The Chosen One

"Bang, bang, bang—"

The dull pounding continued inside the workshop.

Mang Tian had not called a halt.

He simply stood to one side with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on Tang Wulin as he watched this child of only six bring the hammer down again and again.

Compared with the previous round, the hammering was clearly much harder this time.

Tang Wulin's movements remained direct and clumsy, without the slightest trace of technique. He did not know how to disperse force or borrow momentum, much less establish a rhythm for exerting his strength. After Xiao Hei struck the metal block, all the recoil slammed back up the handle into his arms, and he bore it through sheer force.

Fifty strikes.

Eighty strikes.

One hundred strikes.

Sweat soon poured out again, trickling down his temples and soaking his eyelashes and the collar of his school uniform. Tang Wulin felt as though his arms had been scorched by fire. Numbness mingled with the ache, and a burning sting lay beneath the numbness. His shoulders and elbows felt swollen and tight, and even his scalp had begun to tingle.

Yet he still did not stop.

He merely gritted his teeth, kept swinging the hammer, and kept bringing it down.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

None of the blows were particularly even or graceful, but every one was remarkably solid.

After a hundred and twenty strikes, Tang Wulin's breathing had lost its rhythm.

After a hundred and fifty, his body began to sway slightly, and his vision blurred. Xiao Hei seemed to grow heavier and heavier, as though it would wrench his arms clean off. Yet that only drove his refusal to admit defeat further to the surface.

I can keep going.

I can pass the test.

Dad said that if I want to rely on myself, I can't retreat the moment I run into something difficult.

He repeated those words to himself over and over.

From then on, every strike felt like a battle against his own body.

His palms burned, the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers was numb, and his wrists ached so badly they were almost losing all sensation. Still, Tang Wulin did not loosen his grip. Even as his movements grew visibly slower, even as sweat ran into his eyes and stung, he merely gritted his teeth, lowered his head, and kept hammering.

Mang Tian had initially stood to one side with his arms folded, watching without expression. But as he watched, his eyes gradually changed.

Of course he could tell that this child knew nothing about Forging.

Yet precisely because he knew nothing, certain more fundamental qualities became all the clearer.

Strength could be trained.

Technique could be learned.

But not everyone possessed the tenacity to grit their teeth and refuse to let go when they were already near their limit. And in a six-year-old child, that tenacity was all the more precious.

Mang Tian looked at those little hands, already beginning to redden and swell, then at Tang Wulin's small face, taut and pale with exertion. For the first time, something truly stirred in his heart.

This child isn't merely strong.

There's steel in his bones.

Some time passed, and Tang Wulin himself no longer knew how many more swings he had made. Everything before his eyes had begun to sway, and the ringing of metal striking metal echoed endlessly in his ears. Just as he was about to pitch forward with the next downward swing, a large hand suddenly reached over and caught his shoulder.

"Enough."

Mang Tian finally spoke.

Tang Wulin's grip loosened, and Xiao Hei vanished instantly. His entire body went limp, almost collapsing sideways. Had Mang Tian not been supporting him, he would probably have fallen straight to the floor.

"Steady yourself," Mang Tian said in a low voice.

Tang Wulin gasped for breath, barely managing to stand after considerable effort. Only then did he truly feel the pain coming from his hands and arms.

It was no longer merely an ache. Swelling, pressure, numbness, and burning all blended together, hurting so much that his arms hardly felt like his own.

Mang Tian glanced down at his hands, and his brow furrowed even deeper.

The skin on both of Tang Wulin's palms had been rubbed raw. His palms were fiercely red, and faint traces of blood were even seeping from the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers. His little arms were visibly thicker than when he had arrived, clearly battered into swelling by the recoil.

Mang Tian slowly exhaled.

At this point, he could no longer regard this child as an ordinary little apprentice who had merely come to "give it a try."

Both his strength and his willpower had far exceeded Mang Tian's expectations.

"Sit over there and rest." Mang Tian pointed to a low stool beside the wall. "Don't move your arms around."

Tang Wulin obediently nodded, dragging his weak legs over to sit down. He looked as though he had just been fished out of the water, his school uniform almost completely soaked with sweat.

Mang Tian did not leave immediately. Instead, he stood where he was and watched him for a while before slowly speaking:

"Do you know why I had you hammer with your own martial soul?"

Tang Wulin looked up and shook his head.

"Because there's one thing you must understand before you begin Forging," Mang Tian said evenly. "A hammer isn't just a tool. A true Blacksmith doesn't simply take a hammer and bash a piece of iron. Through his hands, his strength, and his rhythm, he makes the metal willing to change according to his wishes."

He paused, then continued:

"You have a Tool Martial Soul, and a hammer-type one at that. If you can't even hold your own hammer firmly or use it smoothly, this path isn't for you. But if your hammer can endure hardship with you and exert its strength alongside yours, then it isn't merely your martial soul. It's also the Forging hammer best suited to you."

Tang Wulin only half understood what he heard, but one thing was clear to him.

His hammer was not merely his martial soul.

It could also become a real skill he held in his own hands.

At that thought, a faint brightness returned to his little face, which had been drawn with pain.

"Uncle Mang Tian," he asked quietly, "does that mean... I passed?"

Mang Tian looked at him and finally gave a slow nod.

"Yes."

That single word instantly lit up Tang Wulin's eyes.

"But," Mang Tian immediately added, "don't celebrate too soon. Today was only to see whether you were worth teaching. Once you truly start learning, you'll be even more tired than you were today."

Tang Wulin immediately straightened his back and nodded earnestly.

"I'm not afraid of getting tired."

As Mang Tian looked at him, the faintest hint of warmth entered his eyes for the first time.

"Your father didn't bring you here for nothing," he said. "I'll take you on. Come at this time every day from now on, and start by learning the basics from me."

With that, he turned to a nearby cabinet, took out a small jar of ointment, and set it on the table.

"When you get home, have your family apply this to your hands and arms. Come back tomorrow."

Tang Wulin stared at the jar of ointment for a moment, then immediately nodded vigorously.

"Thank you, Uncle Mang Tian!"

For the next hour, Mang Tian did not let him touch a hammer again. Instead, while he rested, Mang Tian explained many of the most basic aspects of Forging.

What was Forging?

Why was Forging different from casting?

Why could even the most precise machines never replace the hands of the finest Blacksmiths?

Tang Wulin listened with such fascination that he even forgot much of the pain in his arms for a while.

In Mang Tian's account, Forging was no longer merely "hammering iron." It seemed like a craft with a soul of its own. The finest Blacksmiths were in no way inferior to powerful Soul Masters. Fine Mecha, precious metals, and powerful weapons often had to come from the hands of true craftsmen.

Soul Masters.

Mecha pilots.

Blacksmith.

These things, which had once existed as scattered fragments in Tang Wulin's imagination, were gradually joining together into a more complete world.

When Lang Yue came to pick him up, she found her son sitting on a low stool, his face pale but his eyes shining, and Mang Tian looking noticeably gentler than usual.

"Lang Yue." Mang Tian handed her the jar of ointment. "Apply this to his palms and arms when you get home. I've taken him on. Have him come every day from now on."

At the words "taken him on," Lang Yue should have felt happy first. But when her gaze fell on her son's hands, her whole body suddenly stiffened.

"Oh heavens—"

She crouched down almost immediately and seized Tang Wulin's hands, her voice changing.

"H-how did this happen?"

The skin on Tang Wulin's palms had been rubbed raw, and his arms were badly reddened and swollen. Those little hands, once fair and soft, now looked as though someone had put them through a terrible ordeal.

Lang Yue's eyes reddened instantly, and tears all but welled up at once.

She had never imagined that her son would suffer so much in just two hours.

Tang Wulin had still been basking in the accomplishment of passing the test. Seeing his mother on the verge of tears, he immediately grew flustered and hurriedly shook his head.

"Mom, I'm fine, really," he said quickly. "It just hurts a little, but I passed the test! Uncle Mang Tian said I could learn Forging from him."

Looking at her son's little face, still streaked with sweat, Lang Yue felt such heartache that she could barely speak.

"I'm happy. Of course I'm happy..." Although she said that, her tears still fell.

Seeing this, Tang Wulin quickly raised his uninjured hand and clumsily wiped away her tears.

"Mom, don't cry," he said earnestly. "Didn't Dad say that enduring hardship is a skill too? I think I did really well today. Really."

The words were childish, yet carried a very childlike pride.

Lang Yue felt an even sharper sting in her nose. All she could do was nod while gently cradling her son's hands, afraid of hurting him again.

On the way home, Tang Wulin initially walked quietly because his hands hurt so much. But as they went, he began talking more and more.

"Mom, did you know? Uncle Mang Tian said my hammer isn't just a martial soul. It can be a Forging hammer too."

"He also said Forging isn't about hammering randomly. You have to make the metal willing to listen to you."

"And he said good Blacksmiths are really amazing, no worse than Soul Masters."

The more he talked, the more excited he became, as though the test that had almost hammered him into the ground had become a glory worth savoring over and over.

As Lang Yue listened, her heart ached, but she also felt an indescribable measure of comfort.

At least her child truly liked it.

He had not been forced into it, nor was he swallowing his grievances and struggling to hold on.

To her, that alone was the greatest comfort.

When they reached home, Tang Wulin saw Na'er sitting at the table as soon as they pushed open the courtyard gate.

"Na'er!"

His eyes lit up, and he immediately ran over, seemingly forgetting even the terrible pain in his hands.

Na'er looked up, and when she saw him, her large purple eyes visibly brightened too.

"I passed the test!" Tang Wulin stood before her, lowering his voice but unable to hide his excitement at sharing the news. "Uncle Mang Tian took me on. From now on, I can officially learn Forging from him."

Na'er listened quietly, looking a little bewildered but very attentive.

Once Tang Wulin started talking about himself, he could never stop.

"Did you know? Today I used my martial soul hammer, not some other hammer. Uncle Mang Tian said my hammer is really suited to Forging. Once I learn how, I'll be able to earn money myself. Then I'll save up to buy a soul spirit first, and afterward I'll buy tasty food for everyone at home, and for you too."

He spoke with great enthusiasm, as though he could already see far into the future.

Na'er listened, blinking softly, before finally asking in a small voice:

"Does it hurt a lot?"

Tang Wulin froze for a moment and instinctively wanted to say that it did not. But when he saw her eyes quietly watching him, he honestly changed the words on his lips.

"A little." He scratched his head. "But passing made it worth it."

Na'er looked at him without saying anything more.

After a while, Tang Wulin suddenly remembered something and asked:

"Oh, right. You still haven't remembered anything today? Your home, your mom and dad—you really don't remember any of it?"

Na'er gently shook her head.

"I only remember that my name is Na'er," she said softly. "Everything else is hazy, like it'll scatter as soon as I try to think about it. Big Brother Wulin, am I stupid?"

Tang Wulin immediately shook his head like a rattle-drum.

"No! You're not stupid at all," he declared with complete conviction. "If you don't remember, then you don't remember. This is your home anyway. My mom and dad are yours too, and you're my little sister."

Na'er stared at him in a daze.

After a moment, a very faint, very delicate, yet extraordinarily lovely smile slowly appeared on her face.

It was the first time she had truly smiled since coming to the Tang family.

Tang Wulin was instantly transfixed.

"Wow..." he exclaimed without thinking. "Na'er, you're really pretty when you smile."

Na'er's smile immediately grew a little more pronounced, while the tips of her ears quietly reddened.

By then, Lang Yue had brought the food to the table.

She had made even more than usual today, clearly already preparing to feed the family's two "little rice barrels."

But there was a problem.

Only when he actually sat down at the table did Tang Wulin suddenly realize that his arms still hurt terribly. The moment he tried to raise a hand, aching pressure and sharp pain surged up together, making him grimace.

He gazed longingly at the food on the table, his stomach already rumbling, but he could not lift his hands.

Na'er soon noticed that something was wrong.

"What's wrong, Big Brother?" she asked quietly.

"My arms hurt." Tang Wulin looked miserable. "I can barely lift them."

Na'er blinked, thought for a moment, then suddenly said:

"Then... I'll feed you."

Tang Wulin stared blankly at first, then his eyes immediately lit up.

"Okay!"

And so, this scene unfolded at the dinner table—

The little girl of five and a half carefully held a spoon, alternating spoonfuls of rice and vegetables. Her movements were still somewhat awkward and clumsy, but she brought each bite to her big brother's mouth with earnest care. The six-year-old boy sat obediently, opening his mouth to be fed, his eyes curved with happiness as he ate and kept giving her silly grins.

Warm yellow lamplight fell over the already small home, lending it an especially gentle glow.

"Na'er, you're so nice," Tang Wulin said earnestly, swallowing a mouthful of rice with complete satisfaction.

Na'er said nothing and simply continued feeding him with her head lowered, but the corners of her mouth quietly curved upward.

Before long, Tang Ziran returned as well.

The moment he stepped through the door, Lang Yue pulled him into the room.

Once the door closed, the emotions Lang Yue had been holding back surged to the surface.

"Look at Wulin's hands!" Her voice trembled, and her eyes reddened again. "Only two hours, and they've been rubbed raw like this. How can you expect me to bear it?"

Tang Ziran froze, then immediately looked outside.

Through the half-open doorway, he saw his son sitting at the table while Na'er fed him one mouthful at a time. Those little hands were indeed terribly red and swollen; even lifting them was difficult.

His heart clenched.

It would have been a lie to say it did not hurt him.

But a moment later, he remembered what Mang Tian was like. Unless he had truly seen something in the boy, he would never have let him stay.

"What did Mang Tian say?" Tang Ziran asked quietly.

"He said he'd take him on." Lang Yue bit her lip. "He gave him some ointment, too."

Tang Ziran fell silent for a moment, then finally let out a slow breath.

"Then that means Wulin hasn't suffered all this for nothing," he said.

Lang Yue looked at her husband, and her tears fell again.

"I know. But he's only six..."

Tang Ziran reached out and gently took his wife by the shoulders, his voice softening as well.

"I know he's young. It hurts me, too," he said. "But if Mang Tian really sees something in him, then this hardship is worth it. Perhaps he really can hammer out a path for himself, little by little—a path we can't give him."

The room was quiet for a while.

In the end, Lang Yue merely turned her head aside and quietly wiped away her tears.

By the time they returned to the table, Tang Wulin had nearly finished being fed. He sat there looking utterly content, his eyes shining, as though the injuries to his hands were nothing at all.

When he saw his father, he immediately said with delight:

"Dad, I really passed today!"

Looking at his son, Tang Ziran felt both an ache and a warmth in his heart. In the end, he simply raised a hand and ruffled his hair.

"Yes, Dad knows."

Tang Wulin immediately turned back to Na'er, as though he had suddenly remembered something very important. Lowering his voice, he said with an air of mystery:

"Na'er, I'll tell you a secret."

"What?"

"I'll work hard at cultivating, and I'll work hard at learning Forging, too." Tang Wulin looked at her, his dark eyes shining. "When I get stronger someday, I'll protect you. Then no one will be able to bully you."

Na'er looked at him, and a faint, faint glimmer seemed to flicker in her purple eyes.

She nodded gently.

"Okay."

And Tang Wulin, sitting beneath the light, had no idea yet how much weight those childish words would carry in the future.