The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Warm blood, like a torrential rain, poured down over my head.

The blood was thicker and more pungent than human blood, carrying the distinctive stench of a wild beast. It blinded her and poured into her mouth and nose. For the first time, she tasted the terror of death so close to her.

The leopard let out a mournful howl, no longer a threat, but pure, tearing pain. It writhed wildly in mid-air, its claws clawing wildly, leaving several more bloody scratches on her shoulder, but she didn't let go, gripping the sword hilt tightly, letting the beast's weight drag her to the ground.

The leopard finally broke free, bearing a half-foot-long wound with its internal organs almost dragging on the ground. It landed, its limbs limp, blood gushing out. It glanced back at her, its gaze no longer contempt, but confusion—why had this prey turned on it so viciously?

The leopard let out a final whimper and fled into the jungle. Its body slammed against the bushes, leaving a trail of blood like a mark of death.

Qin Tiehua lay on the ground, covered in blood, it was impossible to tell whether it was his own or the leopard's.

Her arm throbbed with pain, she gasped for breath, and her shoulder ached as if it were about to split open, yet her fingers still gripped the dagger tightly, her joints stiff and unable to loosen. She could hear her own breathing, her heartbeat, and the stream flowing again.

After a long time, she heard the birds in the forest start singing again.

She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, the wound on her arm deep enough to expose the bone. Strangely, the excruciating pain seemed distant now, as if separated by a blurry layer of glass. She numbly washed the wound with the stream water; the icy touch sent a shiver down her spine, and consciousness slowly returned. Her torn clothes were soaked with blood, quickly becoming drenched again, so she simply tightened them and gritted her teeth to continue climbing.

With each step she took, the wound tore open with excruciating pain, as if countless tiny teeth were gnawing at her bones, but she never stopped.

Five days have passed; she has been wandering in this man-eating mountain for a full five days. Her dry rations have long since run out, and she has survived until now on wild fruits and stream water. Her fingertips are worn raw, and every time she scratches a rock, she leaves a pale pink bloodstain on the stone wall. Her boots are also torn, and her ankles are cut and bleeding from the rubble.

But a fire burned in her heart, a fire of "refined steel" planted by Wang Zhonghua.

The fire exploded with a roar at noon on the fifth day, as she climbed a cliff beside a waterfall.

Exhaustion from the past few days made her vision blurry; the roar of the waterfall seemed to come from afar, as if through a layer of mist. She climbed almost instinctively, her fingers digging into the crevices, her toes bracing against protrusions, her body pressed against the slippery rock face. Just as she was about to climb onto the platform and rest, an unusual blackness caught her eye.

The black hue, embedded in the rock face eroded by the waterfall, was as deep as midnight, its texture as delicate as jade. Sunlight shone obliquely from the side, yet it didn't reflect light; instead, it seemed to greedily devour it, revealing only a faint, metallic sheen at its edges. That luster was deep and restrained, as if a corner of the secrets deep within the mountains had been pried open.

Qin Tiehua's heart pounded wildly in his chest, almost breaking his ribs.

Her hand trembled as she reached out, her fingertips touching the coal-like stone. The instant she felt a smooth, solid sensation, like touching solidified grease, or the warm glow of ancient jade. This touch… She abruptly ripped open her clothes, pulling out a rough, worn sketch from her bosom. The ink on the sketch had blurred, but the stone's texture, color, even the irregular curves of its edges, were exactly the same as the one before her!

"Found it..." she murmured to herself, her voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, like a leaky bellows, or like a shovel scraping an iron pot.

She carefully used her short sword to pry along the crack in the stone, the blade making a soft scraping sound. As the stone fell, its weight made her wrist sag; that heavy, mysterious weight instantly brought tears to her eyes. Like cradling a newborn baby, she held the ore up to her eyes, examining it closely in the sunlight. It seemed as if mist was swirling within the stone, the breath of iron and fire sealed within the mountains for millions of years.

She shakily took out the tinderbox, her hands trembling so much she could barely light it. The instant the flame ignited, she held her breath and placed the ore in the fire she had lit with dry twigs and reeds. The flames licked the stone's surface, time ticking by, her palms burning hot, yet she couldn't bear to remove it. Aside from its surface being blackened, the ore remained completely unchanged! Not even a crack, not a single grain of stone crumbled!

"Found it... really found it..."

She slumped onto the rock, tears mingling with the mud and blood on her face, streaming down uncontrollably. The fear, exhaustion, and despair of the past few days poured out like a flood. She remembered the light in Wang Zhonghua's eyes when he described the ore, like a young boy seeing his beloved. He called it "the essence of meteorite iron, the spirit of earth fire," saying it could forge swords that could "cut a hair with a breath and never bend." As he spoke, he gestured wildly, like a child.

She imagined what he would look like if he were in front of her right now—he would probably be grinning foolishly as he took the ore, wiping it with his sleeve, then suddenly hugging her and spinning her around, shouting, "Tiehua, we did it!" His eyes would be brighter than the stars, and his laughter would surely shake the icicles off the eaves.

She cried and laughed, like a madwoman. She carefully wrapped the best samples in oilcloth and pressed them to her chest. They were her medals, her life. She could even feel the cold temperature of the minerals seeping through the oilcloth into her skin, like Wang Zhonghua's hand gently pressing on her heart, giving her her last bit of strength.

The ore hurt her ribs, but she endured it willingly.

……

Meanwhile, the back garden of the Chenzhou government office was quiet and elegant.

The white stone path gleamed with a moist light after the rain, and the swaying bamboo cast dappled shadows on Chen Shimei's moon-white robe. He leaned against the rosewood tea table, the thin porcelain cup from Shenhou Town in Yuzhou between his fingers as thin as a cicada's wing, reflecting the clear green tea in the cup, as if holding a pool of spring water.

Master Qiu bowed even lower, his voice barely a whisper: "Sir, that little girl Qin Tiehua has already entered Laoya Mountain alone. According to your instructions, Qiu Laohu has already given her some 'guidance'."

Chen Shimei lowered his eyelids, his gaze falling on the rising steam from the tea. Behind that steam, however, seemed to reflect another scene—the banquet at the Prince of Xiangyang's mansion a month ago, where the amber-colored "Eight Immortals' Drunkenness" was poured into jade cups, astonishing everyone present. When the Prince of Xiangyang clapped his hands and exclaimed, "This wine should only exist in heaven," the undisguised admiration and greed in his eyes were like a thorn of lust, deeply planted in Chen Shimei's heart.

That's more than just wine. It's a golden key that can open the gates to heaven and curry favor with the powerful. Does Wang Zhonghua, a mere country bumpkin, even deserve to possess such a treasure?

A perfectly curved smile played on his lips, his demeanor as gentle as ever, only his fingertips unconsciously and very lightly tracing the rim of his cup. "Wang Zhonghua has been somewhat forgetting his bounds lately," he said softly, as if appreciating poetry or painting. "Since he treats that woman as a treasure, I will help him... recognize the impermanence of life."

He paused slightly, as if with infinite regret, but his eyes remained calm and undisturbed: "Tell Qiu Laohu that the person must be brought back intact." He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over Qiu's lowered head, and looked at the koi carp vying for food in the pond, adding slowly and deliberately, "If she has any notes, seals, or anything like that on her... seal them immediately and send them directly to my desk."

He picked up the teacup, but didn't drink. Instead, he held it up to the light and carefully examined the translucent porcelain wall, as if he could see through to the graceful and healthy body of Qin Tiehua behind it: "Wang Zhonghua is making such a big show of it, his request must be quite substantial. I... am really very curious." The last few words were spoken softly and slowly, like water that had seeped into a cold pool and dripped into the silent air.

"despair."

The porcelain cup was gently placed back on the table, its crisp sound jarringly abrupt in the deliberately crafted serene ambiance of nature, like the first crack of ice breaking. The koi in the pond seemed startled, scattering abruptly and creating ripples of disorder. Chen Shimei, still smiling, admired the turbulent spring water, as if that were the most satisfying scene for him at that moment.

Chen Shimei's gaze followed the startled koi carp scattered from the pond, watching them hastily disappear into the depths of the lotus leaves, and the smile on his lips deepened.

"Oh, right," he seemed to suddenly remember something, tapping lightly on the smooth rim of the cup with his fingertips, his tone as gentle as if chatting casually, "Remember to remind Tiger Qiu that Miss Qin has an exceptionally beautiful face... don't hurt her."

He raised his eyes and looked towards the heavy twilight in the direction of Laoya Mountain. Deep in his eyes, a glint of light, a mixture of inquiry, possession, and cold calculation, finally became unmasked, like a venomous snake that had been lurking for a long time, quietly peeking out.

"I want to see for myself," he muttered, as if speaking to the elegant garden, "what exactly does this treasure that Wang Zhonghua cherishes so highly look like."

The evening breeze rustled through the bamboo forest, but it couldn't dispel the dangerous anticipation that silently spread after the words were spoken.

He set down the porcelain cup with a very soft "tap." In the quiet backyard, the sound was like death knocking on the door.