Time turned back to the morning of the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month.
Clutching the new chopping knife, still gleaming with oil, Hunter Zhao stepped over the threshold of the Qin Household Blacksmith Shop. The cold in the alley froze the tip of his nose red. He glanced back at the thin figure standing quietly beside the furnace and the boy kneeling on the ground, feeling as though something had lodged in his chest, heavy and stifling.
He told everyone that a "tiger" had carried off his old chopping knife. Mountain folk cared about face, especially hunters; saying he had encountered a tiger sounded far more impressive than admitting a deer had knocked his knife away. In truth, a few days earlier, he had run into an exceptionally powerful stag on the northern slope of Emerald Cloud Mountain. Its antlers branched like little trees, and its coat shone dazzlingly amid the bare winter woods. He had not brought his bow and arrows. In a rush of excitement, he had charged with his chopping knife and struck the stag across the back, cutting deep enough for blood to spurt out at once. But the startled beast had terrifying strength. With a violent heave and charge, it had flung him aside and wrenched the knife from his hand. The blade remained embedded in its back, and the wounded deer had bolted into the depths of the forest, carrying it away.
That knife had been his old companion for seven or eight years, and losing it like that truly hurt. With no other choice, he had come to Qin Tiexin for a new one. He had never expected to arrive just as Old Master Qin... Ah.
Thinking of Old Master Qin Feng made Hunter Zhao feel even worse. When he had first settled in Ink City years ago, he had lacked some of the equipment he needed to hunt in the mountains. The old master had made him a well-fitted hunting bow and three armor-piercing arrowheads, charging only for the materials. "New neighbors-let's make an auspicious start," he had said. Later, when the handle of Zhao's old chopping knife had loosened, he had brought it in for repairs. The old master had quenched it again while he was at it and honed it razor-sharp, without charging him a thing. Such an openhearted, forthright man, gone just like that, leaving behind only a half-grown boy...
He hefted the newly forged chopping knife. It felt weightier and more solid than the old one, with a noticeably thicker spine. Holding it, he felt that reassuring heft travel from his palm all the way up his arm. The hemp cord wound around the handle was tight and firm, its rough friction against his palm lending an inexplicable sense of steadiness. The blade was dark and dull, without much shine. Beside the flashy things from the Heavenly Craft Workshop across the way, it looked like a country girl who had never dressed herself up.
Young Brother Qin's workmanship is meticulous, he had thought then. But these looks... Never mind. As long as it works.
Back at his shack at the foot of the mountain, he had eagerly found a length of hardwood to test it on. One chop split the block cleanly with a crack, leaving an even cut and scarcely any jarring recoil. After a few swings, his wrist grew accustomed to the extra weight, and applying force actually felt smoother. "That boy really does know a thing or two." He grinned, and a little of the gloom brought on by Old Master Qin's death dispersed.
Over the following days, aside from tending the traps he had already laid, he devoted most of his attention to finding that deer. It was badly wounded, leaving an intermittent trail of blood, but its will to survive was strong, and it kept plunging into steep, densely wooded terrain. With his bow on his back and the new chopping knife at his side, Hunter Zhao roamed the icebound, snow-covered Emerald Cloud Mountain for days. The cold wind chapped his face, and his hands and feet went numb.
Effort did not fail a determined man. On the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth lunar month, he finally found fresh hoofprints and signs of bedding near a sheltered cleft in the rocks. The deer lay inside. Its wound had clearly worsened, and it was listless, but when it heard movement, it still struggled to rise and flee.
Hunter Zhao held his breath, nocked an arrow, and drew his bow. The bowstring thrummed, and the arrow sank into the side of the deer's neck with a whoosh. The deer convulsed violently a few times, then went still.
He approached cautiously and confirmed that it had stopped breathing. Only then did wild delight surge through him. The deer was even larger than he had expected, and its hide in particular was sleek and glossy, thick and even. Up close, he could smell the faint musk of a powerful male beast. If he skinned it intact and took the hide to a fur shop in the city, it would fetch at least five or six taels of silver-enough for a lavish New Year.
He drew his newly forged chopping knife and began carefully skinning the deer while its body was still warm. The edge moved with exceptional smoothness between hide and flesh. Whenever he needed to pry apart a stubborn join, the thick spine provided enough force without accidentally cutting through the valuable hide. Hunter Zhao worked with complete concentration. His white breath froze into frost in the cold air, clinging to his eyebrows and stubble.
At last, he peeled away a nearly intact deer hide, heavy and warm. He carefully rolled it up, tied it tightly with rope, and slung it onto his back. He roughly covered the remaining carcass with snow, planning to return with help to carry it down the mountain.
With silver almost within his grasp and the valuable hide on his back, Hunter Zhao headed briskly toward the city. Just as the city gate drew near, two men darted out from the side and blocked the path.
Hunter Zhao vaguely recognized them: a pair of thugs who often loitered outside the city, one nicknamed Scarred Eye, the other called Yellow Hair. Neither was any good. Each carried a saber of the sort the Heavenly Craft Workshop had sold at a discount. Their blades glittered, pressed with flowing-water patterns, and looked quite intimidating.
"Well, if it isn't Hunter Zhao! Looking pretty festive there. Made yourself a fortune?" Scarred Eye eyed him sidelong, staring at the bulging roll of hide on his back.
Yellow Hair sidled closer with a flippant grin. "Let us have a look. What fine hide have you got there? Half for anyone who sees it, eh?"
Hunter Zhao's heart sank. He forced a smile and pulled a few dozen copper coins from inside his clothes. "You two brothers must be joking. It's just an ordinary deer hide, worth next to nothing. Take this little bit of tea money and buy yourselves a drink. Could you let me through?"
Scarred Eye slapped the coins out of his hand. They clattered into the snow. "Think we're beggars? We want to see that roll on your back!"
"Know what's good for you, Old Zhao." Yellow Hair waved his saber, its blade reflecting a cold gleam in the bleak winter sunlight. "These are new blades from the Heavenly Craft Workshop. Sharp as anything! Hurry up and throw away that filthy black chopping knife of yours. Just looking at it brings bad luck!"
The smile vanished from Hunter Zhao's face. He knew this would not end peacefully. He hitched the hide higher on his back, tightened his grip on the knife handle, and slowly retreated until his back met an old tree. "We're all struggling to scrape by. Why do this? I risked my life for this hide..."
"Enough rubbish!" Scarred Eye lost patience and swung his saber down. There was no technique to it; he was merely relying on his strength and gleaming blade.
Years of hunting had made Hunter Zhao far more agile than an ordinary farmer. He sidestepped, and Scarred Eye's saber bit deep into the trunk, lodging there. Seeing this, Yellow Hair let out a strange yell and thrust his saber at Hunter Zhao's waist and belly.
Hunter Zhao did not retreat again. The ruthless streak he showed on a hunt rose in him. With a low roar, he gripped his chopping knife in both hands and swept it upward to meet Yellow Hair's edge!
He only meant to deflect the blow.
Clang-crack!
A piercing screech of breaking metal!
Yellow Hair felt his hand suddenly lighten. Looking down, he saw that his gleaming Heavenly Craft Workshop saber had snapped in two at the middle! The front half spun away and embedded itself in the snow some distance off. All he held was half a broken saber, its fracture jagged.
Hunter Zhao froze as well. The edge of his chopping knife had merely lost a chip the size of a grain of rice. The shock numbed the web of his hand, but the blade itself held firm, and not even a white mark had appeared on its dark face.
Scarred Eye finally managed to wrench his saber out of the tree. At the sight, his eyes went wide.
Staring at the half-blade in his hand, Yellow Hair was both shocked and furious. "You... What kind of lousy knife is that?!"
Hunter Zhao came to his senses, a rush of heat surging straight to his head. Without another word, he took advantage of their shock and lunged forward, sweeping his chopping knife sideways with a whistle of wind. Scarred Eye hastily raised his saber to block.
Another clang rang out. Scarred Eye's saber did not break, but a tremendous force knocked it flying from his hand. The web of his hand split open, blood streaming out.
Only then did the two thugs realize they had kicked an iron plate. Not daring to try robbing him again, they scrambled and tumbled away, too preoccupied to retrieve their weapons. They fled miserably into the depths of the woods, leaving only a few patches of blood, a broken saber, and a bent one.
Breathing hard, Hunter Zhao looked at the chopping knife in his hand, then at the broken blade on the ground. His heart was still pounding wildly. He bent to pick up the snapped-off section and ran his fingers over the fracture. The break was fresh, and the metal looked bright, but inside were tiny pores like casting pits.
He touched the little chip in his own blade again. Hard. Solid.
"Young Brother Qin... This workmanship of yours..." he murmured, the shock in his heart refusing to settle for a long time. The old master was gone, but his craft had truly been passed down-and the pupil had surpassed the master!
He dared not linger. Hurrying into the city, he went to a fur shop he knew. The deer hide was indeed much sought after. The shopkeeper examined it again and again before finally offering the high price of six taels and two mace of silver. With that heavy silver tucked into his clothes, Hunter Zhao felt as though his feet were floating as he left the shop.
Passing the teahouse at the street corner, he heard the patrons chatting inside. They were talking about Qin Tiexin being fined two taels of silver by the yamen and given a deadline to pay.
"Ah, that child has such rotten luck..."
"Doesn't he just? Two taels of silver-where's he supposed to find that now? Afraid he won't be able to keep his shop."
Hunter Zhao stopped short. Most of his delight at selling the hide for such a high price was washed away in an instant. Qin Tiexin's red, swollen yet calm eyes flashed through his mind, and he remembered the dark chopping knife that had shown its edge when he needed it most.
He scarcely hesitated. Turning, he left the city and returned to Emerald Cloud Mountain, where he called on two mountain-dwelling friends to help carry the remaining deer carcass back. He deliberately set aside the plumpest hind leg, wrapped it in oiled paper and coarse cloth, shouldered it, and headed once more toward Soot Alley.
The twenty-seventh day of the twelfth lunar month, evening.
Qin Tiexin had just returned from the southern part of the city. He had hauled only one load that day and earned fifteen copper coins. Squatting outside the shop, he was gnawing a rock-hard mixed-grain flatbread with cold water when he saw Hunter Zhao approaching with an enormous bundle on his shoulder.
"Brother Zhao?" He hurriedly stood and swallowed his mouthful.
Hunter Zhao set the oilcloth bundle on the ground with a dull thud. He rubbed his hands, red from the cold, wearing a hearty smile, though something more complicated lay in his eyes. "Busy, Young Brother Qin?"
"Just got back. Brother Zhao, what's this...?"
"Brought you some New Year provisions." Hunter Zhao untied the rope and lifted the oilcloth, revealing an enormous deer leg, firm with muscle and frozen solid. It must have weighed over twenty jin. "Hunted a deer before New Year. Sold the hide, but there's more meat than I can eat. This leg's for you to try."
Qin Tiexin was startled and hastily waved his hands. "Brother Zhao, this is far too valuable! I can't take it. Keep it for yourself, or sell it for money..."
"Just take it!" Without allowing any argument, Hunter Zhao thrust the deer leg into his arms. "To tell you the truth, that chopping knife of yours helped me out of a real bind!" He briefly recounted encountering the thugs in the mountains and chopping through the other man's "fine saber," then sighed. "If your knife hadn't come through, I wouldn't just have lost my hide. I might've been wounded too. What's a little meat? Compared with my life, it's nothing!"
Holding the heavy, icy deer leg, Qin Tiexin listened to Hunter Zhao's account and could not find words for a moment. He had never expected a chopping knife he had casually improved and forged to prove so useful in someone else's moment of danger.
"Keep it, young brother." Hunter Zhao clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "With the old master gone, being on your own isn't easy. I know about that business with the yamen... At least this meat will fill your belly for a few days and give you some strength. Once New Year's past, there'll be a way!"
Looking into Hunter Zhao's sincere eyes, Qin Tiexin felt his nose sting. He stopped refusing and nodded firmly. "Brother Zhao, thank you... I'll remember this kindness."
"What's there to remember? If you really feel bad about it..." Hunter Zhao chuckled, drew the chopping knife from his waist, and offered it to him. "There's a little chip here. Could you sharpen it for me while you're at it?"
Qin Tiexin took the knife, carefully examined the tiny chip, and ran his fingers over the blade to assess its overall condition. He nodded. "I can fix it. But there isn't enough time today. It needs tempering again to adjust its toughness. Can you collect it tomorrow, Brother Zhao?"
"Sure! No hurry!" Hunter Zhao readily agreed. "I'll be off, then. Still need to buy some New Year provisions." After a few more reminders, he finally turned and left.
Qin Tiexin carried the deer leg into the shop and shut the door. The frozen venison pressed against his chest, yet a warm current seemed to seep slowly through the cold iron and flesh into his nearly frozen heart.
Rather than dealing with the deer leg immediately, he first found his whetstone and tools. By the last daylight outside the window, he began carefully repairing Hunter Zhao's chopping knife. Small though the chip was, it affected the transmission of force. He needed to carefully temper and soften the surrounding metal, forge it back together, then quench the whole blade to restore it to its best condition. He worked with exceptional focus, striving for perfection at every step, as though fulfilling some unspoken promise and repayment.
By the time he finished repairing the knife, it was completely dark. Only then did he light the stove and carefully cut off about half a jin of venison. It was fine, lean hind-leg meat, deep red with distinct grain. Unwilling to use much oil, he dripped only a few drops of lard into the pan, sliced the meat thinly, and stir-fried it quickly. As soon as the slices changed color and curled, releasing a rich, seared fragrance, he scooped them out.
With that plate of stir-fried venison seasoned with nothing but salt, he finished the remaining mixed-grain flatbread. The meat was tough and took effort to chew, but its pure meaty taste and the fragrance of fat brought a satisfaction he had not experienced in a long time. He could clearly feel a solid warmth rising from his stomach after he ate, spreading through his limbs and bones and driving away a little of the exhaustion and chill lodged deep in his marrow.
A little of his strength seemed to have returned.
After eating, he did not rest immediately. He cleaned the stove, carefully wrapped the remaining deer leg in oilcloth, and hung it from a roof beam where the air could circulate. Then he washed his hands, sat cross-legged on the cold floorboards, concentrated, and summoned the Illustrated Catalog of Ten Thousand Artifacts.
The dark-gold phantom scroll unfurled in his consciousness. He did not rush into the Virtual Realm · Forging Hall. Instead, he first recalled and digested what he had learned in the Void Realm over these past days: the signs of metal fatigue, the distribution of stress where different materials joined, the subtle resonance between residual Intent power and an artifact's structure...
Hunter Zhao's words that day, and what he had felt while repairing the chopping knife, seemed to faintly corroborate certain obscure descriptions in the catalog. An ordinary chopping knife, imbued with its user's trust and its craftsman's care, could unleash strength beyond that of its materials at a critical moment.
Then, an "Intent-Containing Artifact"...
His thoughts gradually quieted, and his mind reached toward the Virtual Realm · Forging Hall deep within the scroll.
Tenfold time flowed silently before his tightly closed eyes. Amid desperate straits, this faint ember was quietly gathering its light.