Chapter 39: Blacksmith Ge

"Four winters ago, the bandits from Baling Mountain came to Shangling Village. My younger brother and I were hidden by our parents in a dry well within the village beforehand. That day, we heard only the howling of grief and laughter like night owls outside. Later, when the sound of horses' hooves faded into silence, no matter how we cried or shouted, no one came to pull us out...

"Finally, we heard movement. Someone pulled us up—it was the government officials. Yesterday, I flipped through my diary, which recorded that the sun was shining brightly at the time, but in my memory, it was pouring rain..."

His voice choked, trailing off into soft, broken sobs.

Among the archers in the audience, many were moved to tears, causing a heavy gloom to settle over the crowd, even as their hatred for the bandits surged ever higher.

"Who is this child?" An Xin asked, looking at the seventeen-year-old youth on the stage.

He had a strong impression of the boy; he was the one who had been weeping and speaking on the platform just moments ago. An Xin found the youth’s words deeply moving. Having never experienced such a brutal situation himself, he was profoundly touched.

"His name is Zhang Qian, seventeen years old, a student from Wuren County. He has a younger brother, sixteen, also a student. They are currently living with their uncle's family. Once they learned the magistrate was organizing archers to suppress the bandits, the two of them came forward on their own, saying they wanted to avenge their fellow villagers," Hu Changshan explained, his tone filled with admiration for the brothers.

In this era, especially given his own background in the underworld, he held the concept of "grand vengeance" in high regard. Most people felt a deep sense of respect for youths brave enough to seek justice for their parents and kin.

An Xin nodded, feeling a sense of favor toward the brothers as well.

"Changshan, let them train with the brothers here for seven days. After the basic drills, send them to me."

He intended to mentor the brothers personally. It would be a waste of talent to let two educated students remain mere foot soldiers. If he could cultivate them into roles similar to "political commissars," they would be far more valuable to this unit of archers.

Taking this opportunity, An Xin walked to the side of the drill ground and randomly called over a few archers. He asked kindly about their families and consoled two who had suffered great losses due to the bandits, encouraging them to step out of the shadows and channel their hatred into a greater cause—using their blades to protect the homes behind them.

It was past nine o'clock when he decided to leave, so as not to disrupt Wei Shuye's training.

"Shuye, follow my training manual: practice martial arts by day and study literature by night. Do not let it slide. I don't expect them to master the classics, but they must learn to read and write," An Xin instructed as he departed.

He hadn't told anyone, but he held a bit of ambition for these 300 soldiers. He wanted to train them according to the standards of junior officers; should there be a need to expand the army in the future, he could immediately rely on them to form a combat-ready force.

"I understand, sir."

Although Wei Shuye felt that teaching a group of brutes to read and write was a waste of time, Qin Shiyue had instructed him before he arrived that he was to follow Magistrate An's orders in all matters. Moreover, he truly admired An Xin, so he had no objections to the directive.

"Sir, I have one request. There are eleven matchlock muskets in the camp, but no gunpowder. I wonder if the Inspection Office has any in storage. If not, firearms training cannot be conducted."

"I will find a way to handle that," An Xin noted.

As he sat in his sedan chair, he continued to ponder the matter of firearms. The development of thermal weapons was an inevitable law of historical and technological progression. If this world followed a similar trajectory to his previous one, Western firearms were already taking the lead by this point, with flintlocks coming into widespread use.

He had seen those eleven guns; they were outdated matchlocks discarded by the garrisons. As a traveler, he looked down on such primitive tools. While his laptop still had power, he had recorded the manufacturing methods for flintlocks and even bolt-action rifles from the First World War.

However, even a clever housewife cannot cook without rice. Without a foundation in basic industry, he could not immediately produce smokeless powder, bolt-action rifles, or ammunition.

Flintlocks, however, were not difficult. Producing black powder was no problem either, and creating fixed ammunition for firearms could quickly improve the efficiency of his musketeers.

"Secretary Wan." An Xin lifted the curtain of the sedan chair and called out.

Wan Zewen hurried over. "At your service, sir."

"Go and fetch Ge Rong. I wish to see him," An Xin ordered.

"Yes, sir." After acknowledging the order, Wan Zewen sent a bailiff to the Yezhang Workshop to find Ge Rong.

The Yezhang Workshop was located in the northeast corner of Wuren County. It was inhabited mostly by less affluent commoners, and as such, public security was poor. However, Gourd Alley, located within the workshop district, was significantly more stable than the surrounding areas.

Members of the Great Blade Gang dared not act recklessly there, often avoiding the area as if wary of something. Outsiders didn't quite understand why, but the neighbors living there held the "Ge the Blacksmith" shop, located in the southwest corner of the alley, in extreme respect.

*Clang, clang-clang, clang, clang-clang...*

In the sweltering heat, with the furnace roaring, glowing red iron ingots, and the heavy hammer swinging, every strike flattened a large portion of the red-hot metal like a power press. With the blacksmith's precise strength, each blow landed perfectly on the forging surface, and the prototype of a brushwood knife slowly took shape.

"Father, drink some water and take a rest." A young girl, seeing the sweat pouring from the shirtless blacksmith, brought over a bowl of cool water.

*Hiss!*

The blacksmith casually plunged the knife blank into a clay basin of water. Blue flames erupted on the surface, and the water bubbled violently. Taking the bowl, he drained it in a few gulps. Seeing his daughter, a hearty smile spread across his face. "Nannan, Father isn't tired at all. I feel like I have endless strength."

As he spoke, he flexed his shoulders, his biceps bulging high. Combined with his massive lats, he looked like a human iron tower radiating pure power.

The girl giggled. "Father, I'm not worried about you being tired. I just wanted to ask when you'll forge that 'skirt-weighting knife' you promised me."

The blacksmith glared at her, though his eyes were full of doting affection.

"Look here, Nannan!" He said, and as if performing a magic trick, his hand moved so fast it blurred as he produced a dagger from beneath the stove.

The sheath and hilt were made of ivory, inlaid with gold threads and silver wire, clustered with amber, jade, and precious stones. In the sunlight, it refracted a mesmerizing, pearlescent luster.

"Ah!" The girl froze, looking up at the blacksmith. "Father, this is too precious."

"For my daughter, I only wish it could be even better!"

As he spoke, a silver flash flickered. A short knife on the table was severed instantly, the broken edge as smooth as a mirror. Looking at the dagger, even its blade edge showed no sign of chipping, still gleaming with a chilling, lethal coldness.

"Look, Nannan." He reached up, plucked a strand of hair from his head, placed it on the blade, and blew gently. The hair parted instantly and drifted to the ground.