The director looked at their clasped hands, then at Na'er's slightly reddened eyes, and sighed softly.
The director said nothing more, merely waving a hand. "All right, all right. As long as you're both back. You're both good children. It's getting late. Go to your room and sleep."
The wistfulness in her voice made it seem as though she knew something.
Early the next morning, Lu Chen slept in for once.
By the time he groggily opened his eyes, sunlight was already spilling through the window onto the floor.
Out of habit, he turned toward the little bed opposite his.
The quilt was folded neatly, its corners crisp, but when he touched it, it was already completely cold, without a trace of warmth left.
It looked as though Na'er had been gone for some time.
Lu Chen simply stared blankly at that empty little bed, his mind utterly blank.
The room was so quiet that he could hear even the wind blowing past the window with perfect clarity. An overwhelming loneliness suddenly surged over him, as though it would swallow his very soul.
Lu Chen's excessively calm appearance instead left the director's heart seesawing with anxiety. She kept feeling that the child was bottling everything up.
Clutching the letter Na'er had left, he sat alone on the dormitory balcony railing, his little legs swinging in midair, his toes occasionally brushing lightly against the wall.
Whenever the wind blew, the corners of the letter fluttered, but he merely kept his eyes lowered, his fingers unconsciously stroking Na'er's delicate handwriting on the paper.
In truth, he only wanted to empty his mind for a while and dispel the loneliness that had just rushed to his head with the power of his bloodline. There were none of the tangled complications the director imagined.
"Lu Chen, Na'er's family just came to take her back. That's a good thing. She's gone back to her own home." The director walked softly up behind him, her voice especially gentle, afraid of touching the child's sore spot.
Lu Chen did not even turn his head, his voice as bland as plain water. "I know, Director. I'm really not upset. I'm happy for Na'er from the bottom of my heart."
Hearing that, the director breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as though remembering something, she took a Federation bank card from her pocket and held it out to Lu Chen:
"That's good. Child, the road ahead of you probably won't be easy. Take this card. It's a little money I've saved."
She paused, then added, "There isn't much in it, just ten thousand Federation coins. From now on, you'll be able to collect a thousand Federation coins every month as a soul master. Spend carefully, and it'll certainly be enough to keep you fed and clothed at school."
Lu Chen suddenly raised his head, his eyes reddening slightly. Seeing the tender concern in the director's eyes, he swallowed and accepted the thin card.
There was a barely perceptible catch in Lu Chen's voice. "Mama Director... thank you." He truly was short of money now. This money was nothing short of charcoal delivered in the snow.
He silently resolved that once he raised his forging rank further and could earn good money with his craft, he would repay the director every coin, with interest.
Smiling, the director raised her hand and stroked his head, her palm warm:
"Silly child, there's no need to stand on ceremony with me. Remember what I tell you. Whatever opportunities you encounter in the future, joining other organizations is negotiable, but the Spirit Pagoda is the one place you must never touch. That place is choked with smoke and foul miasma. It's no place for you."
"I understand." Lu Chen nodded obediently, perfectly clear on the matter.
The Spirit Pagoda had never been among his options anyway. Even if he had initially had some concerns regarding Spirit Souls, those were now completely gone.
Whether it was a ten-year Spirit Soul or a hundred-year Spirit Soul made no difference to him.
In the end, those Spirit Souls would all be swallowed in a single bite as "snacks" by the Dragon King seniors within him, who would then obtain that energy and become his Spirit Souls.
And he reckoned those Spirit Souls would probably be at least a million years old.
The weekend arrived in the blink of an eye. Carrying that weighty kindness with him, Lu Chen headed toward Mang Tian's forging workshop. This would be his last forging lesson at Eastsea Academy.
If Tang Wulin's control over his strength deserved ninety points, Lu Chen's absolutely deserved a perfect score, not one point more or less.
His precision went right down to his bones. He could release or rein in his strength at will, as though it had been carved into his instincts.
Coupled with his innate talent for forging, he was unquestionably a peerless young prospect in the trade.
At just nine years old, Lu Chen had already reached the threshold of becoming a fourth-rank blacksmith.
But he was in no hurry to take the certification exam. Mang Tian had long since instructed him to obtain his third-rank blacksmith certificate first after arriving in Eastsea City. Taking things one step at a time and building a firm foundation was the proper way.
When he pushed open the somewhat dilapidated iron door of Mang Tian's workshop, a wave of heat mingled with iron filings, machine oil, and charcoal fire rushed into his face.
The clanging hammer blows inside stopped abruptly. Mang Tian stood bare-chested, gripping a half-worn iron hammer.
Beads of sweat ran from Mang Tian's forehead down his cheeks and dripped onto the glowing red iron, raising a little puff of white vapor with a hiss.
"You're here?" Mang Tian greeted him in his rumbling voice, casually setting the hammer beside the anvil and grabbing a towel nearby to wipe his face. "Today's the last lesson. No slacking. Show me everything you've got."
Lu Chen nodded, changed with practiced familiarity into his work clothes, which were covered in iron filings, and took his place before another anvil.
Mang Tian had already prepared a palm-sized piece of heavy silver for him. It lay quietly on the forging table, heated until it glowed all over with a dazzling orange-red light.
"Try forging this piece of heavy silver to the highest standard." Mang Tian stood to one side with his arms folded, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Remember, your force must be even and your heat steady. I want you to control the force of every hammer blow to within a hair's breadth."
Lu Chen answered, reached for the small iron hammer beside him, and used the tongs to lift the scorching piece of mysterious iron, setting it steadily in the center of the forging table.
Clang-
The first hammer blow fell, neither too light nor too heavy, knocking away just the impurities on the mysterious iron's surface. Sparks flew, about to land on her, but he did not so much as blink.
His movements were unbelievably fluid. His raised arm always followed the same arc, his hammering rhythm neither fast nor slow, every blow landing precisely on the same point of the mysterious iron.
The red-hot heavy silver gradually changed shape beneath his hammer, slowly forged from an irregular lump into a thin circle, its edges as even as though measured with a ruler.
Hundred Refinements, Thousand Refinements!
Standing to one side, Mang Tian's initially tense face gradually relaxed, and a barely perceptible glimmer of approval passed through his eyes.
He had seen plenty of extraordinarily gifted children. That boy Tang Wulin was tenacious, and his strength control already stood out among his peers.
But Lu Chen was different. This child's control over his strength had reached an almost instinctive level, as though he had been born to earn his living at the forge.
And for some reason, he kept feeling that Lu Chen's control over metal had now grown much stronger again.