Forge
Seok Ji-seung swung his foot idly. A subtle malice seeped from what seemed like a trivial gesture.
"Why are you just standing there? Shouldn't you take a closer look?"
Tang Mujin glanced at Seok Ji-seung, then, instead of examining the items he had brought, stepped out of the forge and rummaged through the weapons displayed outside.
Swords adorned with long crimson tassels, blades with intricate carvings on their hilts—all flaunted their presence. But flashy ornaments were not what caught Tang Mujin's eye.
The four items he selected were: two plain practice swords, a dao lying at the very bottom with dust settled between its guard and blade, and a short spear with its shaft broken.
He leaned the four weapons against the wall.
"My eye for quality may be lacking, so I cannot tell which among the items you brought were crafted by Master Seok. However, of those I saw while waiting outside earlier, these four seemed to be the finest."
The reason Tang Mujin had gone outside was simple.
The twenty swords Seok Ji-seung had first presented were all his own work.
If Tang Mujin lacked discernment, he would have fumbled among Seok Ji-seung's weapons and picked out something scarcely different from the rest. Seok Ji-seung would have mocked him for it.
It was the sort of trick nearly impossible not to fall for.
But there was one variable: Tang Mujin's eye far surpassed Seok Ji-seung's expectations.
Now I'm certain.
When he first came to the forge, he hadn't trusted his own judgment.
Instinct told him to believe in himself, but reason stopped him. Be realistic. Learning blacksmithing through dreams? Does that even make sense?
Yet, after comparing numerous items in the forge, clarity came. Not only could he discern which were well made, but also exactly at which stage the flawed ones had gone wrong.
Pieces insufficiently heated during the furnace stage because the bellows weren't worked enough, pieces hammered too little during forging, blades quenched for too short a time.
No close inspection was needed. A mere glance, then a flick of his finger to hear the blade's ring—that was enough. Perhaps this was how a master guiding a clumsy disciple must feel.
"The weapons you brought all looked alike to me. But these stood out—they seemed to have been wrought by different hands. If Master Seok's works are among them, I would be glad."
Though his words were modest, confidence shone in his expression. He looked at Seok Ji-seung with a calm, unhurried face.
By contrast, Seok Ji-seung's smile vanished.
For among the weapons displayed outside, those four alone had been made by the elder blacksmith, his late father.
How on earth…?
Since his father's retirement, many had visited the forge. But those particular pieces, plain in appearance, had never been chosen by anyone.
Had Tang Mujin picked just one, Seok Ji-seung might have thought it luck. Two—he might have admitted his keen eye.
But Tang Mujin had gathered all four of his father's works, as though their maker's name had been engraved upon them.
This went beyond recognition—it was undeniable proof. Seok Ji-seung clenched his jaw.
Is the gap really that wide? That someone who's only ever seen scrap metal his whole life could pick them out so easily?
Impossible.
Even with twenty years in the forge, Seok Ji-seung himself couldn't have chosen them so unerringly.
Each smith's touch might differ slightly, but there was always a common baseline.
What are you, some reincarnation of Ou Yezi of Yue?
There was no room for denial. This much was clear: Tang Mujin's eye was genuine.
But Seok Ji-seung couldn't bring himself to concede defeat. Whether pride as a young blacksmith or mere stubbornness, he refused to yield.
"…Alright. I'll admit it. You do have an eye for it. Perhaps even more talent than I."
"Hm. Then it seems there were indeed works of the elder master among them."
"Not just among them. All four are my father's. Truly remarkable insight."
"I was merely lucky."
Tang Mujin planned to wrap things up with a polite display of humility.
But Seok Ji-seung wasn't finished.
"With talent like yours before me, it makes no sense for me to even lift a hammer. Even if I pour everything I have into a piece, it won't satisfy your eye. No smith in all of Sichuan could."
That, Tang Mujin silently agreed with.
Even searching far and wide, all he would find were slightly less clumsy works. None would ever fully satisfy him. His standards had risen too high.
Yet Seok Ji-seung's point wasn't to praise his discernment. He walked to a corner of the forge, picked up a heavy hammer, and handed it to Tang Mujin.
"Which leaves only one option. If you want something worthy of your eye, you'll have to make it yourself."
Tang Mujin let out a short laugh.
It was like a physician telling a patient to diagnose himself, apply his own acupuncture, and brew his own medicine.
So, you want to see me flounder, do you?
Some are born with keen eyes. Some can even use that insight to offer the occasional piece of advice. Even a blacksmith hammering scrap in the marketplace might toss a remark at the legendary Ou Yezi.
But to wield the hammer yourself—that was an entirely different matter. Without experience, it was impossible.
Yet Tang Mujin did not intend to refuse. He was curious to see how far he could go, and he wanted to feel the hammer in his grip.
Besides, there's no shame in failing, is there?
He reached out and took the hammer. Its weight dragged his arm down slightly. Seok Ji-seung's face brightened at once.
"A bit heavy, isn't it?"
"It has heft."
"Everyone says that at first. If it's too much, you can quit anytime. I'll just put more work into making you another needle. It'll still be lacking, but better than the last one. Don't you think?"
"No need. How many chances in life will I have to play at being a blacksmith? Might as well treat this as an opportunity."
"…Fair enough."
Tang Mujin folded his arms and looked around the forge. Where should he begin? Ore preprocessing? Refining?
But Seok Ji-seung had no intention of dragging things out.
"Since you've taken the hammer, let's start with forging."
What he wanted was to see Tang Mujin stumble.
No point wasting time teaching the tedious preliminaries. Just the forging alone, with all its potential for blunders, would suffice.
A few swings of the hammer, and Tang Mujin would realize just how arrogant his words had been.
Tang Mujin nodded in acceptance.
"Very well. Let's do that."
He stoked the still-glowing forge with firewood, then placed an iron ingot of suitable size inside.
"That's too much metal for making a needle. Are you sure?"
"This much will do."
Tang Mujin looked down at the bellows below the hearth—a small hand-bellows was prepared.
Though cumbersome, there was a certain charm to using it. With a relaxed yet powerful rhythm, he began pumping, and the flames of the forge flared brighter.
Controlling the furnace's temperature was trickier than it seemed. Too low, and the iron wouldn't heat properly. Too high, and the metal would warp during forging.
To Seok Ji-seung's eye, the heat seemed a bit excessive—as though the purpose wasn't forging at all, but something else.
When the iron ingot had glowed bright yellow for some time, Tang Mujin grasped it with tongs and pulled it out.
"Please hold the tongs for me."
Seok Ji-seung took the tongs and steadied the ingot. At once, Tang Mujin fetched a chisel and hammer and split the ingot down the middle. It was an abrupt move, yet his hands worked with skill and ease.
"Why all of a sudden?"
"I'll just use one piece for simple practice."
Tang Mujin took the tongs back, held the iron steady with his left hand, and brought the hammer down with his right.
Tang!
The first strike of the hammer is always spectacular. Impurities clinging from the forge burst away like fireworks.
For a beginner, the sight—threatening as it was, and searing hot besides—would usually inspire fear and a hasty step back.
But Tang Mujin paid it no mind, swinging his hammer steadily. Sparks scattered several times before fading.
After only a few strikes, his shoulders grew heavy, and pain surged into his grip.
Though he bore the knowledge and memories of a blacksmith, his body had yet to catch up.
Tang, tang!
Still, he pressed on. A blacksmith must never squander the moment when the metal is hottest.
As Tang Mujin immersed himself in the work, Seok Ji-seung stood back, staring blankly.
The thought of mocking Tang Mujin the instant the hammer struck had vanished completely.
There was not a trace of clumsiness in his movements—he looked as natural as Seok Ji-seung's own father.
His left arm, holding the tongs, stayed firm against his waist to pin the metal securely, while his right arm swung the hammer in clean arcs, striking down with precision. He looked less like a physician than a man who had spent his life at the anvil.
And that wasn't all.
The sound… it's different.
It wasn't the ear-splitting noise of an ordinary smith's hammering, but a sound like striking an instrument.
The rhythm was even, the volume consistent. Had the tone been a little clearer, it might have resembled the sound of a stone chime.
Seok Ji-seung recalled his own first hammer strike.
He had flinched from the sparks and dropped the iron. He had focused too much on the hammer and lost his grip on the tongs.
He had failed to keep the hammer level, denting the ingot with crooked blows. Sometimes he missed entirely and struck the anvil instead.
And yet his father had been pleased, because his attitude was earnest, and he learned faster than other children.
I wasn't even this good.
But Tang Mujin swung as though ignorance of trial and error itself. Each motion was mechanical, precise.
Ordinarily, forging alone required heating the ingot three or four times before shaping took hold.
Yet the piece in Tang Mujin's tongs already resembled a dagger. His strength was lacking, but his strokes were exact and without waste—that alone made it possible.
The skin of his right palm tore open, blood running down his arm and dripping from his elbow. The pain must have been severe.
But Tang Mujin's burning eyes betrayed no awareness of it—only joy shone in his expression.
Still, his shoulder movements had slowed.
Yes. Even this much hammering was a strain. Clearly, this was someone who had never worked the forge before.
So how can he do this?
Before long, Tang Mujin quenched the blade in water. Ssssshh!—steam erupted as droplets flew. When he drew it out again, a dark, blunt dagger emerged.
There was no need to touch it—watching the process was enough to know.
Its shape was flawless, its balance near perfect.
Seok Ji-seung held his breath, his gaze fixed on Tang Mujin's fingertips.
His heart pounded. Show me more. Show me the next steps.
Show me hammering again, quenching, tempering, honing the edge. Will you shape it into an octagonal edge, or a square one?
Show me how you make the hilt, how you fashion the sheath.
In that moment, Seok Ji-seung's pride no longer mattered.
He was no longer a young man clinging to his dignity, but a blacksmith desperate to move one step further.
But contrary to his hopes, Tang Mujin did not return the blade to the forge.
"Brother Seok."
"Huh? Ah—yes."
"Please melt this down again."
"Melt it down?"
"Yes. It's only for practice. We mustn't waste precious iron."
Seok Ji-seung could not answer. He felt cheated somehow.
Waste it? That process looked nothing like waste.
No—it shouldn't end here. Once begun, it must be finished. I must see what kind of weapon emerges. I must see the final form that exists in your mind.
But Tang Mujin could not have known his thoughts. He tossed the dagger aside into a corner, and Seok Ji-seung, aching with regret, could not find his voice.
Should I ask him to finish it? No… he might laugh at me. But if not now, I may never get another chance…
While Seok Ji-seung wrestled with himself, Tang Mujin was already back at the bellows. Air roared forth, and the forge flames surged again.
Tang Mujin clamped the other half of the split ingot with his tongs and fed it into the fire.
Only then did Seok Ji-seung snap out of his daze.
"…What are you doing now?"
"I've loosened up my shoulders enough. Time to make the needle."