Chapter 72

Seventy-four, The Swordsmith

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

His soot-blackened little finger held a wine pot.

It was empty.

He went down the mountain alone.

The sky was just beginning to brighten.

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

The old craftsman tightened his narrow-sleeved hemp garment.

Wearing this rough hemp garment, it was hot in the sword furnace room, and cold once he stepped out.

Every day at this time, walking out of the thatched hut and down the mountain, he felt this way.

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

The old craftsman liked this temperature difference.

Even though he was already very old, his body hunched and about to fall.

But elderly people are increasingly resistant to cold and heat.

Just like a piece of iron tempered a thousand times.

But this was not the reason why the old craftsman left the sword furnace and walked down the mountain every day.

The old craftsman held an empty wine pot with his little finger and walked down the mountain all the way.

On the way, acquaintances who got up early occasionally greeted him:

"Hey, Old Wu."

Everyone called him that.

Because someone had curiously asked the old craftsman his name before, and he always answered "Wu Ming" (No Name). Isn't the surname Wu?

As time went by, everyone called him Old Wu.

In fact, in the entire Gu Yue Sword Shop, not many people knew how long this Old Wu had been in the shop.

Not many people even knew what he was doing, and they were not interested in it either.

But the senior sword craftsmen here all knew him.

Just like the old man walking his dog downstairs, you don't know where he lives or what his identity is, but you just recognize him, then get used to it, and then he remains a stranger.

The old craftsman was just like that in everyone's eyes.

He was never seen during the day or night.

Every morning, at the second quarter of the Mao hour, he walked down the mountain from the sword furnace room that had been extinguished for many years and went to the market in the sword shop to buy wine.

Day after day, year after year, it was always like this.

In everyone's eyes, he was an old craftsman with a withdrawn personality and a not-so-good temper.

Why did everyone say this "Old Wu" was a craftsman?

Does that even need to be said?

There is a division of labor in the Gu Yue Sword Shop, which does not keep idlers, and there are ranks among craftsmen: craftsman, sword worker, sword craftsman, famous craftsman...

The ranks are strict and harsh, all depending on ability.

Casting swords for the nobles of Luoyang, only ability cannot be faked.

A craftsman is the lowest-level worker, only able to produce works that lack characteristics and have no spirituality.

There is another unspoken rule in the Gu Yue Sword Shop.

The closer the sword furnace room belongs to the Butterfly Creek, the higher the status of the craftsman.

The sword furnace room guarded by the old craftsman was on a remote hillside and had been extinguished for many years, obviously half-abandoned. If this old man guarding it empty-handed isn't a craftsman, what is he?

Moreover, having guarded the furnace for many years, this sword furnace had indeed never cast a sword.

So...

A craftsman is indeed a craftsman.

The old craftsman who went down the mountain to buy wine again admitted in his heart.

Today, someone on the road teased him again:

"Old Wu, going to find the little girl to buy wine again?"

The old craftsman ignored him, as if he hadn't heard, and walked past him.

He ignored whoever spoke to him.

If he encountered someone blocking the way and pestering him, the old craftsman would frown and wave his hand quickly, without even looking, driving them away with a look of disgust.

The old craftsman did not want to make any sound.

He also hoped that others would see this point and be sensible enough not to bother him.

This was not because he was mute, but because every morning, his mood was very bad:

The old craftsman hadn't slept all night.

His schedule was reversed.

He slept during the day and worked at night.

So every morning, the old craftsman was in a state of fatigue after working all night.

In this state of staying up late.

He hated the noise when all things recovered in the morning, hated the dazzling sunlight of the rising sun, and even hated any energetic guy who got up early and asked him to talk.

The old craftsman just wanted to be autistic.

Don't bother him, damn it.

The old craftsman walked into a morning market at the foot of the mountain on time.

Strictly speaking, this morning market was not a market.

It was just some open-air breakfast stalls opened by some female workers and craftsmen's families working in the sword shop.

They made some breakfast and provided it to the large number of low-level craftsmen who got up early to work.

Because craftsmen could not go out at will, going out required an application, and outsiders who were not from the Gu Yue Sword Shop could not enter the Su Xian Sword Shop to trade at will.

And only high-level craftsmen such as famous craftsmen and sword craftsmen had three meals a day provided by the Liu family, while other low-level craftsmen were issued wages and had to take care of themselves, but the canteen food operated by the sword shop was too expensive.

And many craftsmen were bachelors, so how could they buy vegetables and cook for themselves?

Thus, this kind of breakfast stall opened by diligent female workers who brought breakfast from outside every day came into being.

The Liu family also turned a blind eye to this.

The old craftsman was in a good mood because he walked down the mountain all the way today without many people bothering him.

Everyone seemed to know that his temper was bad, and most of them ignored him.

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

Just like a sword made of ice inserted into a furnace with raging flames.

He walked to that familiar breakfast stall again and found that familiar position in the corner.

Just sat down, without even making a sound, a little girl in a cloth skirt with a "Yue" character carved on her forehead and very spiritual big eyes put down the female worker's work in her hand, jumped off the stool, and ran to the back kitchen to hold a pot of prepared wine, placing it on the old craftsman's table.

The old craftsman stared at the oily, dirty black tabletop without even looking at the little girl in the cloth skirt beside him. He silently placed the empty wine pot he brought on the table, then took out eight copper coins from his arms and lined them up.

The little girl in the cloth skirt stood on tiptoe, brought her small hands to the edge of the table, and carefully gathered the eight copper coins into her palm.

She put away the wine money, left the full wine pot, and picked up the empty wine pot.

She walked away without looking back.

Not a word was said, and there was no eye contact between the two.

One old and one young, this process was incomparably tacit.

And the other female workers and guests at the breakfast stall were not surprised by this, and seemed to be used to the withdrawn old man.

The old craftsman opened the seal of the new wine pot and leaned his nose to sniff it.

A familiar smell.

He nodded happily.

This breakfast stall was opened by several female workers who were good at weaving sword tassels. The leader was an older and capable female tassel worker, and the little tassel worker in a cloth skirt with spiritual big eyes just now was one of them, and also the quietest one.

She did few things and didn'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 every day.

Five coins for three taels of leftover yellow wine.

Two coins for a plate of steamed rice cakes.

One coin as a reward for her running errands.

Day after day, it was always like this.

Except for a period of time when she couldn't be found during the flood, which made his mornings during that period very irritable.

This little tassel worker in a cloth skirt with a very pretty appearance had been helping him buy yellow wine for almost two years.

And she had never mentioned raising the errand fee once.

But the old sword craftsman, who was particularly irritable every morning, felt that the most important thing was... she talked little and was sensible.

She only opened her mouth timidly when she helped him buy wine for the first time. What did she say?

It seemed to be that she was called something Qing...

Forgot.

The old craftsman was not interested at all.

On some days, when he saw the little tassel worker in a cloth skirt being bullied by other older female tassel workers, who snatched her money or woven goods, the old craftsman had no reaction and continued to eat the food that was called breakfast but was actually dinner in a slow and orderly manner. He was old and had to chew slowly.

The old craftsman felt that he didn't have much time left and had to finish that thing quickly before dying. He had no time to manage these trivial matters.

In the breakfast stall, the old craftsman sat in the corner seat avoiding the morning sun, took a small sip of yellow wine, and narrowed his eyes waiting for the breakfast from the back kitchen.

At this time, there were few guests. Including the little tassel worker in a cloth skirt, several female tassel workers were free, sitting on a row of stools on the right, lowering their heads and carefully weaving various sword tassels.

The old craftsman quietly examined their skillful weaving techniques.

These sword tassels were very beautiful, with various patterns that had incomparably comfortable lines in his eyes, especially some strange arcs woven by spiritual female tassel workers on a whim, which sometimes brought the old craftsman a lot of inspiration.

Exquisite sword tassel artworks were born from the hands of these ordinary, humble little female workers who were running for their livelihood.

But this was not strange.

Just like who would have thought that the world's top sword technique was actually mastered by a small group of female cultivators of Wu and Yue who lived in seclusion in the great marsh?

The old craftsman suddenly remembered that someone had once told him such a sentence.

Myths are born in the mortal world.

The old man tilted his head and poured the pot. This sentence was worth another drink of wine.

The old craftsman was in a good mood.

But at this moment, a group of sword workers came to the next breakfast table. As they talked, they sat down, and one of them turned back to tell dirty jokes to the landlady, naturally causing a burst of lively laughter and scolding.

Very noisy.

The old craftsman put down the wine pot, his interest in drinking waning.

And the hot topic that these noisy sword workers discussed next made the old craftsman's mood instantly terrible.

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

There was a new young magistrate who wanted to build a new waterway called the Zhe Yi Channel in Longcheng to thoroughly cut off the water of Butterfly Creek.

If the water is cut off, how can a sword be cast?

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

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

He was laughed at by anger.

What kind of strange flower is this?

It's here, he does what he says. There will be more tonight, resuming two updates!

(End of chapter)