The fiery bite of that mouthful of liquor lingered in his throat for only one night.
When he woke the next morning, Qin Tiexin got up, washed, ate, and went to work as usual. The furnace was lit, the anvil set out, the hammer held in his hand-everything was as usual.
Zhou Cang glanced at him and said nothing.
For the first two days, there really seemed to be no difference. Qin Tiexin's hammer hand was still steady, his blows still precise, his gaze still focused as he watched the metal's color during quenching. He even worked harder than usual, barely stopping from morning to night except to eat and drink.
But Zhou Cang could tell.
At noon on the third day, Qin Tiexin was forging a copper blank for a breastplate mirror. His hammer fell with a clang that should have been clear, but carried a dull note. Zhou Cang walked over and caught his wrist.
"Stop."
Qin Tiexin looked up, his eyes a little vacant.
"This copper blank." Zhou Cang pointed at the somewhat deformed copper sheet on the anvil. "You've hammered it crooked."
Qin Tiexin looked down. Indeed, the copper sheet's curvature was uneven, thick on one side and thin on the other.
"I'll reforge it," he said, his voice dry and rough.
"No need." Zhou Cang took the copper blank and tossed it into the scrap basket. "Take a break."
Qin Tiexin did not move. He still held the hammer.
Zhou Cang sighed, pulled over a bench, and sat down. He took out his liquor gourd, drank a mouthful, then offered it to him.
Qin Tiexin took it and gulped some down. This time he did not choke, but his brows knitted tightly, as though he were drinking medicine.
"It's like this the first time," Zhou Cang said. "It was for me, too."
Qin Tiexin said nothing, only watched the furnace fire.
"My master's first apprentice died right before my eyes." Zhou Cang's voice was level, as though he were speaking of someone else's affairs. "I was eighteen that year. I went to the front with my master. The Di People raided at night, and an arrow drove into his chest, right here-" He pointed at his left chest. "Straight through. Blood sprayed all over my face."
"He lay there with his eyes open, looking at me as though he wanted to ask why. I held him, pressing my hand against his wound, but the blood kept welling out between my fingers, warm and impossible to stop."
"What happened afterward?" Qin Tiexin asked quietly.
"He died." Zhou Cang took another drink. "I couldn't sleep for three days. Whenever I closed my eyes, there was his face. My master told me to remember that feeling. Remember, on the battlefield, either you die or I live."
Qin Tiexin nodded, but his eyes were still vacant.
Zhou Cang knew those words had not sunk in.
The nights were the hardest to endure.
As usual, Qin Tiexin entered the Illusory Realm Hall to practice forging, dismantling, and repairing armor. He already knew those movements by heart, and repeated them over and over in the Void Realm, as though searching for some kind of release.
But whenever he left the Void Realm and prepared to sleep, that face appeared.
Young, with stubble still soft, eyes wide, his own reflection in those pupils. Then came the blood, warm and spraying, and the feeling of it sticking to his hands, impossible to wipe away.
He jolted upright, gasping for breath.
His hands rubbed together instinctively in the darkness. His nails dug into his skin, leaving bloody scratches, but that sticky feeling remained.
He got out of bed, went to the water vat, scooped out water, and washed his hands again and again. The water was icy. He rubbed his hands red, rubbed the skin raw, but it did no good.
He lay back down, closed his eyes, and that face appeared again.
It happened over and over. He could wake five or six times a night.
His appetite dwindled, too.
He used to eat six steamed buns, two bowls of porridge, and three eggs in one meal. Now he could barely manage two buns before feeling choked. Seeing him stare blankly over half a bowl of porridge, the fat cook could not help asking, "Tiexin, are you sick?"
Qin Tiexin shook his head. "Not hungry."
"You've got to eat even if you're not hungry." The fat cook pressed another egg on him. "With that build of yours, how can you work without eating your fill?"
Qin Tiexin tucked the egg inside his clothes without eating it.
Over three days, his eyes sank into their sockets, his cheekbones stood out, and he looked as though part of his vitality had been drained away. Strangely, though, his strength remained, as did his drive to forge. He simply grew quiet, his gaze always drifting, as though looking somewhere far away.
Zhou Cang tried scolding him.
"Is this all you amount to? Killing one person leaves you like this? People die on the battlefield every day. Are you going to stop living?"
Qin Tiexin lowered his head and said, "Teacher, I'm fine."
"Fine, my ass!" Zhou Cang slammed the hammer onto the anvil. "Look at the state you're in!"
Qin Tiexin fell silent and went on forging.
Zhou Cang also tried reasoning with him.
"He was one of the Di People. If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed our people. Did you want Zhao Ling to die? Lin Feng? The civilians at Xinyang Pass?"
Qin Tiexin nodded. "I know."
But his eyes were still vacant.
Zhou Cang was at his wits' end.
On the fifth day, Zhou Cang went to find Li Zhenwei.
Li Zhenwei and Shi Meng were working through something at a sand table. Both stopped when he arrived.
"Master Zhou. A rare visitor," Li Zhenwei said.
Zhou Cang dispensed with pleasantries. "Something's wrong with Qin Tiexin."
He explained the situation. The boy could still forge, but he had become numb, could neither eat nor sleep well, kept waking with a start at night, and had no life in his eyes.
Li Zhenwei and Shi Meng exchanged a glance.
"Let's take a look," Li Zhenwei said.
The three went to the Craftsmen's Camp together.
Qin Tiexin was forging blades. The furnace glowed red. Bare to the waist, he had sweat streaming down his solid back muscles as his hammer rose and fell in its usual rhythm. From behind, everything seemed normal.
"Tiexin," Zhou Cang called.
Qin Tiexin stopped and turned around. Seeing Li Zhenwei and Shi Meng, he paused, then straightened. "General Li, Instructor Shi."
His voice was steady, his expression normal.
Li Zhenwei walked up and looked him over. "I hear you haven't been doing well these past few days?"
"No." Qin Tiexin shook his head. "I'm doing well."
"Can you eat?"
"Yes."
"Can you sleep?"
"Yes."
"Good, then," Li Zhenwei said. "Return to your team for training tomorrow."
"Yes," Qin Tiexin answered at once.
Shi Meng had been watching his eyes the whole time. Suddenly, he drew the small knife he carried at his waist-the blade was narrow, its edge gleaming bright. Without warning, he drew it across his left palm.
Shhk-
Blood welled up immediately, dripping down between his fingers.
Shi Meng raised his bloody hand in front of Qin Tiexin, almost pressing it against his face.
Qin Tiexin's pupils abruptly dilated.
His whole body froze. His breathing grew rapid, his chest heaving violently. His eyes locked on that bleeding hand, his face turning pale little by little. Then he began to tremble-first his hands, then his arms, and finally his entire body, like a leaf in a bitter wind.
"Enough," Li Zhenwei said gravely.
Shi Meng withdrew his hand, tore off a strip of cloth, and wrapped it carelessly.
Qin Tiexin still stood frozen, his eyes staring, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
Zhou Cang walked over and patted his shoulder. "Go rest."
Qin Tiexin turned mechanically, walked to the bench in the corner, and sat down with his head lowered, his shoulders still trembling slightly.
The three men left the workshop.
Only after they had walked a long way did Li Zhenwei speak. "He's been frightened."
Zhou Cang was silent.
"His first kill, and so close, with blood and flesh right before him. It happens." Shi Meng's voice was hoarse. "I've seen plenty of soldiers like this. Some recover. Some don't."
Li Zhenwei looked at Zhou Cang. "Master Zhou, don't let him go to the training camp for now. Let him recuperate at home, and talk him through it."
Zhou Cang smiled bitterly. "I've said everything there is to say."
"Then let time wear it down." Li Zhenwei sighed. "He's only sixteen, still a child. If nothing works... let him be a blacksmith for the rest of his life. Keep him off the battlefield."
Shi Meng said nothing, only nodded.
The three stood there a while longer, then went their separate ways.
Training resumed at the training camp.
Without Qin Tiexin, Team A still had nine men. Shi Meng's explanation was, "Qin Tiexin has another assignment. He can't come this time."
No one asked further. Army rules: do not ask what you should not ask.
But Lin Feng felt something was wrong.
During a break in training, he sidled up to Zhao Ling. "Brother Qin never used to take leave."
Zhao Ling was wiping down the bowstring and did not look up. "Maybe he really has an assignment."
"What assignment would keep him from even coming to training?" Lin Feng lowered his voice. "And Instructor Shi's eyes weren't right when he said it."
Zhao Ling stopped and glanced at him. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm worried something's happened to Brother Qin," Lin Feng said. "He keeps everything bottled up inside."
When training ended, Lin Feng did not return to the barracks. He went straight to the Craftsmen's Camp.
It was already growing dark when he arrived. A lamp was lit in the workshop, and Qin Tiexin sat staring blankly before the furnace-the fire was nearly out, but he added no charcoal, only stared at the remaining embers.
"Brother Qin," Lin Feng called.
Qin Tiexin slowly turned his head. At the sight of Lin Feng, he tugged at the corners of his mouth, trying to smile, but no smile came.
"What brings you here?" he asked, his voice very hoarse.
Lin Feng walked over and sat opposite him. He studied Qin Tiexin's face-sunken eyes, unshaven cheeks, a wandering gaze. When his eyes occasionally focused, they held a deep exhaustion, and a trace of... fear.
"I came to see you," Lin Feng said. "I heard you had an assignment?"
Qin Tiexin nodded, then shook his head. "Not really an assignment."
"Then what is it?"
Qin Tiexin said nothing and turned back to the fire.
Lin Feng's heart sank. He had seen this state before-some veterans who came back from the battlefield were like this. They looked normal on the surface, but seemed to have lost their souls, the light extinguished in their eyes.
"Brother Qin," Lin Feng said softly, "it's like this the first time you kill."
Qin Tiexin's body gave an almost imperceptible tremor.
"When I was thirteen, I went north with my father on a trading trip." Lin Feng continued on his own. "We ran into mounted bandits. Father shoved me beneath the wagon and went out with his saber. I watched through a gap and saw him cut down a bandit. Blood sprayed all over his face. Father came back afterward, but for that entire year, he kept waking with a start at night, kept washing his hands, always feeling they were dirty."
Qin Tiexin slowly turned to look at him.
"What happened afterward?" he asked.
"Later, Father said killing wasn't a sin. Killing someone who deserved it meant saving others." Lin Feng paused. "That Di soldier-if you hadn't killed him, he might have killed the rest of us, or the civilians at Xinyang Pass. Your hands are stained with blood, but you saved lives."
Qin Tiexin lowered his head, his hands slowly clenching.
Watching him, Lin Feng suddenly put his hands behind his back, his fingers swiftly forming a hand seal inside his sleeve-the simplest Calming the Mind Instruction, which he had learned from his father as a child. It could soothe the spirit and steady the mind. Once the seal was complete, he gently pushed his palm forward, and a wisp of extremely faint clear Qi drifted silently toward Qin Tiexin.
Qin Tiexin shuddered all over.
He felt as though a cool breeze had dispersed some of the endlessly tangled fog in his mind. Those bloody images that kept flashing through it temporarily receded. In their place came an icy clarity.
He raised his head and looked at Lin Feng, his eyes finally focusing.
"You..." His lips parted.
"My father learned some esoteric arts before. I only picked up a little of the basics," Lin Feng said frankly. "Brother Qin, can you talk to me now?"
Qin Tiexin remained silent for a long time.
The furnace fire died completely, and the workshop grew dark. A military bugle sounded in the distance, long and desolate.
"I keep seeing him," Qin Tiexin finally said, his voice very soft. "That face, so young. Maybe younger than me. He looked at me as though he didn't understand why he had to die. The blood on my hands... no matter how I wash, it won't come off."
He held out his hands. In the dim light, they were thick and callused, but at that moment they trembled slightly.
"I know I should have killed him. Instructor Shi said it, General Li said it, and Master said it too. I understand it all." He paused. "But I just... can't get past it."
Lin Feng listened quietly.
"Every night, as soon as I close my eyes, there's blood, and that face." Qin Tiexin clutched his head. "I've tried not to think about it, but I can't control it. I want to sleep properly, eat properly, forge properly, train properly, but..."
He could not go on.
Lin Feng sighed and reached out to pat his shoulder. "Brother Qin, you can only cross this hurdle yourself. No matter how much anyone else says, it won't help."
Qin Tiexin looked up, his eyes a little red. "Do you have a way?"
Lin Feng shook his head. "I don't. But my father once said this: a killer must ultimately bear the soul of the one he killed. If you can bear it, you remain yourself; if you can't, you become a ghost."
He stood, took an oiled-paper parcel from inside his clothes, and set it on the bench beside Qin Tiexin.
"There's another mission in seven days. You're not in good shape, so don't come this time. Rest and recover. We'll wait for you." He looked at Qin Tiexin. "You'll always be part of Team A."
With that, he turned and left.
The parcel held two jin of beef braised in soy sauce, richly fragrant, once Qin Tiexin's favorite. Normally, he could have polished off that much meat in a single meal.
Qin Tiexin opened the parcel, picked up a slice, and put it in his mouth.
The meat was fragrant, its braised flavor rich and mellow. But after chewing twice, he could not swallow. Something seemed to block his throat, choking him painfully.
He put the meat down, wrapped it up again, and tucked it inside his clothes.
Then he sat motionless in the darkness.
Another six days passed.
Qin Tiexin's condition still had not improved. He forged iron and armor, ate, and slept as usual, but he was like an empty shell, his soul unmoored from his body. Zhou Cang saw it and fretted, but had no solution.
On the morning of the seventh day, Zhou Cang finally made a decision.
"No forging today," he said. "Come out with me."
Qin Tiexin looked up. "Where?"
"East Mountain Mine," Zhou Cang said. "Mine some Star-Patterned Iron, and clear our heads while we're at it."
Star-Patterned Iron was a rare ore with silvery-white, star-like markings on its surface. Armor plates forged from it were both hard and tough, making it an excellent material for repairing high-grade armor. The mine lay ten li east of Xinyang Pass. It wasn't far, but they had to cross two low mountains.
Qin Tiexin hesitated.
"What, scared?" Zhou Cang goaded him.
Qin Tiexin shook his head and stood up. "I'll get ready."
He didn't wear his chain mail this time-Zhou Cang had told him to travel light. He didn't bring Edgeless either, only taking a quarrying pick off the wall and strapping a bamboo basket to his back.
Zhou Cang brought only a small leather pouch, hung behind his waist. He also brought a flask of water and a few dry flatbreads.
The two left the Craftsmen's Camp and headed east.
It was late May at the border, and the wind was still cold, but the sunlight held a little warmth. Withered yellow grass lined the road, with a few stubborn clusters of fresh green poking through here and there.
Qin Tiexin stayed silent the whole way. Zhou Cang said nothing either, only limping along ahead.
After walking for roughly two hours and crossing the first mountain, they came to a sparse stretch of woods. Beyond the trees, they could faintly make out a village-some dozen earthen houses and a few wisps of cooking smoke.
Just as they were about to skirt the village and head straight for the mine-
"Ahhh!"
A piercing scream came from the village.
Then came hoofbeats, hurried and chaotic, along with a man's wild laughter and cries of distress.
Zhou Cang's expression changed sharply. "This is bad!"
He grabbed Qin Tiexin, and they ducked into the woods, lying behind an earthen rise to look down.
The village wasn't large, with only twenty-odd households. Right then, a tall horse was charging wildly across the clearing at its center.
A Northern Di cavalryman rode on its back.
He wore light leather armor and a fur cap, and brandished a long curved saber. His horse wasn't moving fast, but it was frightening enough-he was hunting down the villagers.
An old man ran too slowly, and the rider cut him down from behind, splashing blood across the ground. Two women carrying children fled into a house. He rode after them and swept his saber upward, hacking half the door apart.
Sobs, screams, and hoofbeats mingled.
Qin Tiexin's pupils contracted.
He recognized him-one of the Northern Di's elite light cavalry, the Night Scouts. They specialized in reconnaissance, harassment, and slaughtering villages. How had they gotten here? This place was only ten li from Xinyang Pass!
Zhou Cang's eyes reddened.
Qin Tiexin saw his master's hands trembling, not with fear, but with rage. Zhou Cang's lame leg had been slashed by a Di People cavalryman years ago.
"Master..." Qin Tiexin whispered.
Zhou Cang drew a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He glanced at Qin Tiexin-his face was pale, his gaze a little vacant again. Clearly, he still hadn't emerged from the shadow of what had happened before.
I can't let him fight.
Zhou Cang made up his mind. He took the leather pouch from behind his waist. Inside was a pile of parts, which he rapidly assembled into a small crossbow. He drew out the little crossbow, then fished three short bolts from the pouch and loaded them one by one.
"Stay here. Don't move," Zhou Cang said quietly. "I'll go."
"Teacher, your leg-"
"Shut up," Zhou Cang cut him off. "Stay hidden. Don't come out."
With that, Zhou Cang crouched low and limped toward the village, using the trees and earthen walls for cover.
Qin Tiexin lay behind the rise, watching helplessly.
Zhou Cang moved with practiced skill. He circled to the village's western side, where a row of woodpiles blocked the horse's line of sight. Peering out from behind a woodpile, he raised the crossbow and aimed.
The Di People cavalryman was chasing a boy of about ten.
The boy was small and thin, running desperately on bare feet, but how could he outrun a horse? Grinning savagely, the Di People rider urged his horse closer and raised his saber high-
Now!
Whoosh!
The bolt sliced through the air.
The Di People rider was about to swing when a sudden chill struck his right wrist, followed by searing pain. He looked down and saw a short bolt piercing his wrist, its point protruding from the other side, blood dripping down its shaft.
With a clang, the saber fell from his hand.
The Di People rider screamed, clutched his wrist, and whipped his head around, spotting Zhou Cang behind the woodpile.
A vicious gleam flashed in his eyes. His left hand reached for the dagger at his waist as he squeezed his horse's flanks and charged toward Zhou Cang.
Unhurried, Zhou Cang raised the crossbow again.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two bolts fired in succession.
One buried itself in the center of the Di People rider's forehead, the other in his throat.
The Di People rider's expression froze, his eyes wide as though he couldn't believe it. He toppled from his horse and hit the ground with a thud, twitched twice, and lay still.
The startled horse whinnied and bolted.
Only then did Zhou Cang emerge from behind the woodpile and limp over. He first kicked the Di People's corpse to make certain he was dead, then checked on the terrified boy.
The boy huddled in a corner, trembling all over, his face smeared with tears, but he was unhurt.
Zhou Cang let out a relieved breath and turned to shout toward the woods. "Tiexin! Come here!"
Only then did Qin Tiexin climb out from behind the rise and run into the village.
Three villagers' bodies lay on the ground, their blood staining the earth red. The survivors peered out of their houses, watching them in terror.
"Go strip off his leather armor and pick up his saber." Zhou Cang pointed at the Di People's corpse. "He's a Night Scout. His armor and saber are both good stuff. Bringing them back will earn us great merit."
Qin Tiexin nodded, walked over to the corpse, and crouched down.
The bolt in the Di People's throat had gone deep, and blood was still seeping out. Qin Tiexin reached to undo the leather armor's straps. His fingers touched warm blood, and his movements stiffened for a moment.
He gritted his teeth and kept unfastening them.
With the armor half undone, he was about to pull it off the corpse when suddenly-
His movements tugged at the wound in the corpse's throat, and a jet of blood burst out, spraying Qin Tiexin square in the face.
Warm, sticky, its bloody reek filling his nose.
Qin Tiexin froze completely.
Time seemed to stand still. Everything before him-the blood, the corpse, the leather armor-blurred, replaced by another scene: the young Di soldier's wide eyes, the spurting blood, his own trembling hands...
He remained there, utterly motionless.
With his back to him, Zhou Cang was soothing the boy. "Don't be afraid. It's all right now. We're from Xinyang Pass..."
Before he could finish, hurried hoofbeats suddenly came from the village entrance.
Zhou Cang whipped around.
Dust rose at the entrance as another Di People rider charged in! He wore the same leather armor as the dead man on the ground, clearly his companion. He saw his companion's corpse, then Qin Tiexin crouching beside it, blood still splashed across his face-
"Raaagh!"
The Di People rider let out a furious roar, squeezed his horse's flanks, and charged straight at Qin Tiexin!
The horse moved extremely fast, closing to within thirty paces in a blink. The Di People rider drew his curved saber, its blade flashing coldly in the sunlight.
"Tiexin! Get out of the way!" Zhou Cang shouted hoarsely.
But Qin Tiexin remained frozen, his eyes blank, as though he hadn't heard.
Twenty paces.
Zhou Cang tried to raise his crossbow, but he had already fired all three bolts. There was no time to reload.
Fifteen paces.
"Tiexin!" Zhou Cang's eyes strained as though their corners would split.
Qin Tiexin finally stirred. He raised his head and saw the charging horse and saber. His pupils widened, but his body seemed nailed to the ground, unable to move.
Ten paces.
Zhou Cang hesitated no longer.
He didn't know where the strength came from. His lame leg burst into astonishing speed, and like an old wolf, he hurled himself at Qin Tiexin!
Thud!
He slammed hard into Qin Tiexin.
Qin Tiexin rolled twice from the impact and landed beside an earthen wall, finally coming to his senses.
But when he looked up, what he saw was-
In knocking him aside, Zhou Cang had lost his balance. The Di People's horse was already upon him. Its hooves rose and came crashing down on Zhou Cang!
Crack!
The sound of breaking bone rang out clearly.
Zhou Cang gave a muffled groan and was knocked to the ground. At that very moment, the mounted Di People's saber swept down-
Steel flashed.
Blood blossomed.
Qin Tiexin saw his master's already lame right leg severed cleanly at the hip. It flew up, traced an arc through the air, then landed with a thump several paces away.
Blood gushed like a fountain from the stump, instantly staining the surrounding dirt red.
Zhou Cang lay there, his body convulsing, his face white as paper, but his eyes remained open, watching Qin Tiexin.
His strike successful, the Di People rider reined his horse around and, grinning savagely, raised his saber again, aiming for Zhou Cang's neck-
At that moment, time became unbearably slow.
Qin Tiexin saw the savage grin on the Di People's face, the blood on his saber, the blood welling from his master's severed leg, and the lone leg lying on the ground.
He saw Zhou Cang looking at him, his lips moving as though he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Then he heard something inside his own heart-
Crack.
Shatter.
Those endlessly clinging nightmares, that blood he couldn't wash away, those young faces, that fear and confusion-at that moment, something colder and harder crushed them all to pieces.
He slowly stood.
He bent down and picked up the Di People's long curved saber from the ground.
The saber was heavy, its hilt still stained with blood.
He tightened his grip.
His fingers were steady, without the slightest tremor.
He raised his head and looked at the Di People rider who was about to bring his saber down on Zhou Cang.
The emptiness, confusion, and fear in his eyes had all vanished.
Only a calm bordering on deathly stillness remained.
The Di People rider saw him too and faltered for a moment-the look in the eyes of this big man, who had been standing like a wooden chicken just moments before, sent an inexplicable chill through him.
But his horse was already charging, his saber already raised. There was no retreat.
The Di People roared in fury and spurred their horse toward Qin Tiexin!
Qin Tiexin didn't dodge.
Holding the saber, he walked toward the horse, one step at a time.
His steps were steady.
As though he were walking toward an anvil.
As though he were walking toward the forge fire.
As though he were walking toward that piece of iron he had hammered countless times, just about to take shape.