Volume One, Chapter Fifty-Six: A Visit

"Clang, clang, clang..." The sound reached them before they even stepped inside. From a distance, Mode could already hear the hammering of iron coming from afar.

Perhaps because of the daily noise from the smithy, there were no houses nearby.

"Uncle Jian, the village chief asked me to bring our guests to pick out a suitable weapon," Cuihua shouted loudly as she lifted the door curtain, trying to make herself heard over the deafening strikes of the hammer.

The rhythmic clanging paused for a moment, then after a two-second lull resumed its previous tempo. Cuihua turned her head and explained just as loudly to Mode and Mu Qing, "Uncle Jian heard. We can just go to the storeroom in the back and pick for ourselves!"

With that, the two continued to cover their ears and followed the girl inside.

As they passed the forge, Mode and Mu Qing caught sight of the silent man swinging his hammer tirelessly. His strong forearms lifted and dropped the heavy tool again and again, shaping the hot iron with such ease it seemed he required no help from his waist or body at all.

There was a natural rhythm to his breathing and movements, as if, while watching him, one could forget the noise and the heat, letting the mind wander among the sparks flying from each strike.

"We used to love watching Uncle Jian forge when we were kids," the girl said, seeing Mode's fascination. She came back and shouted, "But after a few years, it stops being interesting."

"Want to watch a little longer?" Mu Qing raised her voice to imitate Cuihua.

"No need, let's go pick out a short blade first," Mode replied, snapping out of his reverie. After savoring the moment, he decided not to disturb the blacksmith any longer and suggested searching for a weapon.

The three went out the back door of the smithy and headed straight for the storeroom in the courtyard.

Only after they left did the blacksmith, wearing a heavy leather apron, slowly look up.

A man and a woman, both unusual. But the village chief had his arrangements, so he wasn't about to worry himself over it.

There were barely fifty or sixty households in East Sand Village, about two hundred people in total. Everyone knew each other well, so most houses weren't even locked. The smithy's storeroom was no exception—Cuihua simply pushed the door open and led Mode and Mu Qing inside.

Farm tools and blades of all kinds were scattered across the iron racks—some were real, sharpened weapons, their cold gleam lowering the temperature of the room.

From sickles and hoes to buttons and sewing needles, the little storeroom had everything imaginable.

Stopping before the weapon rack, Mode browsed item by item, with Mu Qing and Cuihua at his side.

He hadn't planned to arm himself, but he didn't refuse the village chief's good intentions.

He chose a short blade about seven inches long, estimating it would fit perfectly in the sheath made from the Boundary Stone—at least for appearance's sake. If it came to a real fight, the sheath itself might be handier than the blade.

As he held it, Mode's metal ability activated automatically. Energy flowed from his palm into the blade and back, relaying the basic information of the knife. Aside from the wrapped handle, the blade was entirely forged from steel, cast in one piece. It was slightly heavy in the hand but not cumbersome, and sturdier than most.

Cuihua took the blade, curious. "Just one? And such a short one..."

"One is enough. If it’s not long enough, I can make it longer," Mode replied with a smile, raising a finger and condensing a golden sliver of metal at its tip.

"So you’re a metal-attribute Gifted!" Cuihua exclaimed, clearly fascinated, as if it was her first time seeing one.

Mode placed the golden sliver in her palm. It was icy cold, no different from ordinary iron.

Metal-attribute Gifted had never appeared in East Sand Village before. Most villagers awakened water, fire, or earth abilities; even Cuihua had water abilities.

She returned the metal sliver, but was amazed again when Mode simply let it dissipate. "So you could just open a hardware shop and endlessly sell knives and hammers?"

"These are just mimicked forms, lasting only a short while. They're good for emergencies, but they’ll eventually disappear," Mode patiently explained, answering all the curious girl's questions.

If the beast tides caused by the lunar tides outside grew worse, his ability would be exposed sooner or later. Better to let Cuihua inform the village chief now.

He put away his ability and the three of them crossed the smithy and headed out.

"Uncle Jian! We took a short blade—put it on the chief’s tab!" Cuihua shouted to the sweating blacksmith, who was still hammering at the forge. This time he didn’t even pause, just nodded to show he’d heard.

"Clang, clang, clang..." The hammering continued, as if it would never stop.

Some time later, the smithy's curtain was lifted again.

"I'm back," a gentle voice called. The hammer in Jian Xin’s hand paused in midair. He stopped his work, quenched the glowing iron in water, and set it aside.

A middle-aged woman came over and asked softly, "Where are those kids?"

"Gone," the man replied, as terse as ever.

Knowing his temperament, the woman didn’t ask further, and went inside. Old Lady Yingyu hadn’t wanted to go out today, so she had come home early.

Jian Xin took off his apron, wiped his sweat, and followed his wife inside.

"The craftsmanship of Ghost Island," he murmured under his breath, so softly that even his wife ahead didn’t hear him.

After so many years, he had seen a faint trace of something familiar in that young man.

On the anvil, the half-forged blade, now cooled, reflected the furnace’s glow in a murky red.

...

After escorting Mode and Mu Qing back to their room, Cuihua didn't linger. With Old Liu’s injured leg, and Aunt Liu busy preparing food for the guests, she’d surely be needed. After saying goodbye, she dashed off to help with the cooking.

Mode and Mu Qing returned inside. Mu Qing flopped onto the kang bed, sprawled out as if unwell, and found a pillow to rest her head.

Mode took the short blade from the smithy and compared it with the Boundary Stone sheath. It fit perfectly; the blade was straight and slotted in just right.

He took off his shoes and climbed onto the kang, drawing the curtains to cover himself.

Mu Qing, knowing what he was about to do, hung her own curtain as well.

The room dimmed again. Mu Qing stacked two quilts into a makeshift “sofa,” then, nestled in, watched Mode through her sunglasses, curious to see his next move.

First, he removed the bindings from the knife handle. Then he opened the sheath, took out the small metal ball forged from Dead Gold, and prepared to craft a new knife, disguising it with the blade he’d just acquired.

He tapped a touch of copper light into the sheath, then drew out a thread of black fire, using his mastery of flame to assist his metal ability and melt the small metal ball into the shape of a short blade.

The ball was more than enough for a short knife, so Mode first used black fire to refine the metal, shrinking its size.

As the golden hue within the ball grew richer, Mu Qing, watching from the side, could feel the quality of the strange metal increasing.

With no experience, Mode could only imitate what he’d seen, adjusting the blade little by little. The form was simple, but just tweaking the angle of the edge took much time and effort.

At last, a new knife, nearly identical to the old one, was finished. Mode cast a touch of copper light over the original blade, then ceased using black fire, relying solely on his metal ability to strip fine threads of steel from the old blade and coat the golden knife’s surface.

This time, he was much more adept at controlling metal; it didn’t take long to disguise the golden knife as an ordinary blade.

As for the remaining half-destroyed blade, Mode condensed and kneaded it into a metal ball, storing it back in the sheath.

He let out a long breath, exhausted. Using black fire and metal ability together was draining, and as his first attempt at forging a blade, Mode had barely dared to breathe, his nerves taut. Now, finished, he felt a little dizzy.

But fortunately, the result looked quite good.

He wrapped the handle with the original cord, completing the last step of the process, and gazed with satisfaction at his work.

"Let me see," Mu Qing called, beckoning him over. She wanted to inspect the quality of his handiwork.

Too lazy to get up, Mode simply pushed the knife across the kang to her.

She picked it up, examined it, then pinched the tip and flicked her wrist. The blade spun rapidly in the air, forming a bright arc.

Catching the handle, Mu Qing curled her finger, as if testing the knife’s strength.

"Don’t—" Mode tried to stop her, but it was too late.

She gave the blade a flick; a crisp hum rang through the room.

She’d meant to test how strong the Dead Gold was after being tempered by black fire, but forgot that the blade was still coated in ordinary steel.

The shape of her fingernail was clearly imprinted on the blade.

She stuck out her tongue sheepishly and handed the knife back to Mode, who walked over with a scowl.

Giving up her “throne,” Mu Qing sat cross-legged to the side, quietly watching Mode lie back and carefully repair the knife’s surface.