Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 2: The Grace of a Master’s Knowledge

Night fell like a shroud over the borderlands. Though it was barely evening, the world outside was already pitch black. The only light came from the military camp, where the flickering, jaundiced glow of oil lamps seeped from the tent flaps.

That evening, Li Qing grabbed two meal basins and headed straight for the kitchens. He sensed it immediately—the usual boisterous energy of the mess line was gone, replaced by a tense quiet. The soldiers waiting for their food wore grim faces.

It must be because of the men who were carried back this afternoon, he thought. Their injuries had been horrific, their clothes soaked through with blood. They had little chance of seeing the sunrise.

Fleeing the borderlands wasn’t a trip one could take on a whim. The matter required careful planning, starting with gathering intelligence on the surrounding areas. After all, desertion was a capital offense in Feng Country.

Mulling this over, Li Qing followed the line of soldiers into the kitchen tent.

The cook on duty was Wu Chong, a man a year or two Li Qing’s senior. Their similar age had fostered a decent friendship within the ranks.

When Wu Chong saw the honest-faced Li Qing, he shot him a conspiratorial wink. As he served him, the ladle dipped deep, scooping several extra chunks of braised pork into Li Qing’s basin before he carefully concealed them under two coarse grain buns.

“Hey, did anyone take food to the infirmary today?” Li Qing asked, glancing down at his generous portion.

As a cook, Wu Chong certainly looked the part. He was built like a barrel, with cheeks so plump they squeezed his eyes into cheerful slits.

“They did,” Wu Chong replied with a grin. “Came by before it was even dark. Even told me to throw in a couple extra pieces of meat for the poor lads.” He leaned in closer. “And hey, I was the one who made the braised pork today. Let me know what you think.”

He followed this with another elaborate wink. Li Qing marveled at how a face so padded with fat could produce such a range of expressions.

“You should sneak fewer bites yourself,” Li Qing teased. “You’re getting so fat that if a real fight breaks out, you won’t be able to run.”

“Heh, a cook who doesn’t skim is a cook who doesn’t eat!” Wu Chong chuckled. “Alright, alright, get going.”

Li Qing felt a wave of amusement but said nothing more. He left the kitchen, carrying the two basins back toward his quarters.

He didn’t enter his own tent, however. Instead, he lifted the flap of the one next to it and ducked inside.

“Master, it’s time to eat,” Li Qing said, placing a basin on the small table beside the cot.

“Cough… cough, cough!”

A hacking cough echoed from the bed, the sound of a man on the verge of death. It was hard to believe that here, in the harsh borderlands, you could find an old man with one foot already in the grave.

This was Master Gu, the man who had taught Li Qing the art of the forge.

He lay on the cot, his ancient face dotted with age spots. But when he opened his eyes, they burned with a startling intensity, like twin candle flames flickering in the depths of his sockets.

Master Gu studied Li Qing for a long moment before letting out a slow sigh. He picked up the meal basin and began to eat, his appetite a stark contradiction to his frail appearance.

Seeing this, Li Qing took his own meal and began to eat, savoring the rich, oily braised pork.

Soon, Master Gu set his basin down and fixed his gaze on Li Qing once more.

Under the old man’s stare, Li Qing felt like a rabbit frozen before a lion, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn’t dare meet that gaze; his master’s piercing eyes were far too intimidating.

“Er Niu,” Master Gu said, using Li Qing’s childhood name. “How long have you been learning the forge with me now?”

Li Qing hastily swallowed a mouthful of food. “A year and a half, Master,” he mumbled. “Almost two years.”

“Heh. To think so much time has passed in the blink of an eye,” Master Gu mused, a rare smile touching his lips. At his age, he was prone to nostalgia. “I remember when you first arrived. Your legs were no thicker than another man’s arm.”

“Thank you, Master, for the grace of your teachings!” Li Qing said, his voice thick with genuine gratitude. He moved to kneel.

He had been conscripted as a common soldier, but Master Gu had seen something in him and taken him on as a blacksmith’s apprentice.

“Cough, cough… Get up, child.”

As Li Qing moved to kneel, a surprisingly strong hand caught his arm, halting him effortlessly. The strength in his master’s grip was far greater than he’d ever imagined.

Though Master Gu was a renowned blacksmith in the army, he had rarely touched a hammer since taking Li Qing as an apprentice. Nearly all the work had fallen to him.

Li Qing didn’t mind in the slightest. Every weapon he forged earned him Lifespan. What was there to complain about?

“Er Niu, why do you love blacksmithing so much?” Master Gu asked, his hand still on Li Qing’s arm.

Because it lets me live longer.

Of course, he would never speak those words aloud. That was a secret he would take to his grave. In this age, longevity was an impossible luxury, one that drove emperors to madness. Never mind emperors; if the dying man before him knew that forging weapons granted true lifespan, their fragile bond would shatter in an instant.

“When I forge a weapon, I feel a sense of accomplishment,” Li Qing said, an answer that didn’t seem to surprise the old man. “It makes me feel… useful.”

“Heh. So you truly do love the craft. No wonder your skills have advanced so quickly.”

“Cough, cough, cough!” Master Gu let out a light chuckle that quickly devolved into a violent, rattling cough that sounded as if he were trying to tear his own lungs out.

“This borderland is no place to live out your years,” he wheezed, catching his breath. “War is coming. If you get the chance, leave. Go south. The land there is kinder. You can live a longer life.”

The words sent a chill down Li Qing’s spine. Talk like that was treason. A death sentence.

Fleeing the army was a grave crime. Even an army blacksmith couldn’t just leave, not without performing some legendary service.

Li Qing didn’t dare reply. He silently gathered the empty meal basins. “Master, I’ll go wash these…”

Master Gu watched him go, a look of fond exasperation on his face as he shook his head. He reached under his cot and pulled out a dusty, cloth-bound book.

“Wait. Take this.”

Thump.

The book landed at Li Qing’s feet, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Li Qing glanced down at it, then turned back to his master, his face a perfect mask of confusion. “Master… what is this?”

“Everything this old man knows is in that book. Go back and study it well… cough, cough!”

Hearing this, a sharp sting pricked Li Qing’s eyes. He understood. His master was entrusting him with his final wishes.

He immediately set the basins down, knelt properly this time, and performed a deep, formal bow.

“Master!”

Whatever the future held, he had received the man’s legacy. Throughout his apprenticeship, Master Gu had taught him everything he knew about forging. The old master had held nothing back, free from the petty fear that a skilled apprentice would one day leave his teacher destitute.

Clutching the thick book under his arm and carrying the two basins, Li Qing left his master’s tent.