Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 9: Condolences

Li Qing woke with near-perfect timing, slipping back into his own world just as the sky began to pale.

He felt utterly refreshed, the deep sleep having scoured away every trace of fatigue. All the exhaustion from days of stance training and hammering iron had vanished.

As usual, Li Qing took two bowls to the mess tent for his meal, then made his way to deliver Master Gu’s portion. But as he pushed aside the tent flap, a profound wrongness struck him.

Silence.

It was far, far too quiet.

“Master!” Li Qing’s hand trembled, the food bowls nearly crashing to the ground.

He rushed to the bedside. Master Gu’s eyes were closed, his face still. A sharp sting of grief pricked Li Qing’s own eyes, turning them red.

Master Gu was dead.

The news spread through the border army like wildfire, prompting sighs of regret throughout the ranks. Master Gu’s reputation in the Wuli Army was considerable; he had personally forged weapons for countless centurions and even chiliarchs. Every piece that left his hands was a masterwork of durability and craftsmanship.

Funerals in the army were simple affairs, stripped of elaborate ceremony. Still, basic decorum was observed. The high-ranking officers who owed Master Gu a debt of gratitude all came to pay their respects.

The first to arrive was Centurion Chen Meng. A mountain of a man with a face of rough, fierce flesh, he gazed solemnly at Master Gu’s remains.

“Hah…” Chen Meng let out a heavy sigh. Without another word, he simply clapped a hand on the shoulder of Li Qing, who stood vigil nearby.

The second visitor was Chiliarch Qian Hong, whom he had met only the day before. Her appearance was a surprise. The female chiliarch was as striking and formidable as ever. She gave Master Gu’s body a single, sweeping glance before looking away. Having served for years, Qian Hong wasn’t one for sentimentality, especially over a natural death.

“Master Gu claimed you’ve learned seventy or eighty percent of his craft. Is that true?” Qian Hong’s gaze locked onto Li Qing. This time, however, her imposing aura was reined in, her tone almost gentle.

Li Qing shook his head repeatedly, adopting a look of earnest humility. “The Master was too generous with his praise. I’ve been his student for less than two years. How could I possibly have reached such a level?”

“True enough,” Qian Hong mused, a flicker of regret in her eyes. “A damn shame he picked now to die.” She said nothing more, turning on her heel and leaving the tent.

Next, a few more centurions filed in. They were all burly, boisterous men who offered Li Qing clumsy words of comfort before taking their leave.

The second chiliarch to arrive was a man named Yuan Xiao. His eyes were perpetually narrowed into a slight squint, and a gentle smile seemed permanently fixed at the corners of his mouth. He looked, for all the world, like a thoroughly decent man.

If not for Master Gu’s warning, Li Qing might have believed it.

But no one rose to the rank of chiliarch by being gentle and kind. Li Qing’s internal assessment was instant and brutal: a hypocrite.

“Hehehe, young brother, you must be Master Gu’s apprentice,” Yuan Xiao said, his voice as mild as his smile. “Old Gu made great contributions to the army over the years. If you ever run into trouble, you just come find me.”

First impressions be damned, the performance had to be flawless. Li Qing immediately manufactured an expression of overwhelming gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Chiliarch Yuan, thank you!”

“There, there, young brother. When a man dies, his light is extinguished. Don’t grieve too much,” Yuan Xiao added with a final, considerate pat.

With that, Chiliarch Yuan Xiao departed. As he stepped out of the tent, his eyes glinted for a fraction of a second, his thoughts impossible to read.

Li Qing watched him go, swallowing hard. So deeply cunning, he thought with a surge of cold clarity. Master Gu was right. I have to be extremely careful around that one.

From now on, he would avoid that man at all costs.

The Wuli Army had three chiliarchs stationed at the border. Li Qing waited, but the third never came to offer condolences, which struck him as odd.

Did the third chiliarch not know Master Gu?

It seemed the most likely explanation. Otherwise, why would his master have warned him about Qian Hong and Yuan Xiao, but never once mentioned the third?

That same day, Master Gu was placed in his coffin. The rites were minimal. They found a small, windswept hill just outside the fortress and buried him there. Li Qing stayed through it all. Long after the gravediggers had left, he remained, keeping a silent vigil before the fresh mound of earth.

Should I run? Right now?

The thought flared and was just as quickly extinguished. Fleeing now would be foolish.

He had to wait.

Wait until he was stronger, strong enough to have a fighting chance. Wait until the world grew more chaotic, so chaotic that no one would notice one insignificant blacksmith’s apprentice slipping away.

The gales of the borderlands were relentless, whipping up clouds of yellow sand that swallowed the sky. Li Qing rested a hand on the simple wooden grave marker, another sigh escaping him.

Master Gu’s death had been sudden, but not entirely unexpected. In his time with the army, the old man had looked out for him. He had been strict, certainly, but it had all been for Li Qing’s own good. Memories of his master’s gruff voice and rare smiles echoed in his mind.

Hah…

As an immortal, he knew this was only the beginning. He would see countless people pass, perhaps even his own descendants, generations from now. No wonder the old tales said the longer one lived, the colder one’s heart became.

“Enough. Time to practice.”

Li Qing ruthlessly shoved the distracting thoughts from his mind. There, before his master’s grave, he sank into his stance.

The gale-force winds howled, but they couldn’t budge him an inch. He was rooted to the spot, his posture as unyielding as an ancient pine.

He lost track of time, holding the position, feeling the power circulate. Then, a weathered voice cut through the wind.

“The Gu Xuan Hammer Technique. It seems that old codger really did pass his legacy on to you.”

The sudden voice sent a jolt through Li Qing. He snapped his eyes open. He hadn’t sensed a thing—no sound, no shift in the air, no presence whatsoever.

“Who’s there?!”

His eyes darted around, finally landing on a figure standing beside the grave. It was a ruddy-cheeked old man with the mischievous air of a child, a wine gourd clutched in his hand.

Drip. Drop.

The drunkard-like man tilted the gourd, pouring a stream of wine onto the earth before Master Gu’s grave.

“Heh. The name’s Guo.”

The words struck Li Qing like a physical blow. A name instantly surfaced in his memory.

The third chiliarch of the Wuli Army border garrison: Guo Zhentong.

He was an old man? And a drunkard, by the looks of it…

“Your humble subordinate pays his respects, Lord Chiliarch!” Li Qing recovered, immediately moving to salute.

Guo Zhentong just grinned. “At ease. Keep practicing your stance work, don’t mind me. This old man just came to see Old Gu off one last time.”

As the last of the wine soaked into the ground, a potent, intoxicating aroma filled the air, thick enough to make a man dizzy just by breathing it in.