In the explosion that shook the entire chamber, an unfinished hiltless dagger was hurled into the air and landed point-first at Zhāo's feet. The blade glowed a brilliant green in the darkness. Its black surface streaked with intertwining green veins gave the weapon a unique and haunting beauty.
"You should never have mixed the green stone with Kraiman." Lóng Xuán and Shen Jian scrambled to repair the wreckage of the furnace.
"Why not?" Zhāo asked, picking up the blade from the ground.
"That green stone—we call it Gogonit—is completely unsuitable for crafting tools. By mixing Gogonit with Kraiman, the blade won't be as hard as the ones we usually forge. Can't you see? It's also far more flexible than mine."
Zhāo tested its hardness. Indeed, it was softer than Lóng Xuán's blade. But the moment it was in Zhāo's grip, the dagger began to hum with a faint vibration. He slashed left and right, and it cut without issue. The weapon was no weaker than Lóng Xuán's—yet it quivered, especially when pointed toward others, as if it were whispering secrets only Zhāo could hear.
Suddenly, Zhāo's hand jerked upward in a startling movement, the vibrating blade straining as though it longed to fly into one of the dark tunnels to the right. Without hesitation, Zhāo's feet carried him toward the abyss, his determined steps leaving everyone frozen in disbelief.
"Don't go there, Shèntiān!" Lóng Xuán and Shen Jian shouted, their voices breaking with panic, nearly despairing.
"Whatever you intend to do, please—do not enter that place!" Both men unsheathed their daggers, trembling, cold sweat streaking down their faces. The threads of light pulsing from their bodies writhed uncontrollably like frantic serpents.
"What lies in there?" Zhāo demanded.
"Inside…" Lóng Xuán's voice cracked under tension. "Inside is a monster! A beast that has slept for decades. If it awakens, it will kill us all! We beg you, Shèntiān—do anything you wish, but do not rouse that monster."
Zhāo hesitated, his doubt visible.
"Please don't force us to stop you, Zhāo Han," Shen Jian pleaded, his eyes desperate. "We believe you are someone special, but if you awaken that creature, we will not hesitate to use force. Please… understand us. We cannot allow another tragedy to repeat."
Despite the fear carved into their eyes, Zhāo pressed forward, ignoring their warnings.
"Zhāo!" Luckily, Ruò Yún managed to halt her beloved before he went too far.
"Shèntiān," Shen Jian begged, "instead of provoking that monster, let us finish your dagger. Give it to me—I will complete it now."
The blade in Zhāo's hand trembled violently, yearning for the monster's call. But when Zhāo saw the unease in Ruò Yún's eyes, he relented. Reluctantly, he surrendered the unfinished dagger to Shen Jian.
The smith attached a hilt to the glowing blade. The hammer rang out sharply in the tense silence, each strike scattering sparks that danced in the air.
During this time, Ruò Yún seemed lost in her own world. With delicate focus, she carved a piece of bamboo taken earlier from the graveyard, shaping it with quiet intent.
"Ruò Yún, what are you making?" Zhāo asked.
She smiled gently, dipping the bamboo into black molten Kraiman on Shen Jian's worktable. "A flute," she said, raising the piece now gleaming with metallic sheen.
She cooled it in water. Steam hissed, swirling into mist that cloaked the chamber. When it cleared, a sleek black flute—crafted from the hardest metal known to mankind—rested elegantly in her hands.
She wasted no time. Lifting the flute, she played its first note. The melody drifted into the room, tender and wistful, stirring deep nostalgia in all who listened.
"This reminds me of the golden flute my mother gifted you last year."
"It was my favorite," Ruò Yún replied softly, her voice heavy with longing. "But I know I will never see her again. That is why I made this one."
Zhāo looked at her with conflicted eyes. "You don't wish to make a blade as well?"
"No. Violence does not belong to me. Weapons are not a part of who I am."
"A blade can also be used to protect yourself. You never know—you may face a day where you must fight to survive."
"If such a day comes, it will mean you are no longer by my side. Only you can keep me safe. Without you, nothing else matters."
Silence fell heavy in the chamber. Ruò Yún's flute carried on, its melancholy tones blending with the tension in the air, painting the moment with fragile hope and looming uncertainty.
Soon after, Shen Jian lifted Zhāo's dagger from the water. Its green-black patterns gleamed brilliantly, unlike any weapon the Mínggǔ had ever seen.
"This may be the most beautiful blade I've ever forged," Shen Jian murmured in disbelief. "Strange… it keeps vibrating, ringing out on its own."
But once Zhāo grasped it again, the dagger quieted, docile in his hands. Its restless call toward the monster was silenced. Though not as rigid as Lóng Xuán's, its sharpness and Kraiman's hardened strength still surpassed ordinary steel.
Suddenly, the blade vibrated once more, this time carrying a different message. Zhāo turned sharply.
"Matriarch!" Lóng Xuán and Shen Jian dropped to their knees in salute. Six figures stood at the entrance, led by the Matriarch herself.
"We heard an explosion down here. What happened?"
"Our apologies, Matriarch," Lóng Xuán explained quickly. "We were forging a blade for Shèntiān, but he cast a Gogonit stone into the Kraiman furnace, and the machine exploded."
"What? Is this true, Zhāo?"
"It is," Zhāo answered flatly, without the slightest remorse.
"Did you not teach him the proper way to forge a blade?"
"Forgive us, Matriarch, we did warn him. Shen Jian even crafted the blade for him, but he threw the Gogonit into the furnace anyway."
"The Kraiman dagger is a symbol of our identity and culture. Every Mínggǔ must forge their own. Why was Shen Jian making it for him?"
"That…"
"Hmm." The Matriarch's eyes fell on Zhāo. "No need to answer—I already know what happened here. Zhāo Han, once you are finished here, meet me in my chamber. I wish to speak with you privately."
With that, she departed, leaving the others behind in confusion.