The hammer named Star-Sinking

"Wulin, you're here!"

As soon as he entered Mang Tian's workshop, Long Ge looked up from the parts he was sorting in the front room and greeted him.

Three years had passed. Long Ge had gone from a young man who saw him as just a child to someone who couldn't help shaking his head in wonder whenever he saw him. The reason was simple—this kid grew fast, learned fast, and worked fast. Especially when he stood at the Forging Platform, he seemed to become a different person altogether.

"Long Ge," Tang Wulin replied with a smile. "What work did Teacher assign today?"

Long Ge jerked his chin toward the back, his envy only half feigned.

"Plenty. Go in and see for yourself. Honestly, I'm starting to get jealous. How old are you, anyway? Teacher's giving you almost as much work as me."

Tang Wulin chuckled.

"I still can't compare with you. Teacher won't even let me touch the large parts yet."

Long Ge snorted. "That's because he's worried your foundations aren't solid enough. Don't get greedy, kid. All right, get moving. Keep dawdling and your two hours won't be enough again."

There were still only three people in Mang Tian's workshop.

Mang Tian, Long Ge, and Tang Wulin.

Over those three years, Tang Wulin had long since gone from "a child here to try things out" to a student Mang Tian truly acknowledged. Mang Tian was still stern and cold, his standards still exacting, and he showed no mercy when he scolded him. Yet Tang Wulin knew that what he learned here far surpassed what he learned at the academy.

Besides, forging wasn't the only thing he was taught here.

He also learned how to apply his strength, endure hardship, stand firm, and hammer out a path for himself, little by little.

Unlike the front room outside, which was piled with parts, his space was always tidy. The Forging Platform, clamping slots, blueprint rack, and metal shelves were neatly arranged, making it clear at a glance that their owner worked with method and discipline.

Sure enough, today's assignment was already laid out on the Forging Platform.

Ten mecha joints. They weren't particularly large, but the specifications were exacting. A note Mang Tian had left weighed down the blueprint: the spherical surface deviation must not exceed half a division on the standard scale.

Tang Wulin picked up the blueprint and studied it, his gaze immediately turning serious.

These were ankle joints for a Soul Guidance Mecha.

If these parts were cast using molds, two stamping operations would be enough to shape them. Making them through hand forging, however, was far from simple. Every curve and every transition had to be hammered out bit by bit. Hundred Refinement was the foundation. Truly excellent pieces could even approach the effects of Thousand Refinement at certain critical points.

Forging had never been as simple as brute labor.

Mang Tian had told him that in his first year.

To become a true Blacksmith, one first had to endure hardship. But if all one knew was hardship, without knowing how to hear the metal's voice, read its grain, or follow its temperament to reshape its bones, one would never be more than a rough laborer.

Tang Wulin put the blueprint back and deftly pressed the button beside the Forging Platform.

The clamping slot slid open, feeding a metal blank into the Forging Furnace. Flames flared to life, soon heating the blank until it glowed red.

When he first came here three years ago, Mang Tian had made him hammer iron blocks for three whole months.

He taught him nothing else—only the simplest hammering, the application of strength, endurance, and rhythm.

Those three months had been the hardest period of his life so far. Two hours every day. His palms wore raw, scabbed over, then wore raw again. His arms ached so badly that he couldn't even lift his rice bowl. Yet those same three months had taught him, for the first time, how to truly get along with his hammer.

Not to treat it as a Martial Soul.

But to treat it as a "hammer."

A year later, Mang Tian had been standing beside the Forging Platform, watching him strike blow after blow, when he suddenly said:

"You can't keep calling it the 'little black hammer' forever."

Tang Wulin had been drenched in sweat as he hammered a piece of green titanium. At those words, he froze briefly, then looked up with a foolish expression and asked, "What should I call it, then?"

Mang Tian fell silent for a moment. He watched the blunt, jet-black hammer in the boy's hand, each blow descending with the momentum of a falling star, then said evenly:

"Its blows fall like sinking stars."

"From now on, call it the Star-Sinking Hammer."

From then on, the Martial Soul that had accompanied Tang Wulin through his awakening, hardship, and growth finally had a name of its own.

The Star-Sinking Hammer.

Even now, Tang Wulin loved that name.

He felt that compared with a casual name like "little black hammer," the words "Star-Sinking" seemed to have truly awakened it a little.

Now, standing before the Forging Furnace, Tang Wulin drew a small breath and raised his right hand. Black light flashed, and the Star-Sinking Hammer silently appeared in his palm.

Compared with three years ago, it hadn't undergone any dramatic change.

It was still jet-black throughout, still short and heavy, without the slightest hint of splendor. Yet a closer look revealed that its body was no longer as rough and blunt as an old lump of iron. Countless forging sessions had tempered its black surface into something increasingly dense and solid, and its edges had become more distinct. Occasionally, beneath the firelight, the faintest traces of dark gold grain would flash deep within the hammer, then vanish.

But the true change wasn't in its appearance.

It was in its harmony with Tang Wulin.

When others held a forging hammer, they were holding a tool.

When Tang Wulin held the Star-Sinking Hammer, it felt more as though he had taken a piece of his own bones back into his hand.

He pushed against the clamping slot and lifted the metal blank from the Forging Furnace at the precise moment it reached the ideal heat. Sparks suddenly scattered. The next instant, the Star-Sinking Hammer swung silently in his palm.

Clang!

The first blow fell.

The sound was deeper and more solid than an ordinary forging hammer striking metal. It was as though the blow hadn't landed on a piece of metal, but driven straight into the deepest layers of its grain.

Then came the second blow, the third, the fourth—

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang—

The ringing blows suddenly flowed into an unbroken stream.

There was nothing flashy about Tang Wulin's movements. They were clean, direct, and astonishingly steady. Every blow landed exactly where it was needed, each carrying a degree of control far beyond what someone his age should possess. It wasn't simply great strength, but an instinct that twisted power, touch, rhythm, and judgment of the metal's recoil into one.

That was precisely what Mang Tian valued most about him.

Some people could swing a hammer high, strike hard, and make plenty of noise.

Others were born knowing where the metal needed a light touch, where it needed a heavy blow, where a single strike would suffice, and where three consecutive blows were needed to force out the finest impurities within.

Tang Wulin belonged to the latter.

And his talent was so extraordinary that even Mang Tian had to admit, "Heaven has put food straight into this child's bowl."

During the first year, Mang Tian had also made him try ordinary forging hammers.

But no matter how good the hammer was, there always seemed to be a layer between it and Tang Wulin's hand. It wasn't that they were difficult to use. They simply didn't fit closely enough, flow smoothly enough, or "listen" well enough.

Eventually, Mang Tian had removed all the ordinary hammers and allowed him to use only his own Martial Soul for proper forging.

The facts proved that decision right.

Because in his hands, the Star-Sinking Hammer wasn't a tool, but a true "life-bound hammer."

Once Tang Wulin entered his stride, his strikes grew faster and steadier.

Firelight danced through the forging room. Sweat trickled down the boy's temples, only to evaporate swiftly in the heat. His breathing deepened, but his feet remained steady, as though nailed to the floor. Beneath the Star-Sinking Hammer's repeated blows, the glowing metal continually changed shape, tightened, and compacted. Its rough surface gradually began to reveal a smoothly rounded framework.

Time passed little by little.

He forged the ten joints, one after another.

When the finishing blow landed on the final part, Tang Wulin let out a long breath, grabbed a towel, and vigorously wiped the sweat from his face.

The ten metal joints lay neatly in a row before the Forging Platform. Cool light flowed across their surfaces, their contours smooth and tightly formed. At a glance, their precision seemed every bit the equal of machine pressing.

Yet only someone who truly understood forging would know why they were better than machine-pressed parts.

Their bones were alive.

As Tang Wulin looked at the row of finished pieces, a satisfied smile involuntarily shone in his eyes.

By now, he had truly come to love this work.

Every day, he entered the forging room, took hold of the Star-Sinking Hammer, and struck blow after blow. It felt both like an outlet and like cultivation. Occasionally, when he entered a particularly fluid state, he could even feel clearly that he, the hammer, and the metal had briefly begun to share a single breath.

That feeling was mysterious.

It was as though the Star-Sinking Hammer was no longer merely held in his hand, but listening for him, seeing for him, and gradually tracing the finest pathways within the metal's body.

Whenever that happened, the things he forged were always exceptionally good.

So good that even someone like Mang Tian couldn't help giving them a few extra looks.

"Finished?"

A deep voice suddenly sounded at the doorway.

Tang Wulin looked up and immediately straightened.

"Teacher."

At some point, Mang Tian had come to stand in the forging room's doorway.

He walked straight to the Forging Platform, picked up one joint, inspected it, and set it down. Then he examined the second, the third... Only after checking all ten finished pieces did he finally nod.

"This batch is more consistent than last month's."

That already counted as very high praise.

Tang Wulin's eyes immediately brightened.

Mang Tian took a stack of banknotes from inside his clothes and held it out to him.

"This month's wages."

Tang Wulin froze for a moment, then immediately accepted them and lowered his head to count them swiftly.

Then his whole body went rigid for an instant.

The next moment, his bright black eyes lit up, and even his breathing noticeably quickened.

Watching his reaction, Mang Tian raised an eyebrow slightly.

"What? You've never been this happy to collect your wages before."

Tang Wulin looked up. His small face was flushed with excitement, and even his voice trembled.

"Teacher, I've saved enough."

"Enough for what?" Mang Tian asked, though he knew the answer.

"Enough to buy a Soul Spirit." Tang Wulin tightly gripped the banknotes, as though afraid they might fly away. "Not the cheapest random Soul Spirit. One of the ordinary ten-year Soul Spirits—the kind I can choose myself."

As he said that, the light in his eyes grew even brighter.

Over these three years, he had thought about Soul Spirits more times than he could count.

If he had only wanted to break through as soon as possible, he could have taken his savings a year ago, added the little his family could scrape together, and bought a lowest-tier random Soul Spirit just to cross the threshold of becoming a One-Ring Soul Master.

But he never had.

Because Teacher had said that a Soul Master's first Soul Spirit was their starting point.

Because Dad had said that if he wanted to go truly far, he couldn't settle for everything.

And, more than anything, because a stubborn determination had been burning inside him—

For three years, he had attended school, forged, and cultivated. After enduring so much hardship, he shouldn't have to trade it all for a beginning where "anything will do."

So he had kept waiting.

Saving month after month, holding back little by little. Even though he had already reached the threshold of rank ten, he hadn't rushed to fuse with the lowest-grade Soul Spirit.

Until today, when the wait had finally ended.

Mang Tian watched this child, who normally carried himself as steadily as a little adult, now unable to suppress the excitement on his face. His own expression couldn't help softening a little.

"Has your Soul Power stabilized too?" he asked.

"It has." Tang Wulin immediately nodded. "Teacher, I can feel that I've truly reached rank ten. All I'm missing now is a suitable Soul Spirit."

Mang Tian was silent for a moment before speaking slowly:

"Remember, you earned this money yourself, one hammer blow at a time. So when you go to the Spirit Pagoda, don't pick the worst one just to make do because you can't bear to spend it. Since you've earned the chance to choose your first Soul Spirit, you should carefully select one that truly suits you."

Tang Wulin nodded firmly.

"Yes!"

As Mang Tian watched him, the faintest hint of a smile finally appeared in his eyes.

"Go on," he said. "Those three years of hardship weren't for nothing."

Warmth surged through Tang Wulin's chest, and he solemnly bowed to his teacher.

"Thank you, Teacher!"

Almost instinctively, Tang Wulin straightened his back and solemnly bowed to him.

Then he quickly tucked the money securely inside his clothes and carefully packed the ten finished parts into a box, moving as fast as though he feared they might fly away the next moment.

Only after everything was properly put away did he hug the box and break into an irrepressible smile.

For the first time in three years, he showed such obvious childishness in front of Mang Tian.

Mang Tian stood where he was, watching this child who normally seemed as steady as a little adult finally display some of the excitement appropriate to his age. A little more warmth involuntarily entered his eyes.

"Go on," he said. "Stop standing here grinning like a fool."

"Teacher, I'll head home, then!"

"Mm."

Tang Wulin answered and ran outside with the box in his arms.

The boy's footsteps soon passed through the front room, along that familiar corridor, and finally vanished into Aolai City's evening breeze.

Mang Tian stood in the doorway of the now-empty forging room, his gaze lingering on the residual heat and hammer marks on the Forging Platform. For a long time, he didn't move.

Only after a while did he say quietly:

"He's finally acting a little like a child."

Then, as he looked at the door, an extraordinarily complicated emotion slowly rose in his eyes.

"What a pity..." he murmured. "Judging by its appearance alone, anyone would think this child's hammer isn't striking enough, isn't brilliant enough, doesn't look enough like a top-tier tool Martial Soul destined to make its name resound across the land. And yet, the longer you spend with it, the more you realize how extraordinary it is."

"But it's fortunate, too."

He exhaled softly. In the end, that complexity in his eyes dissolved into the faintest of smiles.

"After all, this talent has come under my tutelage."

The forging trade depended on one's hands, one's heart, and the bones and discernment hammered into shape one blow at a time.

And in Mang Tian's eyes, the most formidable thing about Tang Wulin had never merely been his strength, which far surpassed that of his peers.

It was that when he held the Star-Sinking Hammer, he seemed born knowing how to speak with metal.