Chapter 230

Zheng Hui immediately turned toward the sound, her eyes brightening as she called out cheerfully: “Elder Jiang! What brings you here?”

Jiang Ye smiled faintly. “I’ve come to find Zheng Zhuanchuan. Is he here?”

Zheng Hui pouted slightly, her tone tinged with playful affection. “Huh? I thought you came for me.”

She pointed to the courtyard beside them. “My brother’s inside absorbing fire!”

Jiang Ye walked slowly into the adjacent courtyard and saw Zheng Feng seated cross-legged beside the furnace, nurturing the fire’s energy.

Yet he clearly seemed distracted, his breathing erratic, the fire swirling unpredictably within the furnace—sometimes surging fiercely, sometimes dimming into weakness.

Clearly, these past days had not been as calm as he appeared.

Zheng Feng sensed someone approaching and snapped open his eyes; seeing Jiang Ye, he immediately rose and bowed. “Elder Jiang!”

Jiang Ye smiled faintly, cutting straight to the point, and explained to Zheng Feng his plan to melt the tungsten blade and recast it into a tungsten staff.

Zheng Feng instantly understood. “Elder Jiang, the most renowned forge in this city of Linzhou is the Forging Hall—they’re filled with master smiths, some of whom have spent their entire lives crafting only dozens of weapons, each a masterpiece.”

Jiang Ye nodded slightly. “The Forging Hall...”

Seeing Jiang Ye’s urgency, Zheng Feng rose at once. “Elder Jiang, if you’re in a hurry, I’ll take you there.”

Jiang Ye bowed respectfully. “Then I’m in your debt, Zheng Zhuanchuan.”

Zheng Feng immediately rose, made quick preparations, and led Jiang Ye down the mountain together.

About half an hour later, the two arrived in the eastern district of Linzhou’s great city.

Before they even stepped through the Forging Hall’s gates, a fierce wave of heat struck them—the air thick with the scent of burning charcoal and the hiss of quenching metal, punctuated by the rhythmic, clanging strikes of hammers.

Soon, a muscular man stepped forward to greet them politely. “Welcome, esteemed guests. Are you here to purchase weapons, or...?”

Jiang Ye spoke calmly. “I need a weapon forged.”

The man immediately led them inside and asked if they had booked a specific master.

Jiang Ye shook his head slightly; Zheng Feng paused briefly, then added: “Has Master Huang been available today?”

When he was still in Linzhou’s great city, Master Huang had already been a famed master smith.

“Hahaha! Business has come!”

A loud, boisterous laugh echoed from within the inner hall.

Out stepped a middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and bare-chested, his bronze-toned muscles glistening.

Zheng Hui’s face lit up.

What a coincidence.

This man was none other than the famed Master Huang—Huang Gang.

Jiang Ye lifted his gaze, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Around this man’s body hovered a faint crimson aura of fire energy—he was a Golden Core cultivator.

Huang Gang stepped before them, his gaze sweeping over Zheng Feng; he felt a vague sense of familiarity but couldn’t place where he’d seen him before.

He boomed with laughter: “You want a weapon forged, right?”

Jiang Ye extended the black blade wrapped in cloth. “Correct, Master Huang. I wish to melt this blade and recast it into a staff.”

Huang Gang took the blade—and his interest sparked instantly.

So heavy?!

He unwrapped the cloth, and his weathered eyes, accustomed to fire and steel, narrowed slightly before bursting into a delighted laugh:

“Excellent! A fine blade—though it carries a touch of malice.”

He turned the blade over, examining it at length, then looked up at Jiang Ye.

“Old sir, this blade is forged with tungsten—it’ll take considerable effort. The fee will be fifty thousand taels.”

Fifty thousand taels was a fortune at any ordinary forge.

Jiang Ye’s expression remained calm, not even blinking. “No problem. Just make me the weapon.”

His personal savings long exceeded a million taels.

Fifty thousand taels for forging? He didn’t even notice it.

Since Zheng Feng recommended him, he trusted him.

He never hired those he doubted, and once hired, he never doubted them.

Huang Gang, impressed by his swift agreement, laughed heartily again. “Good! Old sir, you’re a man of action. Come back in seven days—your weapon will satisfy you!”

At that moment—

A sudden clamor erupted at the entrance.

The noise was abrupt, yet overwhelmingly loud and effusive.

“Oh my! It’s Jiang Zhuanchuan!”

“Welcome, Jiang Zhuanchuan!”

“Your presence graces our Forging Hall with honor!”

“Jiang Zhuanchuan, this way—mind the threshold!”

Overlapping flattery mingled with hurried footsteps—clearly, the arrival was of great importance.

“Oh? Jiang Zhuanchuan...”

Jiang Ye’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned toward the entrance.

Beside him, Zheng Feng froze the instant he heard the surname—his body stiffened as if petrified, his breath suspended.

Soon, escorted by several disciples of the Forging Hall like stars around the moon, a woman in a plain white martial suit stepped gracefully inside.

Her features were exquisite, her eyes like painted scrolls.

Her waistband cinched tightly, accentuating her full chest and rounded, uplifted hips, shaping her figure to perfection.

The plain white suit, against the dim firelight of the forge, seemed even colder, more ethereal.

Yet a sharp, cutting chill lingered in her brow, radiating an aura so piercing that none dared approach.

She stepped in and spoke without preamble, her voice cold and commanding: “Is Huang Gang here? My Qingling Sword is damaged—I need him to repair it!”

Huang Gang frowned slightly but did not rush forward to flatter her; instead, he stepped forward two paces, courteous yet firm. “I’m sorry, Miss Jiang, I’ve just taken on a commission—it’ll take seven days before I’m free. Please find another master to repair your Qingling Sword.”

His reputation in the Forging Hall was built not only on skill—but on this unyielding integrity.

Whether you were a true heir or a pretender, the rule of first come, first served stood firm.

Jiang Chuxue’s brow tightened, her piercing aura intensifying.

She knew Huang Gang was stubborn, rigid, utterly inflexible.

Any other master, seeing her, would have scrambled to please her—no need for her to speak at all.

She suppressed the faint irritation rising in her chest and asked coldly: “Whose commission did you take? Let me speak with them.”

Huang Gang shook his head firmly. “Miss Jiang, I cannot disclose client information.”

In any trade, betraying client confidentiality was a grave breach—especially for him, who had spent half a lifetime in the Forging Hall, building his name on trust and promise.

Jiang Chuxue sneered, her cold eyes sweeping past Huang Gang to lock onto the thin, gray-clad old man standing nearby:

“You’re the old thing, aren’t you?”

Her voice rose sharply, dripping with the casual condescension of someone used to command.

“Cancel your commission with Huang Gang right now!”

Her voice suddenly rose several notches, carrying a taken-for-granted air of superiority.

“Quickly pull your man away from Huang Gang!”