It was the thirteenth day of the first month, eight days before General Li returned.
Qin Tiexin rose at the rooster's first crow.
Instead of immediately beginning his body tempering as usual, he scooped half a basin of cold water, washed his face thoroughly, and rinsed his mouth with salt water. Then he took the remaining piece of dried venison from the rice jar-Hunter Zhao had given it to him before the New Year, and he had never quite brought himself to finish it-cut off a few thin slices, and cooked them with last night's leftover rice into a pot of thick congee.
While the congee bubbled on the stove, he went into the backyard. The morning mist had yet to disperse, and the air smelled of grass and damp earth. He stripped off the short work clothes he had just changed into and stood bare-chested on the freezing ground.
Opening stance, breathing, circulating Qi.
He performed the eight cycles more slowly and heavily than usual. He carried every movement to its fullest extent, feeling every change as his muscles stretched, his sinews and bones loosened, and his breath circulated through his body. Sweat soon emerged, streaming down his broad shoulders and back and his sharply defined chest in the faint dawn light. Wisps of white vapor rose from his bronze skin.
He could feel the benefits of having eaten his fill these past days. Much of his strength had returned, and the weakness that seeped from the cracks of his bones had eased considerably. But deeper within, the faint "warm Qi" produced by the Body Tempering Technique remained pitifully thin. He knew his foundations had been depleted too severely to recover in ten days or a fortnight.
As he finished, he exhaled a long breath of stale air, drawing a long white trail through the cold morning.
The congee was ready. He filled an enormous bowl and slurped down every last drop along with the slices of dried venison. Only after scraping the pot clean with the spatula did he set down his bowl.
Changing into the new clothes General Li had given him and taking the incense, candles, paper money, and small flask of wine he had prepared the night before, he locked the shop and once again set off for Emerald Cloud Mountain.
The earthen graves on the hillside remained unchanged, save that several bouts of rain and snow had packed their mounds more firmly. The wild mountain orchid transplanted beside them had survived, holding up a few slender leaves in the chill of early spring.
Qin Tiexin cleared the dead grass and fallen leaves from around the graves, lit the incense and candles, and set them in place. Yellow paper curled into ash in the flames, scattering in spirals when the mountain wind blew. He carefully poured the flask of wine before his master's grave. It seeped into the earth, leaving only dark stains and a rich fragrance.
"Master," he said, crouching down, his voice quiet, as though they were chatting as usual. "I've come to see you."
"I haven't lost the shop. I was thinking... I'd go out and make my way in the world first."
He paused, seemingly considering how to explain himself clearly.
"General Li, the one whose saber I repaired, wants to take me into the army. I thought about it for a few days, and I feel... I should go."
"It's not that life in the shop is too hard, or that I can't hold on to it. It's... it's that thing you left me." He touched the black ring on his right hand. "It told me that if I want to move forward, I can't keep squatting in one place. I have to see more things and learn more skills."
"The smithing you taught me can only mend kitchen knives and make hoes here. Over there, I can repair battle sabers, make bows and crossbows. There's more I can do." He licked his slightly chapped lips. "I want to try, to see just how far our Qin family's craft can go."
The mountain wind passed, gently stirring the orchid leaves on the grave.
"I'll pay five years of management fees for the shop in advance. I've spoken to the yamen, so no one will come looking for trouble. I've given Aunt Wang next door a key and asked her to look in when she has time. I won't rent it out or sell it. It bears the Qin name. Once I've found my footing outside and learned some skills, I'll come back."
"You, Mistress, and Little Junior Brother... be well here. Once I've made something of myself, I'll bring better wine to see you."
When he finished, he respectfully kowtowed three times before the two graves. His forehead rested against the icy earth for a long time.
His eyes were a little red when he rose, but he blinked hard and forced back the stinging.
"I'm leaving, Master."
He descended the mountain quickly, his steps heavy and steady.
Back in the city, he went to the southern district instead of returning to Soot Alley.
Near the docks in the southern district lay a stretch of low shacks, occupied mostly by laborers and sailors, along with a few discharged soldiers who survived by guarding premises or doing odd jobs. While hauling cargo at the docks, Qin Tiexin had met an old soldier surnamed Hu. He was in his fifties and missing his left arm, but he was honest and spoke little.
Veteran Hu lived in a shack by the river. He was sitting at his door in the sunshine, slowly mending a torn fishing net with his remaining right hand. He looked somewhat surprised to see Qin Tiexin.
"Uncle Hu." Qin Tiexin crouched down to meet his eyes.
"Tiexin, no work today?" Veteran Hu stopped what he was doing.
"No. Uncle Hu, I wanted to ask you about something." Qin Tiexin got straight to the point. "I'm planning to join the army. The Northern Army, over in Youzhou. You're an old soldier. Could you tell me what I should prepare? What I should watch out for?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Veteran Hu's single eye. He looked Qin Tiexin up and down, then nodded. "The Northern Army? Bitterly cold country, plenty of fighting. That build of yours... you're good soldier material." He set down the net and thought for a moment. "You really want to hear it?"
"I do."
"All right." Veteran Hu cleared his throat, his gaze turning distant. "First, shoes. Army-issued boots have thin soles that wear out easily. Prepare a pair yourself, with densely stitched, thousand-layer cloth soles. Best put two layers of soft cowhide inside, to keep out water and protect your feet from frostbite. Have a leatherworker nail a layer of wear-resistant rubber onto the soles too, so long marches won't hurt your feet."
Qin Tiexin listened closely, committing it all to memory.
"Second, clothes. The winter clothes they issue look thick, but the cotton clumps easily and doesn't keep out the cold. Get yourself a close-fitting sheepskin jacket, fleece inward. Light and warm. Don't forget ear coverings and gloves. The wind at the border can slice your ears off."
"Third, food." Veteran Hu glanced at him. "With your appetite, army rations won't fill the gaps between your teeth. Learn to save dry provisions. Toasted flour, dried meat, hard cakes-stock up whenever you can, and hide them close to your body. When you're starving, they can save your life."
"Fourth, gear." He pointed at Qin Tiexin. "You're a smith, so you understand this. Army sabers and spears follow regulations, but you can privately get yourself something that suits your hand. A good dagger is more useful than a long saber at a critical moment. And bring a good whetstone. Palm-sized is enough. A dull blade on the battlefield is a death sentence."
"Fifth, and most important." Veteran Hu fixed his single eye on him. "Obey orders. Don't play the hero. Charge when the general orders it, and hold fast when he tells you to defend. Watch more, learn more. Only by staying alive can you kill the enemy and earn yourself a future. Don't copy those hotheaded fools who rush forward howling the moment battle starts. They die fastest."
Qin Tiexin nodded at each point. When Veteran Hu finished, he took ten copper coins from his clothes and pressed them into the old soldier's hand. "Uncle Hu, thank you."
Veteran Hu looked at the coins, then at the young man's earnest face, and waved his hand. "Take them back. It was only a few words." But Qin Tiexin had already risen, bowed once more, and turned to leave.
Over the next two days, Qin Tiexin worked as though wound by a spring.
First he went to the western market to find Old Gu, a leatherworker he knew. Hearing that he wanted close-fitting leather armor, Old Gu froze for a moment. "Little Master Qin, this... civilians aren't allowed to possess armor."
"Uncle Gu, not iron armor. Just a layer of cured cowhide worn underneath to stop stray arrows and flying stones. That should be fine, right?" Qin Tiexin gestured. "It doesn't matter if it's ugly, as long as it's sturdy."
Old Gu studied him for a long while, then sighed. "All right, I'll make it. With your size... it'll take a whole good-quality cowhide."
While measuring him, Old Gu clicked his tongue in wonder. "Good heavens, those shoulders, that chest... you were born to wear armor."
The leather armor would take two days. Qin Tiexin then found a cobbler and ordered two pairs of extra-thick, extra-high cowhide boots, their soles densely studded with rubber. At a cloth shop, he bought sturdy dark-gray cotton fabric and fluffy new cotton, then delivered them to a familiar tailor, paying extra to rush a set of thick padded trousers and a jacket roomy enough to wear over a leather coat, along with two pairs of extra-thick gloves.
Then he went to the county yamen's household office and paid five years of shop management fees in one sum-twenty-five whole taels of silver, an advance on his military pay from General Li. The clerk accepting the payment looked at the gleaming fine silver, then at the tall, silent youth before him, and could not help asking, "Young Brother Qin, are you... going on a long journey?"
"Yes." Qin Tiexin offered only that one word, took the stamped receipt, and left.
Returning to Soot Alley, he first visited Aunt Wang next door.
"Aunt Wang, there's something I'd like to discuss with you." Qin Tiexin stood at her door, a little embarrassed. "I may be away for a while. The shop... I'd like to ask you to look in when you have time, air it out, and keep the rats from nesting there. Here's the key." He handed her a brass key.
Aunt Wang took it, her eyes instantly reddening. "Tiexin, are you... leaving? Where are you going? Is it..." She glanced toward the Heavenly Craft Workshop across the street and lowered her voice. "Have they pushed you so hard you can't stay anymore? Don't be afraid. The neighbors..."
"No, Aunt Wang." Qin Tiexin quickly shook his head. "I want to go out and make my way in the world myself. I'm not selling or renting out the shop. I'm keeping it. I've paid five years of management fees, and everything's arranged with the yamen. Just look in occasionally."
Aunt Wang wiped her eyes and sighed. "You child... just like your master, you know your own mind. All right, I'll watch it for you. When... will you be back?"
"I can't say," Qin Tiexin answered honestly. "Maybe a year or two, maybe longer. Once I've found my footing, I'll come back to see you and everyone."
After leaving Aunt Wang's, he visited Uncle Li, Butcher Zhang, Tofu Xishi, and several other households, informing them one by one. Hearing he was leaving, everyone assumed the Heavenly Craft Workshop had driven him into a corner. They sighed, and some even tried to give him money. Qin Tiexin declined each offer with thanks, saying only that he was going out to find a livelihood, that he was keeping the shop, and that he would return.
On the sixteenth day of the first month, he threw open the shop doors.
"Uncles, aunties, brothers, sisters," he said from the doorway to the old neighbors who had come after hearing the news. "I'm going on a long journey. Over these next two days, bring me any knives, scissors, axes, or chisels that need sharpening or repairs. I'll put them in order for you."
Free of charge.
Word spread, and almost every household in the alley brought something. Kitchen knives, scissors, chopping knives, axes, even tailors' shears and barbers' razors... they filled nearly half the shop.
Qin Tiexin rolled up his sleeves, built a roaring fire, and set the bellows wheezing.
He repaired everything meticulously. He first felt each blade with his hands and examined it with his eyes, then used [Appraisal] to sense its material and hidden damage. Depending on its purpose and wear, he reforged it to adjust its balance, carefully honed its edge, or used his own special quenching method to increase its toughness. Afterward, he tested it himself several times to make sure it handled properly.
He barely spoke while working, concentrating wholly on the iron implements in his hands. Sweat streamed down his sharply defined profile and struck the glowing metal, turning to white vapor with a hiss. The forge fire illuminated his tall figure and steady movements, giving those watching an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
The repaired knives and scissors were sharp and comfortable to use, with the distinctive solidity of hand-forged work. Whenever an owner came to collect them, he said only, "Go ahead and use it. If it chips or rolls within two years, that's on me."-though he knew he would be long gone from Ink City by then.
Feeling indebted, everyone insisted on leaving money or goods. Qin Tiexin accepted none of it, merely cupping his hands. "Once I'm gone, I'm sorry for the trouble, but please add a handful of earth to my master's grave and burn some paper for him during the festivals. Tiexin thanks you all."
Asked where he was going, he only smiled. "To earn my meals as a soldier."
People sighed, believing he had finally been unable to hold on and intended to transfer the shop to find another livelihood, but was too thin-skinned in his youth to say so openly. They offered baskets full of comforting words. Qin Tiexin simply listened, occasionally nodding, without explaining much.
On the second floor of the Heavenly Craft Workshop opposite, Zhao Ming watched through a glass window as people streamed in and out of the Qin shop diagonally across the street and the tall figure worked in silence. His grin kept widening.
"See? He can't hold on anymore!" He turned to boast to the steward behind him. "Working for free, saying goodbye to the neighbors... he's packing up and getting ready to scram! Father's methods really are brilliant! This is how you break a hawk!"
The steward smiled obligingly. "Wise indeed, Young Master. Once that boy leaves, this shop..." He made a swallowing gesture.
"No rush." Zhao Ming waved his new sandalwood folding fan, brimming with satisfaction. "That shop is meat on our chopping board. When the time comes, we'll push the price down even further! The silver we save can go toward expanding the workshop and applying for a second Divine Forging Furnace!" As though he could already see the bright future of placing in the top three on the Contribution Ranking, obtaining a Spirit Awakening Pill, and stepping onto the immortal path, he smiled until his eyes disappeared.
As for going across to mock him in person? Remembering the youth crushing the ivory fan ribs with one hand and throwing him out like a chick, Zhao Ming instinctively rubbed his wrist-the bruises had long faded, but the shadow remained in his mind. Forget it. His goal was nearly achieved anyway. Why invite bad luck again?
Humming a tune, he went downstairs to inspect the workshop. The clanging of hammers seemed more cheerful than before.
Qin Tiexin knew nothing of the thoughts across the street. He spent a full day and a half repairing every implement his neighbors had brought. By the time he finished grinding the final chopping knife, coated it with protective oil, and handed it to its owner, the sun was already sinking westward.
He declined the owner's invitation to dinner, returned to the shop, and shut the door.
His purchases arrived one after another: the thick padded clothes, gloves, two heavy pairs of cowhide boots, and a close-fitting suit of supple cowhide armor that Old Gu delivered discreetly, covered in dark coarse cloth and sewn with fine, sturdy stitches. Qin Tiexin tried it on. It was a little tight, but fitted snugly without restricting his movements and was completely invisible beneath his outer clothes. He hefted it, then pinched the thickness at its vital areas and nodded. Ugly it might be, but it protected everything it needed to.
He packed all this new gear into a sturdy large bundle, along with the new clothes General Li had given him earlier, dry provisions, a waterskin, a small packet of emergency wound medicine, and the fine whetstone Veteran Hu had recommended. After a moment's thought, he wrapped the Body Tempering Technique booklet his master had left and his own rough-paper notes in oilcloth and tucked them into the very bottom.
Three days remained.
He took stock of his gains over the past few days-not money, but progress in the [Illustrated Catalog of Ten Thousand Artifacts].
The blade category was finally complete.
[Blades (10/10)]. These included General Li's old military saber, Hunter Zhao's chopping knife, the neighbors' various kitchen knives and bone cleavers, and even a battered hunting knife left by an old hunter. Through repeated [Appraisal] and repairs, the catalog had recognized his recording of ten different blade designs. Just as he finished repairing the last chopping knife, a new stream of information had poured into his mind: the "basic design repository" for bladed weapons.
These were not specific blueprints, but a deeper "understanding." The relationship between blade curvature and chopping efficiency, the optimization of thickness distribution along the edge and the transmission of force, how handle shapes accommodated different hands and habits of exerting strength... countless scattered pieces of experience and knowledge were systematically organized and linked, giving him a rough but complete framework for understanding "blades."
The number of major categories recorded had become [1/10].
A brand-new area called the "design repository" quietly unfolded beside the dark-gold scroll in his consciousness. For now, only the "blades" section was lit; the other nine major categories remained dim, locked icons.
Looking at that [1/10] and the expanse of darkness behind it, Qin Tiexin became even more certain of his choice.
He walked to the forge and pulled the bellows.
The fire roared to life, illuminating his calm face and eyes that shone especially clear now that he had a definite goal.
Three days remained. Before leaving, he wanted to forge himself a saber.
Not repair one, but forge one. A saber that truly belonged to him, one that could accompany him onto the battlefield.
The materials were ready-the finest wrought-iron billets he had repeatedly rough-forged and purified earlier. He took them out one by one, examining them closely in the firelight, feeling their texture and toughness with his fingers.
Then he closed his eyes.
His consciousness sank into the "Virtual Realm · Forging Hall." He would use his two hours of access, measured in real time, here.
At the center of the hall, eternal flames burned in the bronze forge. With a thought, phantoms of the iron billets appeared on the anvil. He "gripped" the phantom hammer-the sensation was strange. It had no physical substance, yet he seemed able to feel its weight and the inertia of its swing clearly.
He began experimenting in the Void Realm.
First came the design. The knowledge in the blade category's "basic design repository" naturally surfaced in his mind. A standard military saber? Too light, not enough heft. A podao? Too long, inconvenient to carry. He needed a saber suited to his height and strength, with enough intimidating presence in combat on foot.
As his thoughts shifted, the billets in the Void Realm changed with them, simulating blades of varying lengths, widths, and curves. He "swung" them again and again, feeling how different centers of gravity and weight distributions handled. Too light, and they floated; too heavy, and they dragged. Eventually, a design gradually took shape: half a foot longer than a standard waist saber, with a broader blade, thicker spine, and slight curve. Its length would let him exploit his reach and waist strength in a full-force slash, while its weight would not compromise his agility too much.
Then came forging. In the Void Realm, he experimented with different numbers of folds and hammerings, quenching times, and tempering temperatures. Failure, adjustment, another attempt. Each failure deepened his understanding of the material's properties, temperature control, and the transmission of "force" through metal.
Two hours of real time flew past in intensive simulation. When his consciousness returned, his face was pale and his head felt ready to split, but his gaze was as keen as a freshly honed blade.
A preliminary plan had already taken shape in his mind.