The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The incandescent light was blinding, and the heat was intense, even the eyebrows smelled burnt. But Qin Tiehua didn't back down; instead, she took a step forward, her eyes fixed on the furnace. Shen Kuo didn't retreat either, squatting behind her and quickly jotting down notes in his notebook: "At precisely 5:00 AM, the fire turned white, the heat unprecedented. Sister Tiehua said it's done."

"Add more ingredients!" Qin Tiehua shouted in a hoarse voice.

The apprentices hurriedly threw the prepared iron and graphite powder into the furnace. This time, the iron did not melt as quickly as it had in the previous days. Instead, it slowly softened, turned red, and became bright in the incandescent flames, eventually bubbling up like thin porridge.

"Made in iron!"

The furnace opening tilted, and a stream of bright white molten iron poured out like a waterfall into the prepared mold. There was no cracking, no splashing; the molten iron flowed smoothly like molten gold, steadily filling every corner.

The entire workshop was completely silent.

Everyone stared at the mold, at the iron block that gradually solidified, turning from white to red, and then from red to dark. No one dared to speak, as if opening their mouths would shatter the scene before them like a dream.

"It's in, it's in, it's in..." Old Qin murmured, plopping down on the ground with tears streaming down his face. "It's in! I've been a blacksmith for forty years, and I've never seen molten iron like this!"

Qin Tiehua remained motionless, staring intently at the gradually cooling iron block. Her hands trembled slightly, and her lips were pressed together until they turned white.

After waiting for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the iron block finally cooled completely. Qin Tiehua stepped forward, picked it up with iron tongs, and examined it from all angles. The surface of the iron block was smooth, without a single crack, and the fracture surface was a uniform silvery-gray, as fine and dense as the finest silk.

She suddenly turned around, placed the iron block on the anvil, and swung the sledgehammer—

"clang!"

With a crisp sound, the iron block remained completely still.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

After three hammer blows, the iron block remained intact, with only a few shallow white marks on its surface. Huang Daniu snatched the hammer, gritted his teeth, and swung it down with a powerful swing—

"clang!"

The impact made his hand go numb, but the iron block only flattened slightly, without showing any signs of cracking.

"Amazing..." Huang Daniu murmured, "This toughness, this resilience... I've been a blacksmith all my life, and I've never seen steel like this!"

Qin Tiehua threw down the hammer, suddenly squatted down, and buried his face in his knees. His shoulders shrugged, but no crying could be heard.

Wang Zhonghua walked over and gently patted her back. Qin Tiehua looked up, her face covered in soot and tear stains, but her eyes shone with an alarming light: "Brother Zhonghua, we...we really succeeded?"

"It's finished," Wang Zhonghua said with a smile, his eyes welling up with tears. "It was you who finished it."

Qin Tiehua suddenly stood up, grabbed Shen Kuo, and pressed his thin face against his own ash-covered shoulder: "Cunzhong! Thanks to you! Thanks to your lousy drawing! Thanks to your lousy notebook!"

Suffocated and struggling to breathe, Shen Kuo poked his head out, his glasses askew, but he grinned foolishly: "It's...it's Young Master's drawing, it's Tiehua's hand..."

"Nonsense!" Qin Tiehua released him and slapped him again. "Your brain! Your eyes! What you wrote in that lousy notebook is worth more than my hand!"

Shen Kuo rubbed his shoulders, adjusted his glasses, and looked at the smiling faces around him, their faces covered in soot and grime. Suddenly, he felt his eyes welling up with tears. He lowered his head, opened the birch bark notebook, and neatly wrote on the latest page:

"October 16th, Chen Shi (7-9 AM). The new steel is complete. Sister Tiehua cried, the young master laughed, Uncle Qin cried, and Uncle Da Niu collapsed on the ground, unable to get up. Cunzhong was also happy, but dared not forget the young master's words—turn experience into knowledge. The success or failure of this furnace must be carefully recorded for future generations."

After finishing writing, he looked up and, through the two rough crystal pieces, gazed at the brightly lit workshop and at the figures still cheering and jumping for joy.

However, the joy was only fleeting.

The real test has only just begun.

"Iron painting," Wang Zhonghua crouched down to look her in the eye, "this is only the first step. We have the steel, but what about the knife?"

Qin Tiehua wiped her face, stood up, and glanced at the faces in the workshop still immersed in ecstasy. Her voice was hoarse, yet like a hammer striking an anvil, each word carrying weight:

"Did you all hear that? The steel is finished, but the sword hasn't been forged yet. Now, the real test begins."

The laughter gradually subsided. Everyone looked at each other, wondering what this girl who had just finished crying was going to do next.

Qin Tiehua walked to the pile of new steel, picked up a piece, and weighed it in his hand: "This steel is hard and tough, better than any iron we've ever seen in our lives. But precisely because it's so good, it's even harder to forge. If the heat is off by even a fraction, or the force is off by even a hair, it'll be ruined."

She turned around, her gaze sweeping over the seven blacksmiths—Old Qin, Huang Daniu, and several strong young apprentices: "Starting tonight, it's shift work. Each person will wield the hammer for two hours, with absolute precision. I will personally supervise the hammering; anyone who dares to be careless will face my wrath."

Old Qin looked at his daughter, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only nodded.

Huang Daniu, however, stubbornly retorted, "Girl, I've been blacksmithing my whole life, do you expect me to teach me how to swing a hammer?"

Qin Tiehua looked at him without saying anything, but simply handed over the steel block in his hand.

Huang Daniu took it, examined it closely for a long time, and then suddenly fell silent. He had never seen this steel before. He had no idea how to strike it, or what temperature to use for quenching.

"Uncle Da Niu," Qin Tiehua's voice softened, "I'm not teaching you how to forge iron. I'm saying that this new steel needs a new method. Let's figure it out together."

Huang Daniu remained silent for a moment, then put the steel block back in its place and said in a muffled voice, "Okay. I'll do as you say."

What followed was seven days and seven nights of forging.

Molten iron was poured into molds, casting twelve knife blanks. Qin Tiehua and the blacksmiths began their most grueling shift work.

In the workshop, day and night were indistinguishable, and the furnace fire never went out. The clanging of hammers echoed from day to night, and from night to dawn.

Wang Zhonghua also stayed at the workshop. He didn't know how to hammer, so he was responsible for patrolling, delivering water, and handing out dry food. Sometimes when he was really tired, he would lean against the wall for a while, but every time he woke up, he would see Qin Tiehua standing by the furnace. She seemed tireless, her eyes were bloodshot, and the rags wrapped around her hands were already soaked with blood, but she was still staring intently at the point where each hammer blow would land.

Shen Kuo was in charge of recording. He used charcoal to draw crooked tables all over the earthen wall, a method taught to him by Wang Zhonghua—recording the quenching temperature, forging times, and tempering time of each blade blank. He was like a mad accountant, muttering to himself:

"Number one blade blank, forged for the seventh time, temperature approximately 750 degrees Celsius, submerged in water for three breaths!"

"Number two blade blanks, tenth tempering, blade slightly red, then quenched with yellow clay!"

Huang Daniu was initially unconvinced, cursing and saying, "Why are there so many rules?" But when he forged a blade according to the rules and casually sliced ​​through three iron nails, the old man's lips trembled for a long time before he gave Qin Tiehua a thumbs up: "Girl, you're tougher than your father."

Qin Tiehua didn't reply, but just kept his head down and continued.

On the fourth day, her palms were raw and chafed, but she continued to swing the hammer with rags wrapped around them.

On the fifth day, Liu Xinyi, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, tried desperately to persuade Qin Tiehua and the others, but seeing that they would not listen, she had no choice but to stay with her grandfather in case of emergency.

On the fifth day, her shoulder was swollen very badly. Liu Xinyi massaged it for her with tears in her eyes, and Qin Tiehua nodded gratefully, then switched hands and continued massaging.

On the sixth night, Wang Zhonghua couldn't bear to watch any longer and snatched the hammer from her: "You rest for an hour, I'll take over!"

Qin Tiehua glared at him and snatched the hammer back: "You're using the wrong force; you'll ruin my blade!"

Wang Zhonghua stood there, stunned, watching her swing the hammer again, striking the red-hot knife blank with each blow. Sparks flew, reflecting off her blistered hands, her face blackened by smoke, and her frighteningly bright eyes.

He suddenly realized that this girl wasn't working on a knife.

She was forging the knife with her own life.

Late on the seventh night, the quenching pool was surrounded by people.

Qin Tiehua held the last blade blank. It was the thinnest of the twelve blades—the blade had been forged into a single sheet, as thin as a cicada's wing, almost transparent in the furnace fire. She was going to temper it into a true treasured sword.

She took a deep breath and slowly immersed the blade into the pitch-black liquid—a unique quenching liquid she and Shen Kuo had concocted together, mixed with sesame oil, urine, and dozens of herbs. The recipe was suggested by Wang Zhonghua, and she and Shen Kuo had tried it seventeen times before finalizing it.

"laugh--"

White mist shot into the sky, like clouds exhaled by a dragon. Amidst the pervasive vapor, everyone held their breath.

As the fog dissipated, Qin Tiehua, his hands trembling, lifted the knife from the pool.

Moonlight streamed through the window, reflecting off the blade like water, revealing her hands covered in blisters and calluses. The blade was so thin it was almost transparent, yet the edge gleamed with a faint blue hue, like the coldest star in a winter night.

The workshop was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

"Try...try it?" Qin Tiedan stammered.

Wang Zhonghua handed over a wrought iron rod, about the thickness of a wrist. Qin Tiehua took the rod, concentrated, and swung his arm—

"Ding!"

A clear cry, like a phoenix's call echoing through the heavens.

The iron rod snapped off silently, the upper half landing with a clang. The cut was so smooth it looked like it had been ground, and you could see your reflection in it.

Dead silence.

Immediately, cheers erupted, as if the roof had been blown off!

"It's done! It really worked!"

"My God! This is a divine weapon!"