Seeing the shopkeeper's indifference, Zhang Xiaohua did not take it to heart. He asked, "I remember there seemed to be a Weapons shop here five years ago that sold sabers and swords. Why can't I find it now?"
"Huh?" The plump, pale shopkeeper was surprised. "There really was a Weapons shop here five years ago. Have you been here before? Do you have some business with that blacksmith?"
The moment Zhang Xiaohua heard this, he was overjoyed. "May I ask where the blacksmith is now?"
The plump shopkeeper sighed. "To be honest, sir, my shop used to be that Weapons shop. Alas, these days, those with skills can't compare to people like us who slaughter pigs and sell vegetables. The blacksmith's craftsmanship was good, but no one recognized it. The Weapons shop's business had always been bleak. Three years ago, he truly could not keep it going any longer. He was unwilling to make farm tools, so he had no choice but to sell the storefront to me."
"And afterward?" Zhang Xiaohua only cared about where the blacksmith had gone.
"Afterward?" The plump shopkeeper looked somewhat despondent. "That blacksmith was a talent never given his due. Years of hammering iron had long worn out his body. By the time he wanted to seek a living in another land, he had no strength left to spare. He could only stay here, dragging out a wretched existence. Sigh, after selling the shop, he got a little money and spent every bit of it on liquor. Last year, he got dead drunk and slept outside. A heavy snowfall froze him to death alive."
"Ah?" Zhang Xiaohua stared blankly. "Last year? Wasn't that just a month ago?"
"Yes. Why?" the shopkeeper asked. "You're looking for him now—could you be some relative of his?"
Zhang