“Was the address delivered?”
Inside a mountain, a young man was swinging an iron hammer. A massive space had been carved out of the mountain's interior. The dome was so high it was lost to sight, and only the clanging of the hammer could be heard echoing off the rock walls, reverberating in layer upon layer.
Red-hot magma was everywhere, seeping from cracks in the stone and flowing down man-made channels, casting a dark red glow over the entire inner wall of the mountain. The air was heated to a scalding temperature, making it feel like standing next to a burning iron plate. Every breath carried the bitter, acrid stench of sulfur.
The young man stood in the center of the magma-filled area. His bare body was only a few steps away from the red-hot liquid, yet he did not even twitch an eyebrow. His entire mind was focused on the lump of material in his hands. He raised the hammer, let it fall, raised it again, and continued to strike mechanically.
Clang! Sparks flew in all directions. Golden-red embers struck the youth's back, shoulders, and hair, burning tiny singe marks into his skin, but he remained utterly oblivious. Hammer blow followed hammer blow without a single pause, like a clockwork forging machine. This kind of stability required vast amounts of time to build, and as it happened, this young man had plenty of time.
“Stop hammering. Have you finished the task I gave you?”
The middle-aged man standing next to the youth twitched his lips, staring at the block of refined steel. It had been hammered so many times that it was actually beginning to extract spiritual energy. Extracting spiritual energy from refined steel? That was fucking ridiculous.
His son was perfect in every way except for his stubbornness. Once he set his mind on something, not even nine bulls could pull him back. If he weren't his biological son, who knew who the Young Sect Master of the Artifact Sect would be by now.
The middle-aged man sighed and reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Every family had its own cross to bear. He should just be happy his son was so capable. At least his smithing skills were truly top-notch.
"Fu Changfeng" did not stop. He struck one last blow, neither too hard nor too soft, but it caused the cooled red iron to suddenly turn fluid like flowing water. Ripples spread across its surface, like a pebble tossed into a calm lake. He did not look like he was forging at all; it was more like he was stirring—using the hammer to stir a pot of molten iron.
Spiritual energy surged from his dantian, flowing down his arms along his meridians, passing through the thick calluses on his palms. It poured into the hammerhead and seeped into the refined steel.
The ordinary steel, originally the size of a human head and subjected to ten thousand tempers to extract spiritual energy, slowly shrank, deformed, and reorganized under the hammer. The metallic luster faded, replaced by a warm, translucent texture that resembled jade yet was not quite jade.
When the last wisp of spiritual energy was infused, the refined steel had transformed into a fist-sized, snow-white block that shimmered with a faint golden light—White Rock Platinum.
Although the middle-aged man had seen this kid use that bizarre technique to transform one material into something completely unrelated many times, it still sent a shiver down his spine every time he witnessed it.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his Adam's apple bobbing. White Rock Platinum was not particularly rare; it was merely a low-grade spiritual material. However, if a young man could knead ordinary iron into it as if it were dough, he dared not imagine what that implied.
"Fu Changfeng" spoke slowly. His face, voice, and physique were clearly different from the person who had met Lu Yan in the hot spring pool that day.
The face in the hot spring pool had been gentle, fair, and scholarly. This face was sharply chiseled, with a strong jawline, a high brow, and eyes devoid of warmth, reflecting only a fanatical passion for smithing.
Obviously, he had used a fake face, a fake voice, and a fake body that day.
“Father, why are we looking for a formation master? He's only at the Qi Condensation realm. What use could he possibly be? Besides, I don't think he even wants to come.” A hint of pride and disdain flickered in the corners of his eyes. “He's living a perfectly comfortable domestic life. I think you sent me on a fool's errand.”
He put down his hammer, cradled the block of White Rock Platinum in his palm, and examined it against the red glow of the magma. The light filtered through the translucent material, casting a faint golden halo on his palm.
The middle-aged man glared, his mustache twitching in anger.
“What the hell do you know?! With your ability, do you have any idea what could be achieved if you had a formation master helping you?” He knew that no matter how strong his son was, he couldn't achieve mass production. But the sheer terror of a formation master with an infinite supply of materials was something he simply couldn't put into words.
His voice echoed through the cavern, causing debris to shower down from the stone walls.
His breathing quickened, his chest heaving heavily. A forging genius who never lacked any materials, and a formation master with superb array-laying skills—if these two joined forces, he dared not imagine the possibilities. No, he had imagined it. He had imagined it countless times. And every time he did, his palms would sweat a little more, and his breathing would quicken a bit further.
"Fu Changfeng" said nothing. He placed the cooled and hardened White Rock Platinum back onto the anvil and raised his hammer once more. Clang! The first strike fell, and a fine crack appeared on the stone's surface. Clang! The second strike, and the crack branched out like tree limbs, spreading rapidly. Clang! The third strike, and the entire stone began to deform and shrink, turning liquid. It was as if it were being kneaded by an invisible hand, and there was no telling what it would become this time.
The middle-aged man stared at his son's back. His lips twitched a few times as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed his words. This boy had been stubborn since childhood; once he made up his mind, no one could sway him. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed the words rising in his throat along with his frustration, spun around, and swept his sleeves as he departed.
He walked out of the mountain gate.
Outside the mountain gate, the sky was not yet fully bright. A sky full of stars hung in the heavens, dense and closely packed, like someone had scattered a handful of broken silver across a sheet of black silk.
On the eastern horizon, a sliver of pale dawn was slowly spreading, as if an invisible hand were gently drawing back the curtain of night. At this moment before sunrise, starlight and sunlight coexisted, neither willing to yield.
The middle-aged man stood at the mountain gate, watching the awakening sky. The night wind swept through the mountain pass, making his robes rustle loudly.
He stood there for a long time, watching for what felt like ages, until a thin layer of dew settled on his shoulders. His lips parted slightly.
“Sigh... Brother Buqi, I miss you...”
Perhaps standing by and doing absolutely nothing back then was a mistake...
Rate on N.U.
