Qin Tiexin did not go to watch when the newly made armor-piercing arrowheads were test-fired at the training grounds.
He was in the shed, forging the second batch of arrowheads. As his hammer fell, he could hear faint cheers rising in the distance, each wave louder than the last. Before long, Clerk Wang arrived in person, his eyes unusually bright behind his spectacles.
"It worked!" Clerk Wang slapped the edge of the anvil, making the iron filings jump. "The great general tested them himself. A hundred paces, and they pierced every suit of new armor! Excellent! Qin Tiexin, you've rendered a great service!"
Qin Tiexin set down his hammer and wiped away his sweat. "As long as they work."
"They do far more than work!" Clerk Wang rubbed his hands. "The great general said not to rush to issue them to the whole army-we're going to catch the Northern Di off guard. But we need to get them ready first. A hundred thousand, all within a month!"
Qin Tiexin froze for a moment. A hundred thousand-even with the entire Craftsmen's Camp rushing the work, that would be a tall order.
Clerk Wang lowered his voice. "Your skill is unmatched in this camp. But that quantity... you can't do it alone."
Qin Tiexin said nothing. He looked down at the newly shaped arrowhead on the anvil, its three-edged point gleaming coldly in the forge light.
After a long while, he looked up. "I'll share the method."
Clerk Wang stared.
"The key to composite forging is the heat and the number of folds and hammerings. I've thought it over. We don't actually need that special refractory clay-a different hammering method and a double-layered crucible will do. It'll be slower, but ordinary craftsmen can learn it." Qin Tiexin spoke calmly, as though discussing what to eat that day. "I'll draw up the plans tonight."
Clerk Wang stared at him for a long time, then clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Good lad! What generosity of spirit! Take these ten taels of silver-not wages, a reward!"
Ten taels of bright silver weighed heavily in his hand. Qin Tiexin accepted them, tucked them into his clothes, and went back to forging.
Word spread, and the Craftsmen's Camp erupted.
Some admired him, some privately called him a fool, and even more breathed a sigh of relief-with the burden of a hundred thousand arrows divided among them, they could finally catch their breath.
Qin Tiexin spent three days writing and sketching out the improved process, then demonstrated it himself in front of the shed. The craftsmen who came to learn crowded around him several rows deep. He said little, but performed every step slowly and explained the key points again and again. Some older masters could not bring themselves to ask questions, so he went over and pointed to the half-finished pieces in their hands. "This part got too hot. Next time, a dull red is enough."
Three days later, the ringing throughout the Craftsmen's Camp had changed its tune-it was the sound of dozens of hammers forging three-edged arrowheads at once.
When Lin Feng came to deliver materials, he sidled up to Qin Tiexin and lowered his voice. "Brother Qin, are you stupid?"
Qin Tiexin was checking the number of iron ingots. He turned to look at him.
"How much more could you have earned if you'd kept that method to yourself?" Lin Feng's eyes went round. "Now look-everyone knows how to do it."
Qin Tiexin unloaded the ingots and stacked them neatly, one by one. "I didn't come here to make money."
Lin Feng paused.
Qin Tiexin straightened and looked outside the shed. In the distance, patrolling soldiers looked like silhouettes against the dusk atop the pass walls. Farther still lay the vast, boundless northern wilderness.
"I saw a lot of people on the way here," he said slowly, as though recalling them. "Fleeing south with their whole families. Children crying, old people too tired to walk. Sometimes, in the clumps of grass beside the road, you could see sabers without their owners, blood and rust caked together."
He paused. "I passed the medical camp while delivering blades. People being carried in. People being carried out."
Lin Feng fell silent. His thin shoulders sagged slightly, his fingers picking unconsciously at his cuff.
"The sooner the war ends, the better," Qin Tiexin said at last. "Sharing the method means the arrows get made faster."
Lin Feng remained silent for a long time.
After sharing the method, the burden on Qin Tiexin's shoulders lightened somewhat, but his work did not diminish. He had to oversee the quality of each team's finished products while still rushing to meet his own quota.
By the time he finished work that day, dusk had fallen. Qin Tiexin packed up his tools and was about to return to the barracks when Zhou Cang called him back.
"It'll rain tonight." The old man squatted at the shed entrance, looking up at the sky. "Cover those repaired sabers and spears outside with oilcloth. They'll rust quickly if they get wet."
Qin Tiexin looked at the sky-the dusk was heavy and the clouds thick, but there was not a drop of rain.
"What are you standing there for?" Zhou Cang waved impatiently. "Get moving. Once they're covered, go back and sleep. Tomorrow... come later tomorrow."
That was strange. Zhou Cang always arrived at the shed before dawn, and he had never told Qin Tiexin to come late.
But Qin Tiexin asked no questions. He nodded, fetched oilcloth from the storeroom, and carefully covered the dozens of repaired weapons airing outside the shed, one by one. By the time he finished, it was completely dark.
Back at the barracks, he ate a hasty supper-there was stew in the mess hall that day, and he asked for two extra steamed buns. After eating, he lay down, closed his eyes, and let his consciousness sink into the Void Realm.
Over the past few days, the entries in the catalog had changed again:
Sabers [Full] Swords [2/10] Spears [4/10] Bows and arrows [7/10] Heavy weapons [1/10] Armor [1/10]
Spears, bows, and arrows were the most common weapons in the army, and he had repaired plenty of them. He had handled a heavy weapon only once-a two-handed greataxe whose haft had been knocked crooked. Zhou Cang had told him to try straightening it. He had spent half a day stubbornly bending it back into shape, bit by bit, through cold forging. Swords were scarce. One had been a general's personal sword, sent in for sharpening; the other was a broadsword belonging to a veteran of the Formation-Breaking Camp, whose loose guard needed resetting.
There were plenty of sabers, but he had already filled that category before arriving. Those special, intricate private commissions rarely fell to newcomers like him; they usually went to familiar master craftsmen. Even his chance to work on those two swords had come through Zhou Cang.
Thinking of Zhou Cang, Qin Tiexin left the Void Realm and opened his eyes.
The shed was pitch-black, and the craftsmen sharing his quarters snored in overlapping waves. He listened closely-outside, faint thunder rolled in from far away.
It really was going to rain.
How had Master Zhou known?
Qin Tiexin could no longer lie still. He got up, quietly dressed, and pushed the door open.
The night wind was cool and damp. He headed toward the Craftsmen's Camp, wanting to check that the oilcloth was secure-it would be a shame if rain leaked through and rusted the weapons.
As he approached the shed, he heard a sound.
Low and muffled, like a beast's suppressed growl, mixed with broken groans.
There was hammering, too.
Qin Tiexin stopped. Who was still in the shed at this hour?
He softened his footsteps and approached a gap in the shed wall. No lamp burned inside; only the faint, dark-red glow of embers remained in the forge. By that light, he saw Zhou Cang.
The old man had taken off his outer clothes and wore only a thin undershirt. With his back to the entrance, he swung his hammer at a piece of scrap iron. His hammering bore none of its usual effortless ease-it was heavy, wild, vicious. Every blow seemed to drain all his strength, and the entire anvil shuddered beneath the hammer.
Zhou Cang's back was hunched, his undershirt soaked with sweat and plastered against his jutting spine. As he hammered, those suppressed growls rose from his throat, like a wounded wolf.
Qin Tiexin saw his left leg-the lame one. His trouser leg was rolled above his knee. The exposed flesh was hard to make out in the gloom, but he could see the muscles twitching unnaturally.
Just then, a bolt of lightning split the night sky.
Its ghastly white light pierced the gaps in the shed, illuminating Zhou Cang's face for an instant-sweat covered it, his features twisted, his clenched teeth grinding audibly.
Thunder crashed immediately afterward.
Boom-!
Almost at the same instant, Zhou Cang grunted, and the hammer slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground. He pitched forward, clutching his left knee with both hands, and collapsed in a curled heap.
Before Qin Tiexin's mind caught up, his feet were already moving.
He rushed into the shed and crouched to help Zhou Cang up. "Master Zhou!"
Zhou Cang jerked his head up. Seeing him, he glared with bloodshot eyes. "Get out! Who told you to come here?! Get out!"
His curses were fierce, but his hands still gripped his knee, his knuckles frighteningly white.
Qin Tiexin ignored him, his gaze falling on Zhou Cang's left leg. He gently lifted the trouser leg-the instant his hand touched it, Zhou Cang shuddered all over.
Lightning flashed again.
This time, he saw clearly. The knee was swollen like a risen steamed bun, the flesh an unnatural purplish red. The entire lower leg twisted at a bizarre angle, and the uneven ridges left by an old, healed injury were plainly visible around the ankle.
Qin Tiexin's pupils contracted slightly.
He remembered hearing an old herbalist in Ink City describe this-whenever the weather turned wet and cold, an old bone injury like this would feel as though needles were stabbing into the gaps between the bones. The pain could be unbearable. A folk remedy was to apply a warm piece of iron. Iron transmitted heat steadily and could quell that deep, cold ache.
He turned toward the forge. Beside the embers lay the scrap iron Zhou Cang had just hammered, still glowing dark red.
Qin Tiexin tore off the hem of his inner garment, soaked it in a bucket, wrung it half-dry, and folded it into a thick pad. Then he picked up the iron with tongs-the temperature was just right, hot but not enough to burn.
He laid the wet cloth over Zhou Cang's knee, then carefully placed the iron on top.
Hiss- White vapor rose.
Zhou Cang's body went rigid, a short gasp squeezing from his throat.
But then his taut muscles began to relax, little by little. Color slowly returned to the knuckles of the hands gripping his knee.
Outside the shed, rain finally poured down in sheets. Droplets struck the oilcloth with sharp patters, like tens of thousands of tiny drums.
After a long while, Zhou Cang let out a long breath.
He opened his eyes and looked at Qin Tiexin, his gaze as tangled as an overturned vat of pigments. At last, he turned away and rasped, "Wine."
Qin Tiexin fetched Zhou Cang's wine gourd from the corner and handed it over.
Zhou Cang took a deep swig. Wine spilled from the corner of his mouth, mingling with sweat as it ran down. He wiped his face and exhaled another stale breath.
The rain grew heavier. Several spots in the roof leaked, and water dripped onto the dirt floor.
"Boy," Zhou Cang suddenly said, his voice very low, "want to hear a story?"
Qin Tiexin sat beside him and nodded.
Zhou Cang took another drink, gazing out into the black, rain-soaked night as though looking somewhere far away.
"Twenty years ago, there was a blacksmith in the jianghu called Nimble-Handed Zhou," he said slowly. "His sabers and swords started at a hundred taels of silver, and he only took jobs when he felt like it. Life was... pretty comfortable."
Qin Tiexin listened quietly.
"Then one day, he went into the northern mountains looking for ore. Bad luck-he ran into a squad of Northern Di scouts." Zhou Cang's voice was level, as though he were telling someone else's story. "He tried to slip away, but they spotted him. They charged over on horseback..."
He paused, his left hand unconsciously reaching for his left knee.
"A horse trampled over it. Shattered the knee." He spoke lightly, but Qin Tiexin saw the fingers touching his knee tremble faintly.
"I was lucky to survive. A border patrol came along, killed the scouts, and dragged me back." Zhou Cang stretched his lips into an ugly smile. "The leg was ruined. Couldn't do fine work anymore-my hands shook, and I couldn't stand for long."
He turned to Qin Tiexin. "Guess where those soldiers who saved me came from?"
Qin Tiexin shook his head.
"Right here." Zhou Cang pointed at the ground beneath them. "The Northern Army. The predecessor of the Formation-Breaking Camp."
Silence fell inside the shed, leaving only the sound of rain.
"Once I recovered, I gave away my possessions and joined the Craftsmen's Camp," Zhou Cang said. "Later, when the great general was heading north, I volunteered to come along. Partly to repay that debt, and partly..."
He paused, something sharp flashing through his eyes. "Making blades in the jianghu is a craft. Making them here is fighting a war. I figured it out-these skills of mine shouldn't be used to make ornamental swords for rich young masters to play with. They should be used to end the fighting."
Something stirred softly within Qin Tiexin.
"I taught a few apprentices." Zhou Cang's voice sank. "They thought it was too hard here, that there weren't enough pickings. They all left. The last one... two years ago, he went looking for ore and ran into a squad of Di."
He said no more, only took another deep drink.
After a long time, Zhou Cang turned to look at Qin Tiexin. The last glow of the forge embers flickered in his eyes.
"You, boy," he said. "Craft is lifeless. A person's heart is alive. Only when there's work in your heart can there be work in your hands."
Qin Tiexin said nothing.
"If you think these shabby skills of mine are worth anything," Zhou Cang said, "come here tomorrow night, one double-hour after supper. I'll teach you."
Qin Tiexin stood, intending to kneel.
"Don't kneel!" Zhou Cang stopped him sharply. "No need to formally take me as your master. You have a master, and I have... my apprentices never had good fates. We can do without those empty formalities."
He waved a hand. "Just call me Teacher. Get back to bed."
Qin Tiexin stood without moving.
Zhou Cang glared at him. "What are you waiting for?"
Qin Tiexin bent down and removed the iron, which had already cooled. Then he wrung out the wet cloth and gently laid it over Zhou Cang's knee. Only after that did he straighten.
"Teacher," he said, "see you tomorrow."
Zhou Cang paused, then turned his head away and gave a low grunt of assent.
Qin Tiexin turned and walked into the rain. The downpour soaked him through in an instant. But he walked steadily, each step leaving a footprint in the muddy water, firm and solid.
Inside the shed, Zhou Cang sat alone, listening to the rain. After a long time, he picked up his wine gourd and drank again.
The wine burned, so fiercely that his eyes stung a little.