A note before the story [This novel is approaching one million Chinese characters, with updates of at least 6,000 characters daily.]
[This is a traditional immortal cultivation novel, with no transmigration or rebirth, and currently no female lead. The pacing is not fast, and this is not a traditional wish-fulfillment novel. The protagonist's golden finger will be presented in a way resembling a "system," but it is not a system. The golden finger is merely a tool for advancing the plot; it involves the plot and will be explained later, and it does not have a strong presence.]
[This is my first full-length novel. No matter what happens, I will keep writing until it is finished. This novel is not mine alone, but a shared work belonging to everyone who likes it. Comments are welcome.]
[Those who want to read the immortal cultivation chapters can skip directly to Volume Three, Chapter 72.]
---Divider; the main story begins below----
In Ink City, during the fourth nine-day stretch of winter, it was just past half past three in the morning. The roosters nearby had yet to crow, and the city's people were still steeped in hazy sleep, but the first hammer strike had already rung out from Soot Alley.
Clang-
The red glow of the furnace shone on the old wooden signboard before the shop, steeped in the passage of years.
"Qin Household Blacksmith Shop"
Sixteen-year-old Qin Tiexin had just finished his final stance and let out a long breath of white mist. He had practiced this "Old Qin Household Body Tempering Method" for eleven years. Since the age of five, he had repeated its eight movements every day, without fail, even if thunder struck. When he was little and slacked off, Old Qin's wooden switch would lash his back and thighs without mercy until he completed everything with painstaking care. After practice, sweat soaked his clothes and ran down mingled with tears. Then the old man would conjure up a bowl of fragrant braised pork for him as though performing a magic trick.
According to the old man, he had obtained this Body Tempering Technique while roaming the jianghu in his youth. Unfortunately, he was already older when he acquired it, too old when he began practicing. His body had already fully developed, so the improvement it offered him was negligible. Even so, after practicing for ten years, lifting eighty jin with one hand had been no trouble. He had originally wanted to make a name for himself in the jianghu, but alas, there was always another heaven beyond the heavens. After suffering a serious injury thirty years ago, he had spent all his savings to take over this shop in Ink City and retire from the jianghu, naming it the "Qin Household Blacksmith Shop."
Although he was no longer as strong as before, exerting fifty jin of strength with one hand was still no trouble for Old Qin. Once, he had bent an iron rod before a crowd of witnesses, and the blacksmith shop had enjoyed peace and quiet for many years afterward. With his strength and craftsmanship, he had managed to live a stable life.
"Your Root Bone is better than mine. You could complete a full cycle at five. From now on, complete at least one round every day."
From then on, rain or shine, holidays included, this had become Qin Tiexin's mandatory lesson every morning. Perhaps because of the Body Tempering Technique, his height and build had gradually far surpassed those of his peers. At sixteen, he stood nearly eight chi tall, his sharply defined muscles brimming with strength. His bronze skin bore scattered burn marks, which the old man called "a blacksmith's medals." Were it not for the fine fuzz at the corners of his mouth, no one would have imagined he was only a sixteen-year-old boy.
Starting at ten, once he could complete eight rounds a day, he had stopped increasing the number. According to the book, eight rounds were the limit for a "mortal." Although he did not know what "mortal" meant, he had once tried completing a ninth round, only for his whole body to ache as though seized by cramps for an entire day. From then until now, he had kept at it, and eight rounds had become an iron rule.
Over these years, Qin Tiexin's strength had grown until he could lift eighty jin with one hand and two hundred with both. His appetite was astonishing, too. The old man often scolded him with a laugh, "You brat, you're going to eat through my entire lifetime's savings. You'll have to support me in my old age by forging iron." Qin Tiexin understood that without needing to be told.
Clang-
The sound of forging startled away the stray cats in the alley. Although the weather was already cold enough to freeze the ground three feet deep, he was still bare-chested. In the furnace's glow, sweat streamed down his bronze skin as though coating it in a bright glaze, dripping onto the heated work surface with a hiss.
He was forging a billhook for Hunter Zhao from the mountains. According to Zhao, he had discovered a tiger on Emerald Cloud Mountain outside the city two days earlier. His billhook had struck the tiger and been carried off by the beast, so he needed a new one made. Today, he would become a "tiger-slaying hero" and rid the people of a menace.
Although Qin Tiexin knew he was boasting, and that it had most likely been a wild boar or a roe deer, he never exposed the lie.
Clang- With every hammer blow, the red-hot iron stretched a little farther beneath his hands. Sparks splashed onto his arms, but he did not even blink, merely watching intently as the lump of iron before him took shape bit by bit.
Heating, hammering, heating again, hammering again-the billhook slowly took shape. When a clear ting reached his ears, he knew its initial forging was complete.
Quenching, grinding, acid pickling-a cloudlike grain emerged on the billhook's surface. Finally, he lightly scraped his thumb across the edge. A thin bead of blood seeped out, but his brow did not so much as twitch. He merely nodded.
"This time, I made the spine of Brother Zhao's billhook a little thicker, so it will cut more sharply when killing game, and wrapped the handle more densely with hemp cord. It won't slip out of his hand so easily next time."
He coated the billhook's surface with protective blade oil, then placed it on a rack in the shop for Hunter Zhao to collect.
By then, the sun in the east had begun to show a little light. Qin Tiexin wiped the sweat from his body with a clean towel, put on the dark blue short work clothes lying nearby, and began cooking.
His own meal was easy to make: steam two jin of rice, add a few pieces of wild boar meat, and prepare a handful of greens. That would do. He was not as particular as Old Qin. Before, the old man had insisted that meat be red-braised and vegetables simply stir-fried, leaving him waiting on an empty stomach for ages every time. The old man always said this was called "never finding rice too refined or minced meat too finely cut."
The old man's meal was more troublesome. Since an old injury had flared up some time ago, Old Qin had been unable to get out of bed, and his condition had recently grown worse. Once a sturdy man who could eat a jin of rice and a jin of meat, he could now only drink a little minced-meat congee.
Qin Tiexin put the old man's medicine on to simmer, then pounded beef into an extremely fine mince, added finely chopped greens, and cooked it over a low flame. By the time the congee was ready, the medicine would be just about done as well.
There were only two side rooms in the rear courtyard. Everything else was storage space for the old man's "collection." Before he even drew close, he could faintly hear the old man coughing inside. Qin Tiexin knocked softly on the door.
"Cough, cough... Tiexin, come in." The voice behind the door was so weak that his heart tightened. It had long since lost its former vigor.
Qin Tiexin drew a deep breath, doing his best to keep his face unruffled. Holding the medicine and congee, he pushed the door open and entered.