Chapter 75 The Swordsmith

The old craftsman walked out of the thatched hut halfway up the mountain.

A blackened little finger holds a wine jug.

Empty.

He descended the mountain alone.

The sky was just beginning to brighten.

In June, on the west bank of the river, the air before dawn was damp and cold.

The old craftsman tightened the narrow-sleeved linen garment.

Wearing this rough hemp clothing, it was hot inside the sword-making room, but cold outside.

Every day at this time, when I walk out of the thatched hut and down the mountain, I feel the same way.

This gave him the feeling that he was like a sword, just taken out of a red-hot furnace and thrown into a cold stream with a hiss, being tempered by heat and cold.

Old craftsmen appreciate this temperature difference.

Even though he was very old and his body was hunched over and about to collapse.

However, older people tend to become more resistant to cold and heat.

Like a piece of lean iron that has been forged through countless hammer blows.

But this is not the reason why the old craftsman leaves the forge and walks down the mountain every day.

The old craftsman carried an empty wine jug on his little finger as he walked down the mountain.

On the way, I occasionally heard greetings from acquaintances who were up early:

"Hey, Old Wu."

That's what everyone calls him.

In the past, when people asked the old craftsman about his name, he always answered "Wu Ming," not what his surname was.

Over time, everyone started calling him Old Wu.

In fact, very few people in the entire Guyue Sword Shop knew how long Old Wu had been working there.

Few people even know what he does, nor are they interested in it.

But all the senior swordsmiths here know him.

Like the old man taking a stroll downstairs, you don't know where he lives or who he is, but he looks familiar, and then you get used to it, and then he is still a stranger.

That's how old craftsmen are seen by everyone.

He was never seen, neither day nor night.

Every morning at the second quarter of the hour of Mao (5-7 AM), I would walk down the mountain from the sword-making workshop, which had been shut down for many years, to the market in the sword shop to buy wine.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, it is always the same.

In the eyes of others, he was an old craftsman who was eccentric and had a bad temper.

Why do people say that "Old Wu" is a craftsman's work?

Is that even a question?

Within the ancient Yue sword shop, each person had their own division of labor, and no idlers were employed. Among the craftsmen, there were also different ranks: craftsmen, swordsmiths, sword masters, and master craftsmen...

The hierarchy is strict and demanding; everything depends on ability.

Forging swords for the nobles of Luoyang requires skill, which cannot be faked.

The craftsman is the lowest level of craftsman, who can only produce works that lack character and spirit.

There's also an unspoken rule within the Guyue sword shop.

The closer the sword furnace workshop was to Butterfly Creek, the higher the status of the craftsmen.

The sword-making workshop, guarded by the old craftsman, is located on a remote mountainside. It has been without fire for many years and is clearly half-abandoned. What else could this old man be but the craftsman?

Moreover, despite guarding the furnace for many years, this sword furnace has indeed never forged a single sword.

so……

It is indeed a work of art.

The old craftsman, who had once again gone down the mountain to buy wine, admitted in his heart.

Today, someone on the street called out to him again, jokingly:

"Old Wu, going to get wine from that young girl again?"

The old craftsman ignored it, as if he hadn't heard it and was simply passing by.

He ignored everyone who spoke.

If the old craftsman encounters someone blocking his way or causing trouble, he will frown, wave his hand quickly, and chase them away with a look of disgust, without even glancing at them.

The old craftsman didn't want to make a sound.

He also hopes that others will realize this and be sensible enough not to bother him.

This wasn't because he was mute, but because he was in a terrible mood every morning.

The old craftsman worked all night without sleeping.

His sleep schedule is completely reversed.

They are active at night and rest during the day, sleeping during the day and working at night.

So every morning, the old craftsman is exhausted after a night of hard work.

In this state of staying up all night.

He hated the noise of everything coming back to life in the early morning, hated the dazzling sunlight of the rising sun, and even hated any energetic early riser talking to him.

The old craftsman just wants to shut himself off.

Don't fucking bother him.

The old craftsman once again arrived at an early morning market at the foot of the mountain on time.

This early market is not strictly speaking a market.

Instead, they were open-air breakfast stalls run by female workers and the families of craftsmen who worked in the sword shops.

They prepared breakfast for the large number of low-level artisans who got up early to work.

Because craftsmen cannot go out at will, they need to apply to go out, and outsiders who are not from the Guyue Sword Shop cannot freely enter the West Bank Sword Shop to buy and sell.

Moreover, only master craftsmen and swordsmiths, and other high-level craftsmen, receive three meals a day provided by the Liu family. Other lower-level craftsmen are paid wages and have to pay for their own meals, but the food in the canteen operated by the sword shop is too expensive.

Many of the craftsmen were bachelors and wouldn't know how to buy groceries and cook for themselves.

As a result, breakfast stalls opened by diligent female workers who brought breakfast from outside every day came into existence.

The Liu family turned a blind eye to this.

The old craftsman was in a good mood because he hadn't been bothered by many people on his way down the mountain that day.

Everyone seemed to know he had a bad temper, and most people ignored him.

The old craftsman appreciates the feeling of being alone and quiet in the bustling city.

It's like a sword as thin as an icicle stuck in a blazing furnace.

He walked to that familiar breakfast stall again and found that familiar spot further inside.

As soon as I sat down, before I even uttered a sound, a young girl in a cloth dress with the character "Yue" etched on her forehead and bright, intelligent eyes put down her needlework, jumped off the stool, ran to the kitchen, and brought back a pot of prepared wine, which she placed on the old craftsman's table.

The old craftsman stared at the greasy, dirty tabletop, not even glancing at the little girl in the cloth dress beside him. He silently placed the empty wine jug he had brought on the table, then took out eight copper coins from his pocket and lined them up in a row.

The little girl in the cloth skirt tiptoed, reached her small hand to the edge of the table, and carefully gathered eight copper coins into her palm.

She collected the money for the wine, left the full wine jug, and picked up the empty one.

He turned and left without looking back.

They didn't say a word, nor did they exchange a glance.

The old man and the young man worked together seamlessly on this process.

The other female workers and customers at the breakfast stall were not surprised at all; they seemed to be used to the reclusive old man.

The old craftsman unwrapped the cloth sealing the new wine jug and brought his nose close to sniff it.

A familiar taste.

He nodded happily.

This breakfast stall was run by several skillful women who wove sword tassels. The leader was an older and capable tassel maker, while the young tassel maker with the bright, intelligent eyes was one of them, and also the quietest.

There's not much to do, so I won't bother him.

That's why the old craftsman chose her to go to an old wine shop in the county town to buy wine.

Eight coins are collected daily.

Five coins buy more than three ounces of yellow wine.

Two coins were enough to serve a plate of steamed rice cakes.

I gave her a penny as a tip for running the errand.

Day after day, it was the same.

Aside from the last flood when he couldn't find anyone for a period of time, which made his mornings very irritable, there was another incident.

This pretty young woman in a cloth dress has been bringing him rice wine for almost two years.

And they never once mentioned raising the delivery fee.

But the old swordsmith, who was particularly restless every morning, felt that the most important thing was... to be quiet and sensible.

She only spoke timidly the first time she bought him alcohol, what did she say?

It seems like they said her name was something like Qing...

I forgot.

The old craftsman showed absolutely no interest in the work.

On some days, he would catch a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the young female workers being bullied by other older female workers, who would steal their money or fabrics. The old craftsman would not react at all, and would continue to eat his food, which was called breakfast but was actually dinner, in a leisurely manner. He was old and had to eat slowly and carefully.

The old craftsman felt his time was running out and he needed to finish that task quickly before he died. He didn't have time for these trivial matters.

In the breakfast stall, the old craftsman sat in a seat away from the rising sun, took a small sip of rice wine, and squinted as he waited for the breakfast from the kitchen.

At this time, there were still few customers. Several female tassel makers, including those who made cloth skirts and small tassels, had some free time and sat on a row of benches on the right, carefully weaving various colored sword tassels.

The old craftsman quietly observed their skillful weaving.

These sword tassels are beautiful, with various patterns whose lines are incredibly pleasing to him. In particular, the strange arcs woven by some inspired female tassel makers can sometimes inspire the old craftsman.

The exquisite sword tassel artworks were created by these ordinary, humble, and hardworking female workers.

But that's not surprising.

Just like who would have thought that the world's most advanced swordsmanship is actually in the hands of a small group of female cultivators from Wu and Yue who live in seclusion in the Great Swamp?

The old craftsman suddenly remembered that someone had once told him something like this.

Myths are born in the mortal world.

The old man tilted his head back and poured out the wine; this statement made him want to drink another sip.

The old craftsman was in a good mood.

Just then, a group of swordsmiths walked over to a breakfast table next door. They sat down while chatting, and one of them turned around and told the proprietress a dirty joke, which naturally caused a lively commotion of laughter and scolding.

It's very noisy.

The old craftsman put down the wine pot, his appetite waning.

The hot topic that the noisy group of swordsmiths started discussing next made the old craftsman's mood even worse.

The old man silently put away the wine jug and turned to look back at the county government office on the east bank of Butterfly Creek.

A newly arrived young magistrate wanted to build a new waterway in Longcheng called the Broken Wing Canal, which would completely cut off the water flow of Butterfly Creek.

How can a sword be forged without water?

This was the first time in his life that the old craftsman had heard of such a decision that went against the wishes of his ancestors.

To be honest, besides being angry, I was also a little... amused.

I laughed in exasperation.

What kind of weirdo has arrived?

Here I am, and I keep my word. More updates tonight, two chapters a day again!

(End of this chapter)