Old Mo emerged from the side room, seemingly having just washed his face.
Holding a towel, he wiped the lingering droplets from his face.
He asked bluntly, "What requirements do you have for the saber? What kind do you want made?"
Li Ping'an drew a picture from inside his robe. Though he could not draw, fortunately, Jing Yu was quite skilled at it.
At first, Jing Yu had naturally refused in the sternest terms.
"With my standing? My status? Draw a saber? People would laugh at me if word got out."
Li Ping'an thought Jing Yu was a decent fellow.
That was because the fellow was not particularly bright and could not withstand praise.
The more you praised him, the higher he floated, until he lost all sense of himself.
Then anything became easy.
As Wang Yi put it, give him a chicken coop, and he could lay eggs in the sunshine.
So Li Ping'an had exercised his tongue a little.
And obtained this drawing.
Old Mo briefly looked it over. "Quite a detailed drawing."
The blade was narrow and straight, curving slightly outward.
Its spine followed the curve of the edge, with two blood grooves and two rippling, fingernail-imprint patterns along the sides.
The hilt was four inches long and two fingers wide on either side.
Old Mo nodded, his gaze continuing downward.
The scabbard was not an ordinary scabbard; the intention was to conceal the blade inside a walking stick.
Old Mo folded the drawing back up. "I understand. Come collect the saber in two days."
"Sorry for the trouble."
Li Ping'an briefly cupped his hands, then withdrew.
"Dad, who was that? He's so strange."
Once he had left, the girl could not help asking.
"I couldn't smell any karma on him."
Without turning his head, Old Mo