Blacksmith Wang: It’s not me, I didn’t do it, just forget about me.
Li Zhubo was dead.
His luck was at its worst; when the dirt slope collapsed, a flying stone struck him on the head.
At that time, the swordsman had tried his best to protect him, and they weren’t as close to the slope as Meng Qi and Mo Li. Li Zhubo’s clothes didn’t even get stained with mud. Unfortunately, during the last explosion, a small stone no bigger than a baby’s fist flew over.
…It hit the old wound.
Normally, such a small stone wouldn’t even be lethal to a child. However, the explosion was so powerful that the mud hardened like rock, and the stone had the force to pierce through a tree trunk.
Despite the swordsman’s protective energy blocking it, Li Zhubo still died instantly.
Mo Li: “…”
The swordsman was extremely embarrassed.
Was this Li Zhubo a ghost bound by a soul-locking talisman? How could he still die? A top master couldn’t even protect one person; saying it out loud would be shameful.
“Enough, the living have their value, and the dead have their uses too.”
Meng Qi’s words shocked the swordsman.
What did he mean by the dead having their uses?
Meng Qi clearly had no intention of explaining.
The swordsman held Li Zhubo’s corpse, unsure whether to discard it or continue carrying it.
“Let’s go into town and take a look. If the county magistrate isn’t one of them, just throw the body into the yamen,” Meng Qi said.
The swordsman, momentarily confused, blurted out, “What about me?”
Meng Qi looked at him like he was an idiot.
Then, reluctantly, he said, “You can throw yourself in there with the corpse. The bigger the commotion, the better. If someone comes to catch you, just run without killing anyone! Can you escape?”
The swordsman, who had once run around a mountain: “…”
This was an insult to assassins!
But given the circumstances, insult or not, solving the problem was more important than anything.
“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll…”
“Not at all.”
The swordsman was nearly choked to death by Meng Qi’s words, almost wanting to carry Li Zhubo’s body back to Piaoping Pavilion.
Going back was impossible.
Things had escalated to this point; the swordsman couldn’t return, nor could he live as he had before, taking money and orders to kill without asking questions. Even if he wanted to return to his old life, his benefactor… probably wasn’t his benefactor anymore.
Of course, the most direct reason was that the swordsman didn’t know the martial arts level of the “Master of Piaoping Pavilion.” If he could beat him, he would have already gone to confront him instead of following Meng Qi and Mo Li in frustration.
The swordsman wasn’t afraid of death or failure.
He feared being forced to take opium after losing a fight. So, no matter how angry he was, he had to endure it.
Mo Li coughed lightly and suggested, “Your sword is still in the ruins of Sweet Spring Bathhouse. Aren’t you going to look for it?”
The swordsman’s spirits lifted, and even his steps carrying the corpse quickened.
Meng Qi: Doctor, well done.
Mo Li: If the swordsman storms off in anger, you’ll be covered in mud, and I’ll have to carry the corpse, won’t I?
The two exchanged glances and silently averted their eyes.
“Su… all right, do you have a place to go?” Meng Qi swallowed back the nickname for the swordsman and asked, “Somewhere Piaoping Pavilion doesn’t know, where even if you sit still, Shopkeeper Sun might find you.”
The swordsman was stunned for a moment, then thought of someone.
***
Run County’s Chenghuang Temple.
The disturbance last night was so loud that some people were anxious. Besides going out to gather information, they also came in small groups to burn incense.
If the county magistrate was considered the father of the people in this world, the Chenghuang (City God) in the hearts of the common people was like the magistrate of the underworld. No matter what happened in this city, whether it involved the living or the dead, or even communication with the gods, everything could be handled by the Chenghuang.
But just like the wandering monks and priests who claimed to have “miraculous hands that cure all diseases” on their banners as they roamed the streets, because they claimed to do everything—from chanting sutras to exorcising ghosts, treating illnesses, and conducting funerals—people didn’t trust them.
Everyone believed that if you were sick, you should go to a pharmacy to see a doctor, if you needed sutras, you should find a respected monk, and if you wanted to conduct a funeral, you should invite many monks to hold a Water-Land Dharma Assembly. So, people who wanted to continue the incense tradition prayed to the Goddess of Mercy for children, those who wanted wealth went to the God of Wealth Temple, young men prayed to the God of Culture for academic success, and young women prayed to the Matchmaker for a happy marriage… The incense offerings at the Chenghuang Temple were always a bit forced.
The Chenghuang Temple in Run County wasn’t very prosperous, partly because the county magistrate never allocated funds for repairs, only going through the motions according to official procedures; partly because, years ago, there was a busy little street nearby with many shops, but as more travelers passed through, the shopkeepers grew greedy, building awnings and extending their houses, even fencing off the open space in front. During temple fairs, they demanded half a tael of silver from local vendors before allowing them to set up stalls.
They lost the people’s trust, and a new Bodhi Temple was built in the northern part of the city, inviting several reputed monks. The spacious open area in front of the temple belonged to the monastery, and vendors could set up stalls for free as long as they cleaned up afterward. So the people flocked there for the temple fairs.
The popularity of the Chenghuang Temple plummeted, and by the time people realized their mistake and dismantled the awnings, no longer charging stall fees, the public was already accustomed to going to the Bodhi Temple.
The shops couldn’t survive, and one by one, they closed. The shops with backing and connections moved to the east of the city or near the northern monastery, continuing their business. The real losers were the commoners who relied on ancestral skills and their shops to make a living; they couldn’t make money or afford to move.
At this moment, the swordsman, holding the sword he had retrieved from the ruins, mingled with the people coming to burn incense, and slipped into a narrow-fronted shop.
The banner hanging in front of the shop was so dirty it was unrecognizable, and it was tattered.
Half of the door panel had been removed, probably to show the goods inside to attract some business.
However, the shop was extremely hot; you didn’t need to step inside, just approaching it made you feel a wave of heat, causing everyone to frown and hurry past, without a glance inside.
The heat came from the furnace.
This was a blacksmith shop, forging hoes, scissors, shovels, and watermelon knives.
When the swordsman slipped inside, the shop owner, who was holding a hammer, glanced at him coldly and said, “Now that you’re back, take that corpse out of here. It’s dirtying my place.”
The swordsman looked embarrassed; he wasn’t familiar with this blacksmith, but they weren’t strangers either.
The blacksmith was actually a martial artist who had perfected the Golden Bell Shield technique. However, years ago, while wandering the Jianghu, he was poisoned by enemies and ended up here. The original blacksmith saved him, and since he wanted to retire from the Jianghu, he married the blacksmith’s daughter and inherited the shop. People called him Blacksmith Wang, not knowing his origins, only thinking he was a refugee who had fled here.
Although Blacksmith Wang didn’t use weapons himself, he had once been the apprentice of a swordsmith. However, he had only learned the basics before being expelled for his unorthodox behavior and words.
After the swordsman obtained the treasured blade in his hands, he initially loved it very much, but as his skills deepened, he found it increasingly uncomfortable to use. Most people in his situation would seek out another suitable blade, but the swordsman was deeply attached to his sword and didn’t want to abandon it. He dragged it along until one day, while leading his men out to kill someone, the target went to the Chenghuang Temple in Run County to burn incense. As the swordsman blended into the crowd and followed closely, he suddenly heard someone on the street exclaim, “What a fine sword.”
If it were just that one sentence, the swordsman might have killed Blacksmith Wang, who was standing by the door, to avoid revealing his whereabouts.
At that time, Blacksmith Wang added, “It’s just a pity that the master’s martial arts are too advanced. The blade itself has developed hidden cracks from damage, and the cracks will only get bigger until it eventually breaks.”
The swordsman immediately stopped in his tracks.
Blood could be shed, but the sword couldn’t break.
Who said that only sword practitioners live and die by their swords? They looked down on those who practiced with knives? They were the same!
The swordsman didn’t care about his solitary lifestyle, his focus on martial arts to the exclusion of all else, or his difficulty in communicating with others; saving the sword was paramount!
In fact, Blacksmith Wang had no desire to get involved in this trouble. He regretted countless times that day when he had gone to the shop door to stop the cake seller; skipping one meal wouldn’t have killed him. It was because he had bought the cake and looked up that he noticed the sword at the waist of the man in the straw hat. The blacksmith’s instinct as a smith made him recognize the extraordinary quality of the sword just by seeing the scabbard.
Who knew that the man in the straw hat had martial arts skills so unbelievably high that he could hear his muttering from such a distance and accurately turned to stare at him.
Blacksmith Wang hadn’t roamed the Jianghu for many years, but his ability to judge people hadn’t regressed.
——Heaven help him, that was clearly a bringer of death.
The kind that takes lives!
Blacksmith Wang was forced to speak the latter half of his statement.
All that talk about hidden cracks and growing fissures was nonsense! It was like the strategists of old, who would laugh out loud and say to the neighboring country’s king, “Do you know you are in great danger?” when ordered to be executed after one meeting.
Fear-mongering for survival.
Could hidden cracks be seen through a scabbard? What kind of eyes would one need to have to see that?
But the swordsman couldn’t resist a good story! He believed that his weapon had a spirit! That the sword spirit would alert its master, would call for help, and if it encountered a blacksmith with discerning eyes, wouldn’t it explain everything clearly?
In the end, Blacksmith Wang closed the shop door, outwardly calm but inwardly terrified, as he carefully examined the treasured blade. He then asked the swordsman to assume his usual stances, noticing something that could be improved.
Blacksmith Wang talked about the mystical relationship between the blade and its spirit, requested a few pieces of top-quality refined iron, and began working diligently.
When the sword emerged from the forge again, the swordsman gave it a casual swing—
Hey, the uncomfortable feeling was gone.
“He’s a master blacksmith, hidden among the common folk!”
The swordsman was overjoyed and later introduced Blacksmith Wang to Mo Li and Meng Qi as such.
Blacksmith Wang: …Actually, I just changed the guard to a different material and size, and reforged the blade.
The discomfort came from the wooden guard connecting the handle to the blade, which obstructed the flow of internal energy from a skilled practitioner. As for why the blade was reforged, it’s like tuning an expensive ancient zither; the wealthy owner might invite a famous zither maker to repair it. The maker would find a bunch of flaws, then change the low table the zither rested on, claiming that the unevenness was affecting the instrument’s resonance. Did the owner understand and agree, or did they become furious?
The truth had to be kept secret!
To maintain the lie, the strings and bridges would be replaced, so it would seem like the instrument had been reborn!
Reforging the blade, if done with enough skill, wouldn’t damage it; it would actually make it sharper. A good blade is made with countless forges.
In the name of his beloved sword, the swordsman became acquainted with this “master.”
After the explosion on the dirt slope last night, Meng Qi, covered in mud, asked the swordsman, black-faced, if he had any place left in Run County to go, and the swordsman suddenly thought of Blacksmith Wang, the master.
Though they had only met once (Blacksmith Wang: Damn, I never want to see this bringer of death again), a master would surely remember, even if he didn’t recall the swordsman, he would remember the sword (Blacksmith Wang: Who wouldn’t remember the sword that almost cost them their life?).
The swordsman respected Blacksmith Wang greatly, and since he had heard that Blacksmith Wang had long since retired from the Jianghu, he figured the man wouldn’t want to work for an assassin organization. So, to keep his secret, the swordsman carefully monitored the subordinates he had brought out that day, taking them on missions instead of letting them rest in the cemetery with their breath-holding technique. Within half a year, they all died from opium overdose. The swordsman originally thought he had kept the secret, but now he wasn’t sure.
Shopkeeper Sun and his people had made Run County impenetrable; the swordsman suspected that they knew his every move.
Blacksmith Wang hadn’t been in trouble before because the swordsman had always hidden himself when leaving the house and circled around to check if the “master” needed any help. Now that he had completely severed ties with Piaoping Pavilion, or rather the organization behind it, Blacksmith Wang’s safety was at risk.
Without a word, the swordsman carried the corpse and came.
He didn’t consider Blacksmith Wang’s feelings upon seeing him.
Oh, and Mo Li and Meng Qi followed behind him.
If the swordsman was a highly skilled, easily deceived, and socially awkward person, Mo Li and Meng Qi were different! Blacksmith Wang knew from the moment he saw Meng Qi that this was no ordinary person. No ordinary person could give him such a dangerous feeling.
Especially when he heard the swordsman introduce him as a master blacksmith and enthusiastically recount their first encounter, Blacksmith Wang clearly saw Meng Qi’s expression change from curiosity to a half-smile.
Cold sweat broke out on Blacksmith Wang’s back.
He managed to keep his composure on the surface, so the swordsman didn’t notice, but Mo Li did.
Doctor Mo glanced at Meng Qi’s expression, then at Blacksmith Wang’s reaction, and pondered the swordsman’s talk of seeing through the blade from a distance. What was there not to understand?
In any case, the two didn’t intend to expose Blacksmith Wang.
Blacksmith Wang had no choice but to grudgingly allow them to stay temporarily.
To be fair, housing three unknown people who were likely involved in last night’s chaos was bad enough, but why was there also a corpse?
At this moment, Meng Qi went out. When the swordsman returned with his sword, wanting the “master” to check for “hidden injuries,” Blacksmith Wang couldn’t help but show his displeasure. It was unbearably hot, and although the body was kept cool in the cellar with nitrate ice, after half a day, there was already a smell!
The swordsman was embarrassed, his head hanging in guilt.
Meng Qi happened to step inside, hearing Blacksmith Wang’s complaints, and smirked, “We’ll take it away tonight.”
Author’s Note:
It was just like seeing a beauty on the road and exclaiming, “What a fine sword,” but Blacksmith Wang felt so wronged.
This incident teaches us that trouble comes from the mouth.
——————
Meng Qi: Master blacksmith?
Mo Li: Diagnosing a sword from afar?
Blacksmith Wang: I’m not, I didn’t, you guys please forget about me!
