In his room, Tang Wulin turned over in his sleep, and his consciousness returned to the forge once more.
Tang Hao sat beside the furnace. He glanced at him and snorted.
"You became a Soul Master? But how did you end up passing out?"
Tang Hao picked up his wine gourd and took a swig. His words were full of disdain, but there was a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Tang Wulin scratched his head. "Uncle, I don't know either."
Tang Hao waved a hand.
"I'm telling you, even if you've become a Soul Master, you won't get any special treatment here. You still have to forge iron, or you won't get any food."
"Now that you're a Soul Master, you have a better foundation. Whatever it takes, you have to reach the tenth strike today."
"Okay!"
A year was neither long nor short.
For most people in Aolai City, the year was no different from any other. They rose with the sun and rested when it set.
But for Tang Wulin, it was a year in which he shed his mortal body and exchanged his bones.
He got up early to cultivate the Mysterious Heaven Treasure Record.
During the day, he attended classes at Red Mountain Academy and studied Martial Soul Theory.
At night, he went home, ate dinner, and chatted with Na'er for a bit before going to the forge. Afterward, he went to bed and meditated. On days off, he went out with Na'er for a stroll.
He went from swinging the hammer ten times at the beginning to striking fifty, sixty, then seventy times in succession.
The skin between his thumb and forefinger split and healed, then split again.
But Tang Wulin gritted his teeth and endured it.
Finally, on this night, in the forge.
Tang Wulin gripped the Clear Sky Hammer tightly in both hands, drove his waist and hips, and brought down the first strike.
Clang!
The iron ingot deformed, sending sparks flying.
The second strike followed close behind, drawing on the recoil of the first to strike with even greater force. The third, fourth, fifth strikes... Each strike picked up precisely where the last had left off, the hammer blurring in an unbroken succession, like a rising tide, each wave higher than the last.
By the fiftieth strike, Tang Wulin's Clear Sky Hammer was moving too fast to make out. All that could be heard was a rapid series of metallic impacts echoing through the forge.
The sixtieth strike. The seventieth. The seventy-fifth.
Tang Wulin's arms trembled, and sweat dripped down his cheeks onto the anvil, evaporating with a sizzle.
But his movements did not slow. Instead, they grew faster and faster.
That was the ingenious part of the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer: as long as the rhythm remained unbroken, the force would keep building. One strike followed another, one wave rose higher than the last.
The eightieth strike.
The eighty-first.
Boom!
The final strike fell, and the iron ingot rang out with a clear, resonant chime, as though something long asleep had been fully awakened.
The black iron, once dark and exceedingly rough, had become a palm-sized piece of silvery-white metal. Its surface was smooth as a mirror, and fine patterns could faintly be seen flowing within it, giving off a warm luster in the light of the furnace.
Tang Wulin withdrew the Clear Sky Hammer, panted for breath, and reached out to pick up the metal.
It felt heavy in his hand, much heavier than he had expected.
There was not a single blemish or crack on its surface. It had become a piece of work that could be described as exquisite.
Tang Hao walked over, took the metal and glanced at it, then turned it over to examine the back.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
"Good, good." He said it twice before returning the metal to Tang Wulin.
"You've completed the eighty-one strikes of forging. I'm very pleased."
Tang Wulin grinned, showing a row of white teeth.
"Uncle, does that mean I can learn more advanced forging now?"
Tang Hao did not answer. He turned and walked over to a nearby cabinet, fished out a hammer, and casually tossed it to Tang Wulin.
Tang Wulin reached out and caught it. The instant it landed in his hand, his expression froze.
A wooden hammer.
It was a hammer made entirely of wood, even the head.
It was about the same size as the Clear Sky Hammer, but absurdly light. Holding it felt like holding nothing at all.
Tang Wulin hefted it a couple of times, his face full of confusion.
"Uncle, are you joking?" He held up the wooden hammer and waved it.
"This wooden hammer is so light. How can I forge with it? Besides, that little bit of force won't be any use at all, will it?"
Tang Hao folded his arms and looked at him.
"What do you think forging is? Just taking a hammer and smashing iron flat?"
"True forging means drawing out every last bit of potential within a metal and making it what it ought to be."
"Iron has its limits, and steel has its own sinews and bones. There's a limit to how many blows each kind of metal can take."
He held out his right hand and pointed a thick finger at the freshly forged silvery-white metal in Tang Wulin's hand.
"You just struck it eighty-one times, each blow harder than the last. This piece of iron held up because it was dense and tough enough."
"But what if it were a thin sheet of iron instead? One blow from you would punch straight through it."
"If you don't use enough force, you can't forge anything. If you use too much, the metal will shatter."
Tang Hao paused and stared into Tang Wulin's eyes.
"Measure. Measure is the soul of forging."
Tang Wulin looked down at the wooden hammer in his hand, deep in thought.
Over the past year, he had grown accustomed to the weight of the Clear Sky Hammer and the feeling of sweeping everything before him with a single blow.
He had almost forgotten that the essence of forging was not destruction, but shaping.
A good piece of metal was not smashed into being. It was coaxed into shape bit by bit, like kneading dough: the force had to be just right.
He's making me control my strength instead of relying on brute force alone!
"Uncle, I understand."
Tang Hao nodded and jerked his chin toward the cabinet.
"If that wooden hammer breaks, get one from the cabinet. There are new ones inside."
"Okay."
Tang Wulin walked over to the anvil and took a deep breath.
Instead of using the broad, powerful movements he used with the Clear Sky Hammer, he slowed down, relaxed his shoulders, and gently lowered the wooden hammer onto the iron ingot, as though picking up tofu with chopsticks.
Crack.
The wooden hammer shattered, and its handle snapped.
Tang Wulin: "..."
He turned, walked over to the cabinet, and opened the door.
Sure enough, there was a brand-new wooden hammer inside, identical to the previous one. Even the grain of the wood showed no discernible difference.
He picked up the new wooden hammer and returned to the anvil.
This time he was even more careful, almost using only the strength of his arm to press it slowly downward.
The instant the wooden hammer touched the iron ingot, he lightened the force as much as he could.
Crack.
It shattered again.
"Uncle, I used up the wooden hammer in the cabinet too."
Tang Wulin turned to look at Tang Hao.
Tang Hao sat beside the furnace and took a swig from his wine gourd. "Why don't you open it and look again?" he said unhurriedly.
Tang Wulin frowned in confusion, walked back to the cabinet, and opened the door again.
A brand-new wooden hammer lay quietly inside.
He froze for a moment, then realized what had happened.
"What a magical cabinet!"
Tang Hao scoffed, offered no explanation, and continued drinking.
For the rest of the time, Tang Wulin began a nearly frenzied cycle.
Open the cabinet, take out a wooden hammer, walk to the anvil, carefully bring the hammer down, watch it shatter, return to the cabinet, take out a new wooden hammer...
He repeated the cycle again and again. He did not know how many wooden hammers broke that night.
His consciousness began to blur.
The forge dissolved before his eyes, and Tang Hao's figure receded farther and farther away.
The last thing he saw was Tang Hao sitting beside the furnace, raising his wine gourd and giving it a little wave toward him.
"We'll continue tomorrow."
Tang Wulin opened his eyes just as the sky began to lighten.
He turned his head to look at the folding bed beside him. Na'er was curled up on the little bed, her silvery-white hair spread across the pillow and one small foot sticking out from beneath the edge of the blanket.
Tang Wulin got out of bed quietly, tucked Na'er's blanket around her, put on his coat, and went out.
The morning breeze on the rooftop was cool.
He sat down cross-legged, facing east. When the first ray of sunlight pierced the clouds, he activated the Purple Demon Eye and drew that wisp of purple Qi into his eyes.
Next came Mysterious Jade Hand, Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon, and Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track. By the time he had finished the whole routine, the eastern sky was bright.
When he returned to the apartment, Lang Yue had already set breakfast on the table.
A pot of plain rice congee, a plate of stir-fried greens, a plate of fried eggs, and half a dish of pickled vegetables left over from the night before.
Tang Wulin pulled out a chair, sat down, picked up a bowl of congee, and began slurping it down.
Na'er was awake too. She came out of the room rubbing her eyes, and when she saw Tang Wulin sitting at the table, she trotted over and climbed onto a chair.
Lang Yue served her a bowl of congee, and Na'er picked up her spoon and quietly began to eat.
Tang Wulin drank two bowls of congee, ate four fried eggs, and polished off more than half the plate of greens.
Na'er was not far behind. She finished one bowl of congee and asked for another, then ate three fried eggs in a row. Her little mouth never stopped moving.
Tang Ziran held his own bowl of congee and watched the two children sweep through the food like a fierce wind scattering clouds. The corners of his mouth twitched.
Less than half the pot of congee remained. The fried eggs were already gone.
The plate of greens was empty too.
He silently picked up the untouched fried egg from his own bowl and placed it in Na'er's. She looked up at him, blinked her purple eyes, then lowered her head and continued eating.
Tang Ziran sighed inwardly.
Ever since Na'er had moved in, the family's expenses had visibly risen.
The two children each ate more than the other; together, they ate as much as eight adults.
That meant Tang Ziran's salary alone had to feed ten people.
The burden grew heavier by the day.
He had not told anyone.
There were a few federation bills in Lang Yue's apron pocket. She had handled them over and over for nearly a month, unable to bring herself to spend them.
The family had gone from eating meat dishes three times a week to once a week.
Tang Ziran had tightened his belt by another notch.
Tang Wulin had seen all of it.
He put down his bowl and chopsticks and looked seriously at Tang Ziran.
"Dad, can I talk to you about something?"
Tang Ziran froze for a moment and put down his bowl of congee. "Go ahead. What is it?"
"Dad, I want to learn forging."