Chapter Twelve: Iron Ox at the Blacksmith's Shop

After Du Gu Ling had packed up his belongings, he stepped out of the inn. The proprietress had been exceedingly kind; before he left, she had even served him a bowl of noodles free of charge. Sated and refreshed, Du Gu Ling set off toward the location Lin Mengyao had told him about.

He drew out a slip of paper on which a few words were written—Iron Ox Blacksmith. Fortunately, the village chief had taught him to read when he was still in the village; otherwise, navigating the world alone would have proven exceedingly troublesome.

“Excuse me, do you know where this place is?” “That place? Just head straight ahead.” “Excuse me, do you know where this place is?” “Of course I do! Go in that direction and you’ll see it.” “Excuse me, do you know this place?” “Are you kidding? Everyone knows it. Keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

Du Gu Ling asked his way along the streets. He couldn’t help but admit that Cold Moon City was truly vast; he walked all morning and still hadn’t arrived. Yet, judging by how everyone seemed to know the place, it must be quite renowned—no one failed to recognize it. This piqued Du Gu Ling’s curiosity even further.

He walked on and on, and by the time the sun hung directly overhead, he finally reached his destination. Turning a corner, the sight before him made Du Gu Ling jump in surprise.

Towering before him stood an impressively grand building, exuding an air of wealth and distinction. A massive plaque, inscribed with the words Iron Ox Blacksmith, hung above what looked almost like a small hall.

He had to admit, the name itself seemed rather lacking in class. Du Gu Ling approached, and what a spectacle it was: dozens, nearly a hundred burly men inside, swinging hammers half the size of a man, pounding red-hot iron with thunderous vigor. The clangor of hammers striking metal resounded ceaselessly.

As Du Gu Ling neared the entrance, a young attendant dashed up to him. “Sir, what can I get for you? We have everything you could want—ready-made or custom orders, whatever you prefer!” The words tumbled out in a torrent.

Embarrassed, Du Gu Ling lowered his voice. “I’m not here to buy anything. I’ve come to see the manager.”

At the mention that he wasn’t a customer, the attendant’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Why do you need our manager? He’s not here at the moment.”

“I have a letter to deliver to him,” Du Gu Ling said.

“A letter? Very well, find a place to wait. When the manager returns, I’ll let you know,” the attendant replied, wary of offending someone whose status was unclear, and, though less effusive, remained courteous.

Du Gu Ling found a seat and watched the blacksmiths as they labored relentlessly at the anvils. Time passed, and he grew restless and began to wander about.

He soon noticed, perched against a wall, a colossal iron hammer as tall as a man. Curiosity piqued, he lifted it from its rest. To his surprise, it was exceedingly heavy; even he had to exert considerable effort to lift it with one hand. He toyed with it for a moment.

Suddenly, a loud exclamation rang out beside him. “Impossible!”

Instantly, every smith in the hall—dozens, nearly a hundred—stopped their work and stared wide-eyed at Du Gu Ling. More precisely, they stared at the hammer in his hand.

“Uh… is something wrong?” Du Gu Ling stammered, uneasy under their collective gaze.

Like a pack of wolves, the blacksmiths surged toward him, eyes gleaming, surrounding Du Gu Ling as if they hadn’t seen a woman in years, encircling him with a feverish excitement.

A towering, broad-shouldered middle-aged man emerged from the crowd and said to a nearby smith, “Quick, go fetch the Old Master.”

He then turned to Du Gu Ling with a genial smile and spoke in a warm tone, “Young man, what brings you to the Iron Ox Blacksmith today?”

Du Gu Ling, unsure of their intentions, instinctively held the hammer before him, face tense with anxiety.

The middle-aged man, seeing his distress, realized he had been too abrupt. He hurried to reassure him, “Don’t be afraid, young friend, there’s no need to be so nervous. We won’t harm you.”

The other smiths nodded in agreement.

Just then, another figure pushed into the circle. “What’s going on here? What happened?” It was the attendant from earlier. Seeing Du Gu Ling surrounded, he hurried over and scolded, “Didn’t I tell you to wait quietly? What trouble have you caused now?” But when his eyes fell on the gigantic hammer in Du Gu Ling’s hands, he clapped his hands over his mouth and collapsed to the floor, speechless, as if he had seen the most terrifying thing in the world—his shock was palpable.

This reaction only deepened the suspicion etched on Du Gu Ling’s face.

The attendant sat on the floor for a moment, then struggled to his feet, bowed to the middle-aged man, and, trembling, said, “Mr. Yuan Tianchi… this is the visitor who just came looking for the manager.”

“Oh?” Yuan Tianchi repeated, then asked, “What business do you have with our manager?”

Du Gu Ling looked at him and replied, carefully enunciating each word, “I have a letter for him.”

“What letter?” Yuan Tianchi inquired.

Du Gu Ling hesitated. He thought, You’re not the manager—why do you care? Sensing his reluctance, Yuan Tianchi slapped his own forehead and quickly said, “I forgot my manners; allow me to introduce myself. I am Yuan Tianchi, the head blacksmith here, and the master of this forge.”

What? Du Gu Ling was stunned. This sweat-stained, grimy man was the owner of such a high-end establishment? Though he knew little of city affairs, he was certain the master of a place like this wouldn’t work the floor like an ordinary laborer. With his disheveled appearance, he hardly seemed the proprietor of such an impressive shop.

“What’s wrong? You don’t believe me? Ask anyone here—I’ve no reason to lie to you,” Yuan Tianchi said with a hint of urgency, gesturing to the smiths who all nodded their assent.

Du Gu Ling thought it over. Indeed, there was no reason for deception, though he still felt some doubt. Reluctantly, he fished a letter from his pocket and handed it to Yuan Tianchi.

Yuan Tianchi accepted the letter with a smile. “The manager’s out buying supplies, but it makes no difference—I’ll take a look.”

He opened the letter and began to read. The more he read, the more cheerful his expression became. By the end, his brows were lifted so high with delight that he could hardly suppress his grin.

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