By the time the contest ended, the sun had already climbed past its zenith.
The ten men lay sprawled at the edge of the field, looking as though they had been fished out of water, mud mingling with sweat all over their bodies. Their gasps rose and fell. Yet none complained of exhaustion. Instead, they were all laughing-grinning wide, showing teeth half plastered with mud, laughing with abandon.
Tu Dazhu rubbed his aching chest where he had been hit and gave Qin Tiexin a thumbs-up. "Brother Qin, next time I'm on your team. You ram them, and I'll follow behind picking up flags."
Zhao Ling shook out his numb wrist and smiled wryly. "Picking up flags? More like picking up splinters."
Everyone burst out laughing. Even the usually taciturn Chen San's lips curved a little.
These seven days had been truly exhausting, and the pain had been all too real. But now, looking at the shattered shields and broken flagpoles on the ground, then at one another-though their faces were bruised and swollen, there was light in their eyes, their grips on their weapons were steadier, and their footing was firmer. Compared with when they had first arrived seven days ago, they seemed like different people.
Shi Meng stood nearby, neither laughing nor cursing. He said only one thing: "Half an hour. Eat."
The ten struggled to their feet and supported one another toward the mess shelter. Their legs were weak and their backs ached, but their stomachs were rumbling loud enough to shake the heavens.
Steam billowed inside the mess shelter.
There were the same great baskets of white-flour steamed buns, piled like little mountains. A whole roast sheep sat on the long table in the middle, gleaming with fat. Beside it, a large pot of radish and bone soup simmered, its broth milky white, its fragrance drilling straight into their noses.
The ten stood on no ceremony. Even the wooden serving ladles were too slow for them; they grabbed food with their hands. Qin Tiexin took two bowls, filled one with soup and piled the other with buns, then tore off a sheep's leg and squatted in a corner of the shelter to eat.
He ate intently, but his ears were not idle. Nearby, Lin Feng was boasting to Wang Meng that his thrust earlier had almost pierced a gap between the shields. Zhao Ziliang and Zhao Ling were comparing who had fallen last. Zhou Laowu rubbed his sore knee from a fall, gnawing on a bun as he cursed Zhao Ling for shooting too accurately.
While they were eating amid the lively chatter, the shelter curtain lifted, and Li Zhenwei walked in.
Behind him, two personal guards carried a heavy wooden chest, which they set down in the middle of the shelter.
The mess shelter instantly fell silent. The ten hurriedly put down their bowls and chopsticks and stood at attention, still chewing mouthfuls of buns and meat they had not swallowed, their cheeks bulging.
Li Zhenwei swept his gaze around, letting it rest briefly on each face before finally settling on Qin Tiexin-he was the tallest, conspicuous even standing at the back.
"You're all eating?" Li Zhenwei's voice was quiet but clear. "Good timing. There's something to tell you."
He paused, waiting for everyone to swallow their food.
"Today is your seventh day of training here," Li Zhenwei said slowly. "When you were requisitioned, you were told this was temporary, secret training, with no formal unit assignment. So after you finish eating today, you must report back to your original camps."
The shelter fell silent for a moment.
Li Zhenwei continued, "Once you return, if anyone asks where you've been these past seven days, you can say you went home to visit family, or went out to purchase supplies. Make up whatever excuse you like. But what happened here-" His voice abruptly hardened. "Not the slightest detail is to be revealed. Anyone who violates this will be punished for disobeying military orders. Beheading."
That final word, "beheading," was like a block of ice hurled into hot soup.
All ten straightened their backs, not daring to breathe loudly. Only the bubbling of the soup pot remained in the shelter.
Seeing their expressions, Li Zhenwei knew the "stick" had worked. His expression eased slightly, and his tone grew milder. "Of course, your hard work these seven days won't go unrewarded."
He gestured for the guards to open the wooden chest.
The lid lifted, revealing neatly stacked silver ingots, glowing a soft gray-white in the shelter's dim light.
"Two taels each, as extra pay," Li Zhenwei said. "Those on the winning side in the final round get one more tael."
The shelter was deathly silent for two breaths, then exploded with a roar.
"Two taels?!"
"Good heavens... my monthly pay is only a tael and a half!"
"The winners get even more?!"
Agitation, excitement, disbelief. Of these fifty men, more than half were ordinary foot soldiers, earning one to two taels a month. Food and miscellaneous expenses were deducted from that; they were lucky if a few hundred copper coins actually reached their hands. These two taels of silver were worth more than a month's actual pay.
Qin Tiexin was stunned too. He drew pay from the Craftsmen's Camp and earned money from private jobs, but two taels was no small sum-even a good saber brought him only a few dozen copper coins when Zhou Cang paid him for his work. How many would he have to forge?
Li Zhenwei raised a hand and pressed it down. The clamor gradually subsided.
"After you finish eating, collect it at the entrance when you leave," he said finally. "Your instructor will tell you individually when the next training session is. Dismissed."
With that, he turned and left the mess shelter.
The curtain dropped, and the place instantly erupted.
"Long live General Li!"
"When do we come next? Would tomorrow work?"
"I'll sleep by the entrance tonight and wait!"
Laughter, shouting, and pounding on tables shook dust from the thatched roof. Caught up in the mood, Qin Tiexin grinned too. He looked toward Lin Feng, who was exchanging high fives with Tu Dazhu, their palms smacking until they turned red.
After the meal, Team A's ten men assembled outside the barracks, each carrying the bundle he had brought with him.
Shi Meng stood there waiting. He looked the same as ever, the three scars on his face like three centipedes in the setting sun.
"Seven days from now," he rasped. "Same time, same place. A quarter-hour late means ten lashes."
The ten answered in unison, "Yes!"
Shi Meng nodded and said nothing more, merely waving a hand.
The ten said their goodbyes and dispersed in different directions. Lin Feng patted Qin Tiexin's shoulder. "Brother Qin, see you next week!"
"See you next week."
With his bundle on his back, Qin Tiexin retraced the road he had come by. The setting sun stretched his shadow long. Along the way, he encountered men from the other teams, also heading toward their respective camps in twos and threes, all light of foot, their newly received silver tucked inside their robes and smiles on their faces.
The supply camp lay at the westernmost end of North Camp, half an hour's walk away. Qin Tiexin was in no hurry. He walked slowly, reviewing the past seven days in his mind: Shi Meng's whip, crawling through muddy water, those hundred saber cuts, the shattered shields, the look in Li Zhenwei's eyes as he explained military strategy...
And the three taels of silver tucked inside his robes tonight-their team had won, so he had received an extra tael.
He felt his chest. They were hard and solid.
By the time he returned to the Craftsmen's Camp, dusk had just fallen.
The barracks were quiet. A few craftsmen were putting away their tools, preparing to finish work. Qin Tiexin first went to report to Clerk Wang-Clerk Wang was working on the accounts, and looked up in surprise when he saw him.
"You're back?" Clerk Wang pushed up his spectacles.
Qin Tiexin nodded. "Yes."
"Good. It's good you're back." Clerk Wang asked no further questions, making a mark in his register. "Work as usual tomorrow."
"Yes."
Leaving the accounts office, Qin Tiexin headed straight for Zhou Cang's workshop. From a distance, he could already see light inside and hear the ringing of hammer blows, their rhythm steady and deep.
He lifted the curtain and entered.
Zhou Cang stood before the anvil, holding a freshly repaired saber. Its blade reflected the furnace fire with a dark red glow. His other hand held a small wine flask, and he was tipping his head back to take a mouthful.
Hearing movement, Zhou Cang turned. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw Qin Tiexin.
He put down the saber, walked over, and looked Qin Tiexin up and down. His gaze lingered briefly on his red, swollen shoulders and bruised arms, then moved to the bloody scrape a wooden arrow had left on his face.
Only after looking him over for quite some time did Zhou Cang speak, his voice as dry as ever:
"Not bad. You came back alive."
Long accustomed to his temperament, Qin Tiexin took no offense. He merely asked, "Teacher, is there any work left? I'll do it."
Zhou Cang took another swig and waved a hand. "No. Everything's done. You certainly know how to pick your timing-not early, not late, but right when all the work's finished."
"Oh," Qin Tiexin said, but he still walked over and gathered the pieces of iron scattered on the ground into a corner, then hung the tools back on the wall one by one.
Zhou Cang watched him work without stopping him, simply leaning beside the anvil and drinking leisurely.
Only when Qin Tiexin was nearly finished did Zhou Cang say, "Come early tomorrow."
Qin Tiexin looked back. "There's work?"
"Yes." Zhou Cang set down his flask. "I'll have you help repair something new."
"What?"
"Armor."
Qin Tiexin's eyes lit up at once.
Armor! During his time in the army, he had mostly handled sabers, swords, spears, and lances. Armor was far too rare-iron armor was precious in the army, and generally only officers of commandant rank and above were issued full suits. Ordinary soldiers mostly wore leather armor, occasionally mixed with a few iron plates. The only time he had handled iron armor was last year, when he patched a helmet pierced by an arrow. Only then had the "Armor" entry in the Illustrated Catalog of Ten Thousand Artifacts barely ticked up to [1/10].
Since then, he had not had another chance.
"Really?" Qin Tiexin's voice rose a little.
Zhou Cang glanced at him. "Why would I lie to you? The camp sent over three damaged suits of bright armor. Blunt weapons dented the chest plates, so they need to be taken apart and reforged. You'll assist tomorrow."
"Yes!" Qin Tiexin answered loudly.
Seeing his excitement, Zhou Cang's lips seemed to twitch, but his face quickly sterned again. "All right. Hurry back and rest. Rub some medicinal wine into those injuries. Don't be too weak to swing a hammer tomorrow."
Qin Tiexin nodded, but still swept up the last iron scraps in the workshop, filled the water vat, and tidied the charcoal pile before saying goodbye to Zhou Cang. "Teacher, I'm leaving."
"Get lost."
Qin Tiexin left the workshop, but instead of going straight to his quarters, he went to the dining hall first.
The dining hall was at its busiest, with dozens of men lining up for food. When Qin Tiexin entered, the fat cook was wielding a large ladle to serve vegetables. He looked up, saw him, and dropped the ladle into the pot with a clang.
"Qin-Qin Tiexin?" The fat cook's eyes widened. "You're back?!"
Qin Tiexin nodded and walked up to him.
The fat cook looked him over, clicking his tongue. "Haven't seen you for days. I thought you'd been transferred! Made me cook too much the first few days, with plenty left over..." As he spoke, he deftly took the bowl Qin Tiexin handed him, scooped in three generous ladlefuls of stew, then grabbed five buns and thrust them over. "Eat up! Now that you're back, I reckon a few latecomers will go without food again today."
Qin Tiexin took the bowl, then drew a string of copper coins from inside his robes, counted out two hundred, and placed them on the counter.
The fat cook paused. "What's this?"
"For next month," Qin Tiexin said.
The fat cook understood-this was an advance payment for next month's meals. He scratched his head. "It won't take this much..."
"Keep it." With that, Qin Tiexin carried his bowl to a corner and sat down.
Watching his retreating back, the fat cook muttered, "This lad... seems a little different."
He could not say exactly what was different. He merely felt that Qin Tiexin had been tall and sturdy before too, but like an unsharpened iron billet-solid, yet blunt. Now... had he acquired something of an edge? His back was straighter when he walked, his gaze steadier. He no longer always lowered his eyes slightly when looking at people.
"Whatever." The fat cook shook his head and resumed serving food. "Good to have him back. No more leftovers now."
After eating, Qin Tiexin returned to the quarters he had not seen for some time.
The room was just as before, quiet and still. He set down his bundle, sat on the edge of his bed, and stared into space for a while.
Then he closed his eyes.
In his mind, the ancient-looking Illustrated Catalog of Ten Thousand Artifacts slowly opened.
The entries on its pages had changed:
[Saber · Mortal Iron] Collection quota filled (10/10)-completed. "Basic Saber Form Library" unlocked. [Sword · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (5/10) [Spears and Lances · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (6/10) [Bows and Crossbows · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (9/10)-nearly full. [Heavy Weapons · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (2/10) [Armor · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (1/10) [Blunt Weapons · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (1/10) [Throwing Weapons · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (1/10) [Unorthodox Weapons · Mortal Iron] Collection progress (1/10)
During these seven days of training, he had handled all manner of weapons-Shi Meng had made them take turns practicing with sabers, swords, spears, lances, bows, crossbows, shields, and axes. He had even handled unconventional weapons such as hook sickles and iron rulers. The catalog's collection progress had increased noticeably.
He looked farther down at the stage objectives:
[Stage Objective One: Foundation of Mortal Iron] Collect ten different varieties of weapons within the same category to unlock that weapon category's "Basic Form Library," containing knowledge of its standard forms, superior and inferior variants, fundamental forging principles, and more.
-One completed (sabers). Bows and arrows were close too.
[Stage Objective Two: A Thousand Hammerings and a Hundred Refinements] Complete collections for ten different major weapon categories to unlock "Core Forging Principles (Mortal Iron Volume)," detailing advanced techniques of refining mortal iron a hundred times, balancing hardness and flexibility, and directing force along the grain.
-Current progress (1/10). A heavy burden and a long road ahead.
[Stage Objective Three: First Glimpse of a Hundred Weapons] Complete collections for twenty different major weapon categories (encompassing mainstream, unusually shaped, rare, and even lost weapons) to obtain the exclusive title [First Glimpse of a Hundred Weapons]. Permanently unlock the passive ability [Weapon Weakness Insight (Basic)]-intuitively sense structural weak points and flaws under stress in the vast majority of weapons forged from mortal iron.
-Current progress (1/20). Even farther away, but... worth looking forward to.
Qin Tiexin opened his eyes and drew a deep breath.
The objectives were still far off, but he could feel his understanding of weapons deepening little by little. Before, when he looked at a saber, he saw only a saber. Now, he would unconsciously consider where its center of gravity lay, whether the curve of its cutting edge was appropriate, and whether the cord wrapped around its grip provided enough traction.
This was a good thing.
He lay down, but rather than going straight to sleep, he closed his eyes again and sank his consciousness into the Illusory Realm Hall.
The hall was unchanged, with its high, broad stone ceiling and spectral images of various weapons displayed in niches all around. Above the central stone platform floated the enormous Illustrated Catalog of Ten Thousand Artifacts, its pages turning without wind.
The past seven days of training had been so exhausting that on two nights he had fallen asleep as soon as he returned, without entering the Void Realm to study. Today, he had to make up for it.
He walked up to the stone platform and stirred his intent slightly.
The pages turned, stopping at the chapter on armor.
Light and shadow gathered, forming the spectral image of a suit of armor before him-bright armor, its two circular breast mirrors seeming to truly reflect the light of the Void Realm.
Lines of text appeared:
[Armor · Mortal Iron Volume · Part One: Bright Armor] [Form: Separate breast and back armor, joined by leather straps. Two circular breast mirrors are set on the chest, their curvature deflecting force. Shoulder guards, abdominal guards, and a thigh skirt are all included...] [Forging principles: Armor plates must be cold-forged, hammered a thousand times and refined a hundred, thin yet tough. The leather cords joining them must be soaked in oil and repeatedly beaten to resist rot and tension. The curved surfaces of the breast mirrors are the hardest to forge, requiring a specially made curved anvil. Hammer strikes must move along the curve, with even force...]
Qin Tiexin read carefully.
He thought of the three suits of bright armor they would repair tomorrow, their chest plates battered inward-according to the book, repairing them required first removing the plates, heating them in the forge, hammering them flat again, then cold-forging their curves. The hardest part was making the curvature of the two breast mirrors identical. Otherwise, they would bear force unevenly and become more likely to break instead.
As he read, he practiced the motions in the Void Realm. Though he had no real hammer or anvil, he simulated the principles of applying force and placing his blows in his consciousness again and again.
He did not know how much time had passed. Only when he felt mentally fatigued did he leave the Void Realm.
Qin Tiexin lay in the darkness, smelling the familiar scents of rust, sweat, and musty wood in the room, and suddenly felt grounded.
These seven days had been like a dream-muddy water, whips, overlapping saber marks, shattered shields, the hoarsely spoken "Three Killing Moves," and the three taels of silver tucked inside his robes.
But tomorrow, he would return to the anvil, swing his hammer, forge iron, and repair armor.
He rolled over, faced the wall, and closed his eyes.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.