Forge
"Your palm's all torn up. You should wait until it heals before trying again. Just say the word, and I'll open the forge for you anytime. No need to rush."
Seok Ji-seung's tone had noticeably softened.
Right now, what mattered more to him than his pride was the result Tang Mujin would create—and the process of creating it.
"It's fine. Cuts and burns are an everyday affair for a blacksmith, are they not?"
Tang Mujin spoke lightly as he shook the blood from his right hand.
A blacksmith's hands can never remain pristine. A skilled smith is not one without small wounds, but one who has grown accustomed to them.
Even a man who has lived his whole life at the anvil, who is used to the ringing of iron and the heat of the forge, is no exception. An old smith will still cut his hand sharpening a blade, or burn himself when sparks leap.
Yet blacksmiths do not regard wounds as shameful. They are not marks of clumsiness, but badges engraved on the body—a smith's honors.
Torn palms are no different. They are simply part of the process of earning tough, calloused hands. As long as the muscles and tendons are protected, there is no danger.
Tang Mujin gripped the bellows handle with strength, pumping vigorously.
The forge fire roared even more fiercely than when he had been making the dagger.
A dagger need not bend gracefully. It only needs to endure until it breaks.
But a needle is different. The process of making one is akin to that of making wire.
A needle doesn't need to bend like wire, but it does require a minimum degree of ductility.
For folding steel, the heat must be high enough.
To give the metal ductility, it must undergo folding.
The glowing iron is hammered flat, folded, then hammered again.
At least three or four times, or as many as ten or more—the more the steel is folded, the more resilient it becomes.
Swords forged this way do not snap under great force; they flex and bend, only to return to form. Both the supreme blades of martial masters and the thinnest wires are born of this same process.
Tang Mujin pushed the tongs into the forge, stirring the ashes. Hot air blasted outward.
"Brother Seok, please hold the tongs."
"Ah, yes. Of course."
As though it were only natural, Tang Mujin asked him to act as an assistant, and Seok Ji-seung accepted without hesitation.
This time, the hammer Tang Mujin held was much larger than the one he had used for the dagger.
A smaller tool doesn't suit just because the workpiece is smaller. To make a needle, the iron must be struck far more times, and with greater force—thus, a bigger hammer was better.
"You even know how to make wire?"
"I'll just have to try."
People think blacksmiths make every kind of ironwork.
That's only half true. Every ironwork does pass through a smith's hands, but not every smith can make every type of thing.
Ordinary smiths spend nine parts out of ten making farm tools and kitchen knives.
Weapons are the specialty of a different breed: swordsmiths. Both Seok Ji-seung and his father before him were such men.
And just as some smiths forge weapons, others specialize in making wire, nails, needles, and acupuncture pins. These are called needle-smiths (침장) or wire-smiths (철사장).
Though their products may seem unimpressive, their craft requires precision equal to that of a swordsmith. It was no wonder, then, that the needles Seok Ji-seung had made were thick and clumsy—he simply lacked the experience.
Under Seok Ji-seung's worried gaze, Tang Mujin brought the hammer down.
Tang!
A loud report rang out. Once again, his hammer fell without the slightest deviation. The proof lay in the sparks bursting outward in almost perfect symmetry.
The red-hot metal flattened and folded. Flattened again, folded again.
Despite his lack of strength, Tang Mujin worked with surprising speed.
After the third fold, his breath was ragged, rising up to his throat.
Huff—
Tang Mujin furrowed his brow and brought the hammer down again.
Being out of breath wasn't the problem. The real problem was his shoulder.
Wielding a heavy hammer with an untrained body, his shoulder was no longer moving properly.
The dull ache had become sharp, then dulled again. Any further strain, and something would give.
Since it's not meant for wire, this much folding will suffice.
Seok Ji-seung stared fixedly at the glowing billet. Tang Mujin turned to him and spoke.
"Brother Seok, forgive me for asking again, but could you take over the hammering for a bit? My shoulder isn't holding up well."
"Ah—of course."
Seok Ji-seung reheated the small billet in the forge until it glowed once more.
When Tang Mujin held its end with the tongs, Seok Ji-seung struck it skillfully with the hammer.
Muscles hardened by long labor rippled beneath his arms. Unlike Tang Mujin's meager forearm, his strength looked enough to swing the hammer all day.
The billet went into the forge twice more. Heat, hammer, split. By the time he finished, Seok Ji-seung had drawn out the thinnest, flattest wire he could manage.
Tang Mujin plucked the finished wire with his finger. The feel against his fingertip was satisfying.
It was still too thick, though—about the size of two grains of rice laid together.
It wouldn't serve as a needle or pin, but with the end sharpened, it might make a decent awl or nail.
Seok Ji-seung asked a little awkwardly,
"Isn't it still a bit thick?"
"This will do. Time will take care of the rest. May I borrow the whetstone?"
Tang Mujin picked up the piece of iron and moved toward the corner of the forge. Grinding was always done in the most secluded part of a smithy, and Seok's forge was no exception.
Different types of whetstones were prepared there—ranging from coarse and rough-grained to fine and smooth.
Tang Mujin leisurely began grinding the piece of metal on the rough stone.
Seok Ji-seung shut the forge doors and sat beside him, joining in the grinding.
There are some things in life where shortcuts simply don't work.
The two of them worked with such focus they even skipped their meals. The grinding, which had begun before lunch, did not end until late into the night.
When was the last time I worked with such intensity?
Perhaps only when I was first learning the craft.
In nearly ten years, he hadn't concentrated this deeply. Hunger didn't even register.
Seok Ji-seung looked at the twenty or so needles before him. The wire, once as thick as several grains of rice, was now thin enough to pierce even millet seeds.
Compared to these, the needles he had made before were little more than iron clubs. Now he understood why Tang Mujin had been so demanding.
Astonishing.
He had never imagined iron could be drawn so fine.
This wasn't something that could be achieved simply by grinding longer or shaving off more material.
To create such thin needles required the skill to forge wire both strong and uniformly tempered. Without that, the piece would snap or warp long before it could take shape.
Had someone else made them, he might have credited superior ore. But that excuse was impossible now—the iron came from stock already lying in the forge.
So where did the gap lie, between these slender needles and his own crude ones?
The answer was clear: Tang Mujin's folding and forging. That short process alone had made such a vast difference.
Today, Seok Ji-seung had gained a revelation. A lesson profound enough to change the course of his life as a swordsmith.
Just as he was about to thank Tang Mujin, the latter bowed his head first.
"Thanks to you, Brother Seok, I've obtained a fine tool."
"Nonsense. I only lent a hand here and there."
"If you call that lending a hand, then you did more than I did. Look at the state of me."
Having overworked his arms so suddenly, Tang Mujin could hardly lift them. For the next few days, he would surely be tormented by fierce muscle pain.
He spoke weakly, his body sagging.
"I don't know how I could ever repay such help."
"Repay? There's no need. If anyone owes a debt, it's me."
"Still…"
"If it truly weighs on you, then just visit the forge now and then. Show me how you work. That alone is enough."
"Understood. I'll see you next time."
Tang Mujin bowed once more and returned to his clinic.
After seeing him off, Seok Ji-seung hurried back into the forge and carefully retrieved the dagger Tang Mujin had made.