Chapter 126: The Li Family Blacksmith Shop

Jiang Pingchuan followed the sound, tracing the direction indicated by the stranger toward the alley entrance. The moment he stepped inside, the rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* that had been ringing in his ears vanished without a trace.

He walked deep into the alleyway until he reached the end, where a plaque that appeared to have seen many years of history hung above a shop. It read: "Li's Ironworks."

Jiang Pingchuan pulled aside the heavy curtain at the entrance and stepped through. As he did, a wave of intense heat rushed to meet him. What had seemed like a cramped shop from the outside opened up into a surprisingly vast space.

The interior was expansive, filled with hundreds of furnaces and casting stands. Beside each stand stood a burly worker, wielding a heavy hammer, rhythmically striking iron blocks that awaited refinement and shaping.

Heat billowed from every furnace, where fierce flames roared and red-hot coals glowed with a deep, crimson light. The intrusion of Jiang Pingchuan and Old Master Gong seemed as if it were non-existent; not a single worker glanced their way. Their eyes were fixed solely upon the iron stone they were forging on the anvils.

Jiang Pingchuan passed through the massive workshop to a small shed in the backyard. When he saw the smith standing within, he frowned; the man’s attire was highly peculiar.

He wore a crisp, well-fitted jacket paired with straight-cut trousers, his feet shod in polished black boots that shimmered in the light. This outfit lacked the flowing grace of a robe, yet it carried an aura of stern authority.

Jiang Pingchuan studied this white-haired smith. His resolute face and sharp, piercing eyes were locked onto the iron stone in his hands. Every strike of his hammer produced a dull, heavy thud, as if he intended to pierce right through the metal.

Jiang Pingchuan noticed the furnace beside the smith. Unlike the ones in the main workshop, this fire radiated a ghostly blue glow. It resembled the Samadhi True Fire he himself could manifest, yet its burning intensity was distinct.

There were no red coals in this fire; it was a void furnace, with flames birthed from nothingness. Beside the smith stood a young man, watching every motion with rapt attention.

The flames danced and flickered before Jiang Pingchuan, yet no sparks vanished into the air. Instead, they gathered above the furnace, slowly coalescing into a liquid fire that dripped back into the furnace to continue burning.

Jiang Pingchuan and Old Master Gong watched the smith's movements in silence. The smith never once looked up, focusing entirely on his craft. Under his hands, a shapeless hunk of iron gradually transformed into a blunt, thick-edged dagger.

As the smith’s rhythmic hammering softened, the dagger began to emit a cold, sharp glint on the scorching anvil. A piercing, lethal aura emanated from it, striking Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes through the flames.

It was an bone-chilling sensation, as if someone were holding a blade of ice against his throat, ready at any moment to let that piercing cold penetrate his body and claim his life.

Just as the dagger had taken shape and possessed a lethal edge, ready for quenching, the smith did something that left Jiang Pingchuan completely baffled. The gentle hammering suddenly became violent and rapid.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!* Every strike seemed designed to destroy the blade on the anvil. In moments, the smith had hammered the finished weapon back into an irregular sheet of iron.

He then tossed the sheet directly into the furnace, letting the nameless fire reduce it to molten liquid. The iron flowed to the bottom of the furnace, continuously baked by the ghostly blue flames until it began to vaporize, slowly vanishing into nothingness.

Jiang Pingchuan could not understand why the smith would destroy the weapon he had labored so hard to create, burning it away until nothing remained.

The smith handed his hammer to the young man behind him, looked up at Jiang Pingchuan, and plunged his hands into the cold water meant for quenching.

A hissing sound erupted, accompanied by white smoke rising from the smith’s hands—much like the scene when a white-hot weapon meets cold water.

"Follow me."

The smith glanced at Jiang Pingchuan and walked into an adjacent room. Jiang Pingchuan exchanged a look with Old Master Gong and followed. Maoqiu stared at the smith’s back, eyes narrowed, pondering something, its beastly mouth muttering words that made no sense.

Jiang Pingchuan entered the room behind the smith. It was dim, with not a sliver of sunlight piercing the gloom. He followed the smith to the back of the room, where a wooden board hung on the wall.

Written on it in vermilion ink were the characters for "Shura Spear." The board hung crookedly, and looking at the calligraphy, Jiang Pingchuan felt it held a long history, much like the Li's Ironworks itself—a foundation of time hidden in the shadows.

***

The smith sat in a chair, watching Jiang Pingchuan as he straightened his peculiar attire. On the shoulders of his coat were two shimmering gold bars.

Between the two bars flashed four five-pointed gold stars. Jiang Pingchuan watched him, and once the smith had finished adjusting his clothing, he sat up straight.

"Jiang Pingchuan?" the smith asked in a deep, resonant voice. Despite his white hair and age of sixty, he looked remarkably spirited and radiant.

"That is I," Jiang Pingchuan replied, cupping his hands in a salute. The smith nodded. Maoqiu suddenly leaped onto the table, crouching there to observe the man, attempting to converse through its divine sense.

Jiang Pingchuan and Old Master Gong noticed the shift in the air, clearly aware of the cat's attempt, but the smith showed no reaction at all.

They realized the smith was not a cultivator, but an ordinary man. Yet, his earlier performance—the magical fire, the hands that could withstand such heat, and the hundred-pound hammer—hardly fit the description of a commoner. How could an ordinary man swing that hammer so effortlessly?

"I have seen this cat before," the smith said, pointing at Maoqiu. The cat, which had been preparing to sleep, widened its eyes and stared intently at the man.

After a long time, it recognized nothing, though it knew the style of the man's clothing—a "military uniform." Maoqiu felt this man did not belong to the Changfeng Continent; his origins were perhaps even more mysterious than Jiang Pingchuan's.

In its fragmented memories, it felt as though this man did not belong to this era, but the specifics remained a blank slate. As it tried to recall more, a sharp pain struck its mind. Maoqiu gave up, crouching silently on the table, waiting for the smith to continue.

"You have seen Maoqiu?" Jiang Pingchuan asked, curious. But he quickly brushed aside his surprise; this was the Royal Capital, and Maoqiu moved in many circles. Seeing it was not impossible. He watched the smith shake his head, as if denying his own thought.

"I have not seen him here. In my world, I have seen him. And I have seen a man who looks very much like you, though his face was whole," the smith said, smiling at Jiang Pingchuan with eyes shimmering with memories. Jiang Pingchuan and Old Master Gong were stunned once more.

His world—meaning the smith was not from theirs. But how could an ordinary person cross the barriers between continents? It was impossible. Even Jiang Pingchuan lacked the power to cross those barriers; he could only travel between continents via teleportation arrays.

"Where are you from?" Jiang Pingchuan asked softly, looking at the smith’s gentle smile.

"Li Hongji, Colonel of the 741st Unit, China Nuclear Weapons Expert, from Earth," the smith said, standing up with a solemn expression. Jiang Pingchuan and Old Master Gong stared at him, bewildered by what sounded like complete nonsense.

***

After that long sentence, they had only understood one thing: the smith's name was Li Hongji. Everything else left them utterly confused.

Li Hongji chuckled and shook his head, as if mocking his own senility. This was the Primordial World; how could anyone know of Earth or China?

"What is your continent called?" Jiang Pingchuan frowned and asked again. He had no choice; he had no idea where the man was from.

"The continent of China," Li Hongji said gravely, his eyes filled with longing and reminiscence.

"Is it very far from the Changfeng Continent?" Old Master Gong asked in a low voice. He had never heard of such a place, but judging by the name, he assumed it must be a prosperous and top-tier continent.

"Very, very far. I have been on the Changfeng Continent for thirty years. I am destined never to return to my roots," Li Hongji said, his expression melancholy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, looking at it with deep, soulful longing. Jiang Pingchuan noticed the shift in his demeanor and felt that Li Hongji harbored many secrets.

"Then may I ask, senior, why did you lead me here?" Jiang Pingchuan asked, still not understanding. He could not grasp what the man was saying. Li Hongji realized that speaking to Jiang Pingchuan was like playing a lute to a cow.

In this era, no one understood his words. After thirty years of trying to explain, he had grown weary of it. He put the photo away and sat back down, smiling at Jiang Pingchuan.

"I did not lead you here. This sound has echoed for a hundred years. Every young person who comes by the sound is destined to be here. You followed the sound, and so, your name belongs here."

Li Hongji took a jade plaque from under the table. The characters "Jiang Pingchuan" shimmered upon it. Jiang Pingchuan looked at him, perplexed.

"What does this mean? Has no one heard it in a hundred years?"

"You are the first in a century. I thought I would not live to see it, but you have come," Li Hongji said with deep emotion. He touched the jade plaque, and it began to hum, floating into mid-air as the entire room began to shake.

Jiang Pingchuan noticed that the once-dim room suddenly burst with light, and rows of vermilion characters slowly began to manifest on the stark white walls.