Chapter 159 A sword lies in the furnace, its straightness and crookedness indistinguishable.
The atmosphere of unease that had hung over the ancient Yue sword shop all morning finally eased.
At the entrance of the Guyue Sword Shop, the swordsmiths breathed a sigh of relief as they watched the young magistrate and other officials from the county government disappear into the distance.
Inside and outside an old sword furnace halfway up Xiaogushan Mountain, the tense atmosphere dissipated, the group of people disappeared, and the tranquility returned.
Inside the sword furnace room.
Only the old swordsmith's lonely figure remained, along with an empty, unlit forge.
besides.
A piece of blue origami remained on the table.
There is an arc on the paper, composed of pure Pythagorean theorem shapes.
This "arc" is neither round nor sharp.
Inside the empty sword furnace room.
The old swordsmith sat at the table.
His face remained silent.
Ten withered, yellowed fingers slowly unraveled the "arc" on this blue origami.
Then piece it back together.
The old swordsmith's movements were skillful.
It was as if this had been done hundreds or thousands of times.
Their skill is in no way inferior to that of the female tassel weavers who weave sword tassels in breakfast shops.
“My disciple, the most outstanding swordsmith must also have the most outstanding aesthetic sense.”
He remembered his master saying that.
The old swordsmith agreed with this statement.
However, I don't agree with my master's aesthetic sense.
His mentors had an almost pathological obsession with straight lines.
Straight lines are also the most frequently used element in swordsmanship.
However, in the eyes of the old swordsmith, a straight line is rigid and crude, and inflexible.
In his mind, the sensation produced by a straight line was like watching a swallow, lightly returning to its nest, crash and die on a dark blue-green roof.
Blood and gore were everywhere, feathers were flying everywhere, and the entire world around them began to turn sour.
The old swordsmith disliked straight lines.
Curves, on the other hand, are the complete opposite of straight lines; they are soft and unpredictable.
Like the yellow wine he poured down his throat, it takes on countless shapes, warming the drinker's stomach.
However, in the eyes of the masters, the most beautiful curves in the world, apart from the sun and moon above the head, are nothing more than a woman's breasts and buttocks.
This is a minor path, hardly worthy of serious consideration.
The difference in aesthetics and sword-making philosophy was also the reason why the old swordsmith left his master's school.
Therefore, he did not feel much regret about his master's tragic death.
It was just that I had two more jars of wine by my side late at night.
Later, the old swordsmith also belatedly realized the truth.
Not everything in this world is necessarily right or wrong, black or white.
For example, isn't he forging a sword right now for the enemy who killed his master?
Before the old table, the old swordsmith bowed his head and murmured:
"The old man is right. If the curves are too soft, it will be difficult to conceal the spirit of the sword."
"But a straight line is too rigid; what is too rigid is easily broken, and what is too flexible will crumble."
"So I must find an 'arc,' an 'arc'..."
"Between curve and straight..."
An arc is like an iron bar; if you apply a little force to both ends, a curve will appear in the middle.
But it resists fiercely, ready to revert to a straight line at any moment.
It has tension.
"Ha, some Confucian sages say that we should distinguish right from wrong, but I refuse to."
The old swordsmith suddenly laughed.
"Let those who come after us take this sword, which is difficult to distinguish between right and wrong, and use it to resolve matters that are difficult to distinguish between right and wrong."
Inside the quiet room, the old swordsmith was folding paper, and between his ten fingers, an arc was gradually taking shape.
At that moment, he seemed to recall the young man's words from not long ago, and the old man's eyes showed appreciation as he sighed with the same emotion:
"It's so beautiful..."
But just then...
Footsteps sounded outside the sword furnace.
It is Liu Zi'an.
He had finally seen off the uninvited guests, including the young county magistrate, and was hurrying back to the mountainside.
With a creak, the door to the sword-forging room was pushed open, and Liu Zi'an walked in with a grim expression. Pointing at the sword-forging furnace, he frowned and questioned:
"What happened? Where's the sword?! Haven't you been forging swords all these years?! Where's the sword?"
The old swordsmith had just opened the forging furnace in front of everyone, which stunned everyone, including Liu Zian, who was also startled and full of doubts.
After carefully seeing Ouyang Rong off and hastily dismissing Liu Zilin and his sycophants, he hurriedly returned to the Sword Furnace alone to demand an explanation.
The old swordsmith remained expressionless, feigning indifference.
On the blue origami in my hand.
The arc took shape once again.
In front of Liu Zian, who was frowning deeply.
The old swordsmith picked up the "arc," stood up with his hunched back, turned around, and walked to the empty sword-making furnace at the back.
He threw it in.
There was no fire in the furnace.
However, the "arc" of the folded paper just goes inside.
Then it vanished like smoke.
With a clang.
The round iron door of the sword-casting furnace was closed tightly once again.
Before the furnace, the old swordsmith silently turned his head, his eyelids drooping, like an old tiger still possessing residual power.
"You're questioning me?"
Liu Zian stared blankly at the bizarre scene of "vanishing into thin air," then chuckled and waved his hand sheepishly.
"How could I dare to question the old master? It's just that the sword shop was forcibly broken into by outsiders early this morning, which disturbed the old master's sword-making... I was a little impulsive."
"However, the old gentleman is still the most skilled. His sword-making technique is so ingenious that neither Ouyang Lianghan nor Xie Lingjiang could see through it. Haha, even I was fooled."
Liu Zian spoke rapidly for a long time, but the old swordsmith remained silent, and the atmosphere was still a bit awkward.
Liu Zian probed:
"So, sir, this sword is still being forged in the furnace? Is there some kind of sophisticated illusion involved?"
The old swordsmith's expression remained calm as he glanced at him, his tone seemingly curious:
"Who says swords have to be forged in a furnace?"
"Where should it be tempered?"
The old swordsmith turned to look at the Butterfly Stream flowing endlessly down the mountain outside the door, and uttered a seemingly pointless remark:
"It will appear wherever swords can be forged. Who says that sword forging must be done in a forge?"
Liu Zian was speechless for a moment.
The old swordsmith suddenly turned and asked, "Is Liu Ziwen truly dead?"
Liu Zian was silent for a moment, then nodded.
The old swordsmith seemed to have known about it all along, his expression showing no surprise.
He showed no regret whatsoever regarding the death of the young master of the Liu family, whom he had known and dealt with for over a decade.
A hint of mockery flashed in the old man's eyes, but it quickly disappeared.
Liu Zian asked somewhat uneasily, "What if the Wei family finds out?"
The old swordsmith sneered, "You've already done it, and now you're afraid the Wei family will find out?"
Liu Zian frowned and glanced at the old man:
"Don't forget, this isn't just my matter, it's also yours, sir. Let's think about how to deal with the people sent by the Wei family to retrieve the sword. Given the Wei family's strength, they might even send a high-ranking Qi Refining cultivator..."
The old swordsmith did not answer, his expression remaining unchanged.
The atmosphere became quiet for a while.
Liu Zian, who was pacing back and forth in the room deep in thought, suddenly raised his head and asked first:
When will this sword finally be ready?
The old swordsmith responded coldly:
"I must ask you, what's the reason for the fluctuations in the water level of Butterfly Creek these past two days? You promised it would remain unchanged."
“Since the new magistrate arrived, your Liu family has done nothing to my satisfaction.”
Liu Zian opened his mouth, but in the end didn't argue. His mouth tasted a little bitter as he said:
"On the day of the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Ouyang Lianghan had the Zheyi Canal opened up, causing the river water to backflow and affecting the water level of Butterfly Creek to some extent."
"In addition, the last flood of Yunmengze at the end of the plum rain season has begun, which will also affect the water level of Butterfly Creek. However, Digong Sluice Gate should be able to hold up, so it's not a big problem."
"Sir, what should we do now...?"
Liu Zian was halfway through his sentence when he noticed the cold gaze directed at him by the old man opposite him.
He paused, then took a deep breath and nodded:
"I understand. The Liu family will provide another sum of money to help the county government deal with the Zheyi Canal as soon as possible, to see if the breach can be plugged and the second phase of the Zheyi Canal can be restarted... There will be no more delays."
Liu Zian looked pained; the Liu family had already invested too many resources, whether willingly or unwillingly, in the business of Zheyi Canal.
The most outrageous thing is that after the Zheyi Canal was completed, it was still considered the achievement of the enemy, Ouyang Lianghan.
Liu Zian rubbed his face, let out a long breath, and stopped worrying about short-term gains and losses.
He continued, "As for the recent flooding upstream of Yunmengze... Ouyang Lianghan should be able to weather it."
The old swordsmith sneered, "Ha, are you hoping someone else will step in again? Your Liu family should really thank them."
Liu Zian's lips twitched, and after a long silence, he managed to squeeze out a sentence:
"It's just about mutual benefit."
Afterwards, the two chatted briefly, then the old swordsmith turned around, making a gesture as if to send the customer away:
"Alright, you can leave now. I've already accomplished my mission. It's your Liu family that's been delaying Jian Cheng and holding things back."
"Go, go and block up the Broken Wing Canal. When the water level of Butterfly Creek recovers, this sword can be born."
Liu Zian nodded solemnly.
The second head of the Liu family, who had finally taken power, left with great anxiety.
Inside the forge room, only the old swordsmith remained, standing silently before the furnace.
The room was quiet.
The old swordsmith, lost in thought, picked up a jar of yellow wine left behind by a young county magistrate before he left.
I opened the lid, tilted my head back, and took a sip.
He suddenly turned his head and asked the tightly closed forge:
"You really like the aura he exudes?"
Inside the empty room, the old man stared intently at the air in front of him, as if he could see something invisible to the naked eye.
It was as if he were talking to himself:
"Little one, stop sneaking inhalations. If you had taken another one, that Xie woman would have found out."
"This girl is also keeping a close watch on her senior brother's aura. Heh, don't let her find out that you're trying to steal her food."
The old swordsmith, his face gaunt and wrinkled, managed a rare smile.
The old man waved gently ahead, as if beckoning to a child.
"Go, little one, to Butterfly Creek."
"Oh, you're so greedy. The water and energy that has leaked from the vast Yunmeng Marsh upstream over the past ten years isn't even enough for you to eat."
"Be careful, lest you get caught by the Wu and Yue female cultivators of the Queen's Palace."
"Although, it seems that my sect and Donglin Temple still owe them a cauldron and a sword."
"Speaking of which, how should we settle this old score..."
(End of this chapter)
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