Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 30: Into the Yan Estate

In Obsidian City, nearly every soul was a serf in all but name, toiling for the Yan family. Their entire existence depended on the whims of their masters.

This was because the Yan family owned every last patch of land outside the city capable of growing Black Wheat Mushrooms. To enforce their monopoly, they maintained a legion of enforcers, and few dared to even think of resistance.

Feng Xianglin was one such tenant farmer. He worked his fingers to the bone for one simple thing: enough Black Wheat Mushrooms to fill his belly each day.

The last harvest was over, and the time for planting had come again. Just as he had for nearly 20 years, Feng Xianglin went to the Yan estate to collect his tools. He was almost 30, yet his home was barren of any surplus grain. A single accident, one missed planting season, and starvation was the only outcome.

When a farmer reached that point, their only option was to beg the Yan family for relief grain. But that grain came at a steep price. Accepting it was the same as signing a deed of indenture, binding you to the Yan family for life. You became their property.

But Feng Xianglin was a tenant with a dream. He refused to become a serf, farming for the Yan family until the day he died without ever tasting freedom. His greatest ambition was to own a patch of earth, to grow Black Wheat Mushrooms for himself, and to never hand over his harvest to anyone again.

“What? Eighty percent? We have to hand over eighty percent of the harvest this season?” Feng Xianglin’s jaw dropped, his face a mask of disbelief and fear.

“That’s right,” said the man next to him, another tenant who had just collected his tools. “The masters were dissatisfied with the last harvest, so they’re taking an extra ten percent. Sigh!” The news had etched deep lines of worry onto his face.

A cold dread washed over Feng Xianglin. Handing over seventy percent had already left him barely scraping by. An increase to eighty meant hunger was no longer a possibility, but a certainty. And worse, once the Yans raised their share, they would never be so kind as to lower it again.

“But the poor harvest wasn’t our fault!” Feng Xianglin complained, his brow furrowed in helpless frustration. “Look at these tools! They’re rusted to pieces. How are we supposed to properly loosen the soil with this junk? Of course the mushrooms won’t grow well!”

“I told them last season! I said they needed to forge a new batch of tools, but did they listen? No!”

The other tenant just sighed and waved a dismissive hand. “What can you do? There’s only so much good land outside the city. If you won’t farm it, someone else will jump at the chance.”

The words struck Feng Xianglin dumb. He knew it was true. If the Yan family cast him out, he wouldn’t survive. Resistance was impossible.

“Forget it,” he muttered, his gaze dimming. “I’ll just have to work another plot of land this season.”

After so many years of back-breaking labor, his body was no longer what it once was. The thought of cultivating even a small extra plot, facing the frozen black earth with his back to the sky, was an exhausting prospect. How much longer could he endure?

And most importantly, he hadn’t even found a wife. He couldn’t bear the thought of the Feng family line ending with him.

Just have to work harder, he told himself, a familiar, hollow promise.

With the weight of this news crushing him, he looked up at the imposing Yan family estate down the street. It had never looked so ugly, so utterly detestable.

Why won’t the heavens send a lightning bolt to strike these leeches dead?

As Feng Xianglin walked toward the estate gate, stewing in his curses, a group of men emerged from the other side of the street. They were a pack of hulking, savage-faced brutes, and the sight of them sent a shiver down his spine. He immediately flattened himself against the estate wall, trying to become invisible.

He recognized them instantly: the Righteousness Gang. They looked like anything but.

Their leader was a powerfully built man with a bald head that gleamed under the dim light. His glare was that of a predator sizing up its prey, and Feng Xianglin didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Upon reaching the gate, the leader, Tian Long, raised a hand. His hardened followers halted instantly.

“Wei Tian, Zhao Kou,” he commanded. “You two carry this blacksmith and follow me.”

Tian Long’s eyes quickly swept over the dozens of his most trusted men gathered around him, every one of them a proven fighter. He exchanged a look with them, his gaze finally flicking toward several shadowed corners along the street.

Hidden in those shadows lay a deadly blade. A blade forged from 13 assassins, waiting for the signal to press itself against the Yan family’s throat and slice without hesitation.

The members of the Seven Kills Squad were disciplined to a fault. Even with vengeance so close, not one of them lost their composure. They waited, perfectly calm, for Tian Long’s command. Only then could they unleash their full power and deliver a devastating blow.

“Open the damn gate!” Tian Long bellowed toward the mansion, a broad smile on his face. “Tell that Yan San to get out here! I’ve brought the man your Second Young Master asked for!”

As he spoke, Zhao Kou and Wei Tian hauled a tightly bound figure forward.

Feng Xianglin, still trembling by the wall, risked a glance. He saw a man trussed up in hemp rope from head to toe, only his face visible. The sight nearly made his heart stop. The man’s face was a gruesome canvas of dried blood, a picture of such misery and horror that Feng Xianglin had to tear his eyes away.

A moment later, laughter echoed from within the estate.

“Hahaha, Gang Leader Tian Long, you’ve finally arrived! The Second Young Master is waiting. Bring him in!” Yan San pushed the heavy gates open, a matching smile on his face.

Tian Long gestured casually. “First things first. Are the Blood Jade Mushrooms and White Meat Mushrooms you promised ready?”

“Of course! The Second Young Master never goes back on his word. They were prepared long ago!”

Here, within the safety of the Yan estate, Yan San seemed to shed his earlier caution. The wariness he’d shown Tian Long before was gone, replaced by an arrogant confidence that made him stand ramrod straight.

As they stepped inside, Li Qing, who appeared broken and near death, felt several pairs of eyes lock onto him.

Guards, he thought instantly. Hidden, watching for any sign of trouble.

Bang!

The gates slammed shut behind them. Wei Tian shot a subtle glance at the men securing the entrance before silently hoisting Li Qing and moving forward.

One had to admit, for the number one family in Obsidian City, the estate was impressive. It was a picture of classical elegance, with stone bridges arching over tranquil streams—a world away from the city’s squalor.

As they crossed a stone bridge, a hearty laugh rang out.

“Hehe, Gang Leader Tian Long, it has been too long! I trust you’ve been well?”

Yan Gui’an, the Second Young Master of the Yan family, was lounging insolently in a large chair, watching them approach. Behind him stood a middle-aged man whose sheer presence rivaled Tian Long’s. With hands clasped behind his back, he met Tian Long’s gaze with unnerving calm.

This was Jing Tai, one of the Yan family’s three elite Martial Arts retainers.

The family’s three retainers each had a single duty: to protect one of the three most important people in the clan. They never left their charges’ sides. One guarded the patriarch, Yan Qitian; another guarded the Eldest Young Master, Yan Guifu; and the last guarded the man before them, Second Young Master Yan Gui’an.