The nineteenth day of the first month, late in the hour of the Dog.
In the Heavenly Craft Workshop's secret room, not all the lamps were lit. Only a small oil lamp in the corner flickered with dim yellow light, leaving half of Zhao Xuan's face in shadow. He stared at a rough map of Ink City spread across the table, his finger repeatedly tracing between the western district and the Qin household shop in Soot Alley, his brow tightly knotted. Opening a route through the western district would cost too much and cause too much commotion, with too many uncertainties. Soot Alley... had been the best solution, only for complications to sprout where none should have existed.
"Father." Zhao Ming cautiously pushed the door open and entered, carrying a cup of hot tea. The fright from his scolding earlier that day still lingered on his face.
Zhao Xuan did not take the tea. He looked up at him, his gaze as deep and dark as a well. "Ming'er, I'll ask you one more time. That shop across the way, that boy-do you truly have no other way? Neither the soft approach nor the hard one works?"
Zhao Ming's hand shook, nearly spilling the tea. He hurriedly set the cup down, his face bitter. "Father, you didn't see... that boy is a lump of stone that won't take oil or salt! Before New Year, I tried every argument I could. Six hundred taels in ready silver, plus wine and meat, and he wouldn't even look. He threw me straight out. Later, Wu Youcai went to make trouble, and the yamen runners went to press him, but none of it worked. He... he even paid that two-tael fine! Now that he has General Li backing him, it's even more..."
"General Li..." Zhao Xuan rolled the name over in his mouth, his fingers unconsciously tapping the tabletop with hollow knocks. After a long silence, he finally spoke slowly, his voice dry. "Ming'er, I'll give you one last chance."
Zhao Ming's eyes lit up. "Tell me, Father!"
"Right now, immediately, take the money-not six hundred taels, but one thousand." Zhao Xuan pulled a stack of banknotes from inside his robe and slapped them on the table. They were official notes worth one hundred taels each, ten in all. "Go knock on his door. Lower yourself, bend your back, and choose words he'll like to hear. Tell him this thousand taels is to buy his temporary departure. Everything in the shop, down to the last needle and thread, will be kept safe for him. We won't touch a thing. When he returns after leaving the army, we'll buy him a new shop twice the size of his current one in the best part of the southern district, polish his 'Qin Household Blacksmith Shop' sign until it gleams, and hang it up for him. If he still feels uneasy, we can put it in writing and find guarantors."
Zhao Ming looked at the stack of notes, his throat bobbing, and hesitated. "Father, one thousand taels... isn't that too much? That shabby shop and its land are only worth three or four hundred on the market..."
"Too much?" Zhao Xuan suddenly raised his voice, his gaze sharp as a knife. "Compared to a second Divine Forging Furnace, compared to placing among the top three in sect contributions, compared to a Spirit Awakening Pill, what is one thousand taels?! Huh?! Tell me, what is it?!"
Zhao Ming shrank back in fright.
Zhao Xuan drew a breath, suppressing his anger. His voice sank again, carrying an unquestionable chill. "Ming'er, remember this. This is your last chance. If even this won't persuade him... then even if I'm fortunate enough to obtain a Spirit Awakening Pill someday, I'll have to give serious thought to whether I should give you another younger brother. This chance at immortality must go to the most useful one."
Those words poured over Zhao Ming's head like a basin of ice water, instantly chilling his hands and feet and draining his face white. He knew all too well how obsessed his father was with that "chance at immortality." He also understood that his worth as a son in his father's heart fell far short of that pill capable of changing the lineage's fate. If he botched things again this time...
"Father! I... I'll go right now! I'll get it done!" Zhao Ming snatched up the notes as though clutching a lifesaving straw, turned, and rushed out with frantic steps.
"Remember!" Zhao Xuan said coldly behind him. "Be humble. Be sincere. If he still refuses... you know the consequences."
Night had deepened. Soot Alley lay quiet, with only the faint, hoarse clacking of the night watchman's clapper drifting from afar.
Qin Tiexin had just finished putting the last of his luggage in order. A huge, bulging bundle of coarse cloth held clothes, dry rations, medicine, tools, and the notebook wrapped in oilcloth. The Edgeless Saber, wrapped layer upon layer in thick, coarse hemp cloth, leaned in a corner like a silent giant pillar. He was about to blow out the lamp and rest, saving his strength for tomorrow's journey, when several hesitant, soft knocks came from the front door.
Who could it be this late?
He frowned, walked over, and drew the bolt.
Zhao Ming stood outside, alone. Instead of his usual ostentatious brocade, he wore a somewhat worn gray cotton-padded robe, and there was no fan in his hand. In the lamplight, his face looked pale and his eyes darted away. When the door opened, he actually took a small half-step back by instinct before forcing out a smile uglier than tears.
"Young... Young Brother Qin, you haven't gone to bed yet?" His voice was dry.
Qin Tiexin looked at him without speaking or stepping aside.
Zhao Ming licked his dry lips, took the stack of notes from his robe, and offered it with both hands, bending slightly at the waist. "Young Brother Qin, before... I was in the wrong before. I had eyes but failed to recognize Mount Tai, and offended you many times. You're a generous man. Please don't stoop to my level."
Qin Tiexin's gaze fell on the notes, their denominations clearly visible. He did not take them.
Seeing this, Zhao Ming hurriedly said, "This is one thousand taels! A full thousand taels in official notes! Young Brother Qin, hear me out. Our Heavenly Craft Workshop... no, I, Zhao Ming, would like to discuss something with you." His words quickened with an eager desire to please. "Aren't you going far away? Your shop will just be sitting empty, so we... we'd like to look after it for you temporarily. This thousand taels can count as rent, and also a small token of our goodwill. Don't worry, we won't touch anything in the shop! Your forge, anvil, and tools-we'll send someone to wipe them down every day and keep them exactly as they are! When you return, we won't just give the shop back unchanged. We'll buy you a bigger, brighter new shop in the busiest part of the southern district! We'll hire the best craftsman to remake the 'Qin Household Blacksmith Shop' sign and hang it high! If you don't trust us, we can draw up an agreement right now and ask Shopkeeper Wang, Boss Li, and the others to serve as guarantors! Would... would that work?"
He finished in one breath and looked at Qin Tiexin pleadingly, fine beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.
Wind swept through the alley, swirling up a few remnants of snow. The lamplight swayed across Qin Tiexin's face, illuminating his largely expressionless profile. He listened in silence and only spoke after Zhao Ming had finished. His voice was quiet, yet it was like a stone dropping into a well:
"Young Master Zhao, you already said these things before New Year."
Zhao Ming froze.
"Six hundred taels, wine, and meat-I didn't take them." Qin Tiexin looked at the notes in his hands. "Now it's a thousand taels and a new shop. I still don't want them."
"Why?!" Zhao Ming grew frantic, his voice rising involuntarily before he hurriedly lowered it again, on the verge of tears. "Young Brother Qin, Brother Qin! Please show mercy! Isn't this shop just a place for you to stay? You're going off to pursue your future. What do you need to keep it for? With this thousand taels, where couldn't you settle down and make a life? We... we genuinely want to look after it for you! Trust me just this once!"
Seeing Qin Tiexin remain unmoved, the fear born of his father's warning erupted completely. With a thud, he dropped to his knees outside the cold threshold and reached to clutch Qin Tiexin's legs. "Young Brother Qin! Grandpa Qin! Please agree! I'm begging you! If you refuse, I... my father will... I'll be finished!"
Before his hands could touch him, Qin Tiexin stepped half a pace back, his brow furrowing deeply. Looking at Zhao Ming kneeling there with tears and snot streaming down his face, without a trace of his usual arrogance, he felt little satisfaction, only a wave of irritation and... a little sadness.
"Young Master Zhao, get up." His voice remained steady. "The shop belonged to my master. He passed it down to me. I won't sell it or rent it out. When I leave, I'll lock it. When I return, it'll still be here. It's that simple."
He bent down, not to help Zhao Ming up, but to grasp his arm. With a little effort, he lifted the limp man from the ground and gently pushed him outside.
"It's late. Please go home."
With that, he stopped looking at Zhao Ming's suddenly white, twisted face, slammed the door shut with a bang, and slid the bolt into place.
Outside, there was a moment of silence, followed by Zhao Ming's suppressed growls, like those of an injured beast, the dull thuds of his fists striking the door, and indistinct curses. But the sounds soon faded, leaving only staggering footsteps receding into the distance and long, despairing sobs.
Qin Tiexin stood with his back against the door for a while before returning to the depths of the shop. He blew out the oil lamp, lay down on his plank bed, and stared open-eyed into the darkness overhead.
A thousand taels... a new shop in the southern district...
He rolled over and buried his face in the clean pillow, which carried the fresh scent of soap pods. His master had said that things that were not yours would burn your hands if you took them. What was due was what was due. He had promised his master to guard the shop. Even if he was only guarding an empty shell, that was still guarding it. He had chosen the path General Li offered him, and he would not turn back because someone else offered more silver.
Outside the window, the watchman's clapper marked the third watch.
In the shadows of the Heavenly Craft Workshop's rear courtyard, Zhao Xuan stood quietly, having taken in the entire scene. He watched his son return in utter disarray, tears and snot smeared across his face, eyes unfocused, the stack of notes crumpled in his grip.
The final attempt had also ended in complete failure.
Zhao Xuan said nothing. He merely waved a hand, sending the distraught Zhao Ming back to his room on his own. Then he returned alone to the secret room and locked the door behind him.
Beneath the oil lamp, he opened the small iron chest. There was no gold or silver inside, only several small jade bottles, a few rolls of old parchment, and a small, flat box made of neither metal nor wood. He opened the box. It was lined with black velvet, upon which three silver needles lay side by side, as fine as ox hairs and about an inch long. Their tips shone an ominous, dim blue beneath the lamplight, with an extremely faint smell of rust carrying a fishy sweetness.
Using specially made silver tweezers, he carefully picked up one of them.
"Extract of Sinew-Rot Grass, tempered together with Cold Pool Spider Silk..." he murmured, as though reviewing what he knew, or firming his resolve. "Colorless and odorless. Disperses upon entering the blood. Does not damage the organs or show signs of poisoning. Only makes the muscles and bones weak and sore, and the Qi and Blood sluggish. For ten days, even getting out of bed will be difficult. Mundane physicians cannot identify the cause, and no medicine can cure it. After ten days, its effects dissipate on their own, leaving no lingering harm."
This had originally been a "little trinket" he had obtained years ago from a senior sect brother skilled in poisons, kept against unforeseen need. He had never thought he would actually use it. Its viciousness lay in specifically damaging a martial artist's foundation while masquerading as an acute illness, making it extremely difficult to trace. Most importantly, it was not a product of magical techniques and would leave no trace of spiritual power, allowing him to skirt, as far as possible, the sect's ironclad prohibition against using magical techniques on mortals, as well as any accountability the dynasty might demand as a result.
His plan was simple. Every morning, without fail, Qin Tiexin practiced that body-tempering method. Afterward, his Qi and Blood surged, but it was also the time of day when his mind was relatively relaxed and his body most "open." At that moment, he would silently shoot the poisoned needle into him. No need for more; one would suffice. Then Qin Tiexin would "suddenly fall gravely ill," confined to bed and naturally unable to leave with General Li. Once General Li could wait no longer and departed, he could take his time dealing with the boy. Pressure or inducements-there would be some way to obtain the shop. After it was done, he would give him an antidote (though this poison had no antidote, it healed on its own after ten days, so he could lie and claim he had found a cure). That would count as having "done everything kindness and duty required."
Though dangerous, compared with losing his chance at immortality, this risk was worth taking.
He carefully placed the poisoned needle in a specially made slender copper tube lined with cork and tucked it into his robe. He blew out the oil lamp, plunging the secret room into darkness. Only the two dim gleams in his eyes flickered in the dark.
The twentieth day of the first month, three quarters into the hour of the Tiger.
Qin Tiexin woke on time. Dawn had not yet broken, and deep blue filled the window. He rose and washed with cold water as usual. Embers from the previous night still lay buried in the stove. He added firewood, boiled a large pot of water, and ate the five cold steamed buns left over from last night with a large chunk of sauce-braised beef, washing them down with hot water. This was the "travel breakfast" he had specially prepared for himself, and it had to be substantial.
With his belly full and his body warm, he changed into old, dark gray padded clothes that allowed easy movement, put the inconspicuous leather armor over them, and finally pulled on his thick new boots. His pack and the Edgeless Saber were already beside the door.
There was still some time before his appointment with General Li. He went to the open space in the rear courtyard, ready to begin his daily body tempering.
He normally practiced empty-handed. Today, his gaze fell on the Edgeless Saber wrapped in coarse cloth against the wall.
A thought suddenly surfaced: What would happen if I practiced holding it?
The eight back-and-forth sequences of the Old Qin Household Body Tempering Method already simulated the entire process of exerting force while forging, and had points in common with wielding weapons. Edgeless was so heavy-would practicing with it not be excellent training for his strength, endurance, and especially his waist, stance, and lower body? Besides, he was about to take it onto the battlefield. Familiarizing himself with its weight and center of gravity in advance could only help.
He acted on the thought immediately. Walking over, he unwrapped the coarse cloth and gripped the hilt bound with ox sinew. It was as heavy as ever in his hands, its full one hundred and seventy jin unmistakable. He sank his waist into a horse stance, exerted his arms, and slowly raised Edgeless horizontally before his chest.
Opening form: Furnace Fire First Ignites.
His breathing remained deep and long, but his arms bore an immense burden, their muscles instantly tightening. He strove to keep his movements steady and their paths correct.
Hammer Swinging Form. His waist and legs twisted, driving the heavy blade through an arc. The wind stirred by Edgeless sounded far heavier and deeper than when he practiced empty-handed, as though it churned the surrounding air.
Wind Listening Form. His skin's perception of airflow seemed amplified, and he could clearly distinguish the disturbances Edgeless created as it moved through the air.
Iron Gripping Form. Both hands locked fiercely around the hilt, his knuckles turning white, as though he meant to pour all his strength into the silent giant blade.
Quenching Form, Sinew Stretching Form, closing form...
Every movement became several times harder because of Edgeless's weight. Sweat soon soaked his undershirt, rolling in large drops down his chin, neck, and chest to strike the cold earth of the early morning. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, waist, and back bulged, trembling slightly under the extreme strain. In the gradually brightening daylight, his bronze skin gleamed with an oily sheen, white vapor rising from it.
Exhausting. Truly exhausting. More than ten times harder than practicing empty-handed.
Strangely, though, under this extreme burden, his control over each muscle and his sense of the paths through which force traveled became unusually clear. Edgeless's weight forced him to exert strength in the most correct and efficient way. Any slackening or incorrect posture was immediately magnified, distorting his movement or even making it impossible to complete. After three cycles, he felt as though every sinew and bone in his body had been thoroughly stretched and pressed with a hot iron. His Qi and Blood surged far faster than usual, and that faint trace of "warm Qi" also seemed a little more active.
It worked! And the results were excellent!
Heartened, Qin Tiexin gritted his teeth and continued into the fourth and fifth cycles. He became completely immersed in wrestling against the heavy blade while constantly adjusting himself to accommodate and control it. In the rear courtyard, only his harsh breathing, the dripping of sweat, and the deep, full hum of the Edgeless Saber cutting through the morning mist remained.
He did not notice that, at some unknown point, a figure had appeared in the shadows beneath the upturned roof eaves of the Heavenly Craft Workshop opposite, almost blending into the dark tiles.
Zhao Xuan lay there, his body pressed against the icy tiles, reining in the meager spiritual sense of his Qi Refining Third Layer cultivation as much as possible and relying only on ordinary sight. He wore dark gray night clothes, with black cloth covering his face, exposing only a pair of hawklike eyes fixed on the tall figure sweating profusely in the rear courtyard.
He saw the astonishing sight of Qin Tiexin tempering his body while holding that unusual long saber, inwardly startled by its weight and the youth's inhuman endurance. But he restrained himself and simply waited quietly, like a venomous snake lurking in the grass, waiting for the instant its prey was most relaxed and vulnerable.
Soon... very soon... when he finishes his final movement, at the moment before his breath fully settles and his mind fully gathers...
Zhao Xuan's fingers silently reached for the slender copper tube concealing the poisoned needle inside his robe.
At the same time, crisp hoofbeats approached the entrance to Soot Alley, shattering the morning stillness.
Two sturdy horses turned into the alley at an unhurried pace, one behind the other. Sitting upright on the leading horse was Li Zhenwei, dressed in a dark teal martial outfit with a black cloak draped over it. His face was calm. His gaze swept across the quiet alley and the still brightly red-lit windows of the Heavenly Craft Workshop opposite, finally resting on the familiar blacksmith shop diagonally ahead, its doors tightly shut. Following him, also mounted and responsible for carrying the luggage, was his personal guard, Commandant Sun.
Li Zhenwei reined in his horse and glanced at the sky. There was still a quarter of an hour before the appointed time. He could have ridden straight up and knocked, but when he heard the unusual, heavy hum of wind faintly coming from the rear courtyard, something stirred within him. He gestured to Commandant Sun, and the two stopped at the alley entrance without advancing farther.
The fine horses snorted, their hooves lightly pawing the ground.
In the rear courtyard, Qin Tiexin was performing the closing form of his seventh cycle. The muscles in his arms twisted taut like steel cables as he slowly drew the heavy Edgeless Saber back before him, preparing for the final sequence.
On the roof, Zhao Xuan's gaze was sharp as a needle, his finger already resting on the copper tube's trigger. He had suppressed his breathing to the utmost, his entire attention locked on the back of the youth's neck below, which rose and fell slightly with his exertion. There, the skin was thinnest, the blood vessels closest to the surface, and the poisoned needle could penetrate most easily.
At the alley entrance, Li Zhenwei seemed to sense something. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and his gaze abruptly lifted, sharp as lightning, sweeping toward the roof of Qin Tiexin's shop!
The morning mist had yet to disperse, and the sky hovered on the edge of dawn.
The sounds of body tempering in the rear courtyard, the suppressed murderous intent on the roof, the silent gaze at the alley entrance.
The three converged, frozen in this cold dawn of the twentieth day of the first month.
Qin Tiexin knew nothing of the danger about to descend. He exhaled with a shout and began the eighth cycle, his final set of movements that morning. Sweat slid down his sharply defined profile and dripped onto Edgeless's dark, lusterless blade, instantly evaporating.
Zhao Xuan's finger slowly tightened.
Li Zhenwei's hand silently settled on the saber hilt at his waist.