The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

While Wang Zhonghua was conducting grueling training for the village protection team, he was unaware that Qin Tiehua, from his hometown, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Dusk bathed the blacksmith's shop in a weary, yellowish hue. The furnace had been extinguished long ago, its former vibrant flames gone, leaving only a mess of slag of various colors and twisted scrap iron, like silent accusations of repeated failures. Qin Tiehua stood alone beside the cold quenching pool, clutching a freshly forged steel ingot, its color already dull and riddled with fine cracks. His fingertips trembled slightly from days of relentless hammering and experimentation; his once nimble palms were covered with overlapping burn marks and blisters, each movement causing a stinging pain.

It failed again.

This was the ninth attempt this month. Before leaving, Wang Zhonghua not only left behind grand ideas such as "washed gas coke" and "lime desulfurization," but also privately described to her an even more extreme material—"high-carbon steel." It is a top-grade iron that requires an extremely precise carbon ratio and can only be smelted at a higher temperature. Wang Zhonghua called it "the soul of steel," the backbone of true divine weapons.

But this idea, at this moment, was like an inescapable fog, heavily enveloping her. She strictly followed all the steps left by Wang Zhonghua, those seemingly counterintuitive formulas: repeatedly adjusting the ratio of ore to coke, trying to control the strength and timing of the blasting, varying the rhythm of the hammering and the timing of the quenching… However, the steel ingots produced were either as brittle as glass, shattering at the first blow, or as soft as clay, difficult to shape. She was always missing that crucial, finishing touch—the "catalyst"—unable to achieve that perfect and solid "match made in heaven" between iron and carbon.

She felt a deep sense of confusion and anxiety. The iron-smelting techniques of the Song Dynasty, which clearly had the foundation of the previous dynasty, seemed to be struggling so much when it came to pursuing ultimate performance, and even... it seemed to have regressed in some way that she could not understand. She vaguely touched upon the harm of "sulfur poisoning" that Wang Zhonghua had mentioned, but even if the sulfur problem was solved, there seemed to be an even more stubborn barrier in front of her.

Exhaustion and setbacks weighed heavily on me, but the sense of urgency was even heavier.

The image of Wang Zhonghua squatting on the sand, sketching designs with charcoal, flashed vividly through her mind once more. His eyes shone brightly, as if burning with an inextinguishable flame; the strange mineral shapes he drew were deeply etched into her heart: "Iron painting, remember this stone. Its color is like thick ink, its texture like solidified fat, it feels heavy in the hand, and it won't melt even after a thousand burns. This is 'graphite,' the foundation of fire resistance. Without it, our furnace cannot withstand the 'real fire' needed to refine truly good steel; without it, all ingenious designs are empty talk. If we can find it, we can build an indestructible furnace and forge divine weapons that can cut through iron like mud and are indomitable!"

Where is the graphite? Qin Tiehua was determined to find the graphite.

Qin Tiehua was bound to leave Lüjiachang, unaware that he was stepping into a bloody trap.

For the past month, she had practically exhausted all her time. She traversed every possible outcrop of mineral veins along the Daying River, searched every known mineral-producing hill nearby, and even risked asking some veteran miners about "black and slippery stones," but to no avail. Graphite seemed to exist only as a phantom in Wang Zhonghua's descriptions and ancient records.

As if things weren't going to go wrong, her father, Lao Qin, suffered a relapse of his old injury due to the recent damp and cold weather, causing him excruciating pain and making it difficult for him to do heavy work for long periods. Meanwhile, her brother, Tie Dan, was fully engaged in the secret and rigorous training he was undergoing in the mountains with Wang Zhonghua. All the pressure, the uncertainty about the technology, the uncertainty of the search, and the heavy burden of maintaining the blacksmith shop and caring for her father all fell on her slender yet increasingly resilient shoulders.

As night deepened, she gazed southwestward at the towering, mysterious mountains, their peaks rising one after another, appearing exceptionally deep and unfathomable under the moonlight. Crows circled there year-round; locals also called it Crow Mountain. It was the last area in the vicinity she hadn't systematically explored. Terrifying legends circulated in the countryside about this mountain: ancient trees reaching for the sky, miasma pervading the air, elusive animal tracks, rarely visited by humans; those who dared to venture deep into its depths—herb gatherers or hunters—often never returned.

An inexplicable fear instinctively gripped her heart. But the next moment, another, stronger emotion surged up—it was the desire to break the deadlock, the obsession to find that key "cornerstone" and verify Wang Zhonghua's idea, and the unwillingness to wait in vain while he was striving forward.

"I can't wait any longer," she murmured to herself, as if convincing herself, or making a final decision. The confusion and weariness in her eyes were replaced by a sharp, almost desperate light. Legend has it that there are ferocious beasts and poisonous miasma in the mountains? Then she would carefully avoid them. The road ahead is fraught with danger and unknown? Then she would be fully prepared.

The desire for "graphite," the desire to forge real steel, the desire to help him, and even the desire to one day make him proud of himself, overwhelmed everything at this moment.

She gently set down the broken iron ingot and turned to silently pack her belongings. A sharp dagger, a sturdy bundle of rope, some durable dry rations, and the simple bamboo whistle Wang Zhonghua had given her for emergency warnings. Her movements were quiet and swift, without disturbing her father, who had gone to bed early in the inner room due to his injuries.

The shadow of Raven Mountain, like a vast curtain of fate, awaits the young girl who is determined to venture into it alone. Crisis is already lurking, and her journey in search of the "foundation" is destined to be accompanied by hardship and transformation.

……

Several days later, deep in Laoya Mountain.

Qin Tiehua used her short sword to cleave through the tangled vines, the stench of decaying leaves mixed with the smell of damp earth wafting towards her. The trees here were so dense that the light was as dim as dusk. With each step she took, the layer of decaying leaves beneath her feet reached her ankles, making an unsettling hissing sound.

The mountain became increasingly steep, forcing her to climb using both hands and feet. Her coarse cloth clothes were torn in several places by the sharp rocks, revealing the skin underneath covered in scabs. Sweat streamed down her forehead, dripping onto the rocks only to be instantly evaporated by the last vestiges of the scorching autumn heat.

"I have to find it..." she gritted her teeth, wiped her bleeding fingertips on her clothes, and continued climbing.

As evening fell, the sky suddenly darkened, and a torrential downpour began without warning. Qin Tiehua frantically searched for shelter, but slipped on a steep slope and tumbled down the muddy hillside. She desperately clung to the bushes along the way, her palms cut and bleeding, finally regaining her balance before falling into a deep ravine.

The turbid mountain water rushed down from the mountaintop, turning the once clear stream into a roaring torrent. She had to risk wading through the water, the icy cold spring water making her shiver. The current was so strong that it nearly swept her away several times, and she could only plunge her short sword deep into the riverbed and move forward inch by inch.

As night fell, she finally found a crevice in the rocks where she could barely take shelter. Soaked to the bone, she huddled in the corner and took out the dry food wrapped in oilcloth—the flatbread was soggy from the rain, but she still ate it in small bites; this was her only food for the next few days.

The howl of an unknown beast echoed from afar; the sound could be described as a "raging roar," a "groan," a "howl," or a "thud," but none of those descriptions were powerful enough.

It was a heavy drumbeat rolling out from the chest, like a muffled thunderclap suddenly exploding in mid-air, sweeping across the ground, making the grass tremble and the blood vessels in the air seem to vibrate; the ending note, however, was short and hard, like the back of a knife striking an anvil, sparks flying, but the aftertaste was a chilling, bloody smell—

The moment the words left his mouth, all was silent.

Qin Tiehua jerked violently, and the dry rations fell to the ground. It was as if an invisible hand was gripping her neck, her breath caught in her throat, and her hair stood on end.

—It wasn't the sound of wind, nor thunder, but rather as if the giant pincers of death had suddenly clamped down on her heart.

Her heels went weak, and her knees clattered together uncontrollably, making a soft "tap-tap" sound.

Cold sweat trickled down her spine and into her waistband, leaving a layer of icy goosebumps wherever it went; she wanted to turn away, but was entangled by the shadow on the ground—the shadow swayed precariously, like a candle flame in the autumn wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

The surrounding insects and birds fell silent instantly; only the sound of a small deer pounding in one's chest remained.

One, two...

Before the third blow could land, a second, lower and heavier roar crept along the ground, like a blunt knife slowly cutting open the soles of her feet.

Qin Tiehua finally let out a faint, almost inaudible scream, but dared not turn around, for fear that if he did, he would see his own reflection in his golden pupils—

Death's tail swept through the grass, making a rustling sound.