now, the only place he gave Na'er was that of family—a younger sister who needed looking after.

As for the bone-deep love that had entangled them for a lifetime in the original story, he had no intention whatsoever of recreating it.

He had countless trump cards and a bright road ahead. There was no need to step into that fated entanglement that tormented both body and heart.

Saying this aloud might make him seem heartless, perhaps even like a scumbag, but these were his truest thoughts.

With the heaven-defying foundation of two god-tier martial souls and the Golden Dragon King bloodline, he would inevitably reach the summit of the Douluo Continent and become its unrivaled number one, provided he grew steadily.

Once he held supreme power and stood at the continent's peak, with countless women in the world, what sort of companionship could he possibly fail to find?

Besides, he had long since seen through this world's rules of survival.

The so-called federal laws had never been able to restrain the true powerhouses at the top.

One needed only to look at Shrek Academy later in the original story. It had always stood outside the federation's rules, never fully obeying its laws. Its brazen, unrestrained conduct had eventually drawn a devastating bombardment.

But viewed another way, if his strength became terrifying enough to make the entire federation and continent tremble in fear, everyone would be left with no choice but to look up to him, fear him, and submit to him.

At that point, every law and rule in the world would be nothing but an empty shell.

Before absolute strength, every rule could be broken.

These thoughts sounded cruel and cold, but they were the naked truth.

The Douluo Continent was a fantasy world where martial might reigned supreme. Strength came first, the powerful held every right to speak, and the weak did not even have the right to choose their own fate.

At present, he had not the slightest romantic inclination toward the sweet, obedient Na'er beside him.

Ultimately, Na'er was still just an innocent, tender little child.

Within his soul, he was a mentally mature adult, not some little-girl fetishist with peculiar tastes. There was no possibility of him developing such feelings for a young girl.

He had always preferred mature grace—the kind whose lifted gaze startled like a swan taking flight, whose lowered head held all the world's beauty—not the childish innocence before him.

So, as for those tangled loves and hatreds in the original story that could neither be cut nor unraveled, Tang Wulin could only say, I've got a career to build.

He would simply look after Na'er as a younger sister, gradually guide her values, and resolve the future racial grievances and bloodline-bound fate. Nothing more.

The grievances that had tangled the races together for ten thousand years had always seemed immensely complicated to Tang Wulin. Viewed with absolute rationality, soul beasts were special resources humans relied upon to advance. Since ancient times, people had said that those not of one's kind must have different hearts. Yet humans absolutely could not exterminate soul beasts—once they disappeared, Soul Masters would lose the means to obtain Soul Rings and break through to higher realms, and the development of human civilization would stagnate with them. This was the most practical dilemma facing everyone.

From a broader perspective, examining the continent's ecology through dialectical thinking made one truth clear: all things were linked, each depending on the others, and nature's laws favored no race. If humans destroyed soul beasts, that vital link in the ecosystem, the threat of extinction would one day descend upon humanity itself. This was an irreversible law.

At this point, Tang Wulin could not help directing his criticism toward Huo Yuhao. He reflected inwardly that, had Huo Yuhao not founded the Spirit Pagoda back then, the Soul Beast Clan might never have reached such desperate straits. He clearly remembered that the Lake of Life at the heart of the Star Dou Great Forest had once stretched across more than ten thousand meters, its depths beyond anyone's ability to fathom. It had been the source of vitality for the entire continent. Yet now, that vast sacred lake had shrunk into a tiny pool only a few dozen meters across. Its decline was truly lamentable.

The Spirit Pagoda's original vision had been to foster coexistence between humans and soul beasts. In the end, however, it had degenerated into a tool for capturing soul beasts en masse and extracting their essence, driving them step by step toward extinction. Such an enormous gulf between intention and reality filled Tang Wulin with helplessness and indignation.

With things having come to this, Tang Wulin could only give a silent sigh, his heart full of helplessness.

Ultimately, this entire mess had begun with Huo Yuhao.

Huo Yuhao had founded the Spirit Pagoda with good intentions, hoping to end the tragedy of hunting soul beasts and resolve the slaughter between the two races. His original purpose was indeed beyond reproach.

But he had utterly failed to control the Spirit Pagoda's subsequent course, allowing the organization to deteriorate step by step from a bridge toward peace into a weapon that extracted soul beasts' essence and squeezed away their vitality.

It had drained the Star Dou Great Forest's Lake of Life dry and driven the Soul Beast Clan into a dead end. That was what had forced the Silver Dragon King to emerge bearing blood-deep hatred, giving rise to all the subsequent conflicts of fate.

Of course, his nominal father Tang San might also have had a hand in it. But regardless, Huo Yuhao had been wrong—and outrageously so.

Tang Wulin could not help cursing inwardly: Huo Yuhao, you really do deserve to die!

A moment of softheartedness made you establish the Spirit Pagoda, then you dusted off your backside and ascended to the Divine Realm to live in peace, leaving behind this riddled, unmanageable mess. In the end, all the grievances and the burden of both races' survival landed on me, leaving me to clean up after you.

How unfair.

He looked at the innocent, unknowing Na'er beside him, who would one day shoulder the hatred of the entire soul beast race, and his feelings grew increasingly complicated.

Those who came before dug the pit, and those who followed filled it. And he, of all people, had become the unluckiest one left to fill it.