Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 52: Jingji Blade

Forging a blade to Zhao Yuan’s specifications was a monumental task. Its weight alone—over three hundred pounds—was staggering.

It would require relentless, brutal hammering. Only under the combined torment of the forge’s heat and the crushing pressure of the hammer could the steel be beaten into its proper form.

For days, the rhythmic thunder of metal on metal never ceased at Li Qing’s blacksmith shop on Chiming Street.

He had melted the entire three-hundred-pound mass of iron ingots into a molten slurry, then cast it into three separate plates, each weighing a hundred pounds. He stacked the three plates, plunged them back into the searing heat of the forge, and began the brutal work of hammering them into a single, unified body.

*Clang! Clang! Clang!*

With every thunderous blow from Li Qing’s hammer, the glowing-hot slab of iron slowly surrendered its shape. The rough silhouette of a massive blade emerged from the fire and steel. Throughout the ordeal, he moved with the disciplined rhythm of the Gu Xuan Hammer Technique, each swing of the Peerless Hammer not just a strike, but an explosion of force that sent showers of incandescent sparks across the workshop.

*Thud! Thud!*

The forging alone took three days. Three days he toiled, hammering without pause as sweat poured from his body in rivers, turning to steam in the oppressive heat. The lingering chill of early spring was a distant memory, utterly banished by the roaring furnace.

“Whew!” Li Qing grabbed the towel from his shoulder to wipe his brow. The cloth was soaked in an instant, only to become bone-dry moments later in the forge’s blistering air.

“The body of the blade is complete. Now for the hilt.”

He retrieved several lengths of ox-tendon wood from a corner of the shop. It was a material prized for its incredible resilience, the same wood used for military spear shafts—tough, flexible, and notoriously difficult to break, making it ideal for the most brutal combat.

A three-hundred-pound blade demanded a hilt of equal caliber. Anything less would be a liability, risking the weapon tearing itself from its wielder’s grasp. He measured the wood against the blade’s tang, the final design already clear in his mind.

With considerable effort, he cut the dense wood into sections of the proper size. He planned to construct the hilt from a combination of ox-tendon wood and brass, interlocking them with a precise mortise-and-tenon joint. The brass core would be fused directly to the iron tang, and the pre-carved wood would then be inlaid over it. The resulting grip would offer superb friction while being nearly indestructible.

He set to work immediately. An entire night passed in a blur of focused labor, one of the few delicate tasks in the otherwise brutal craft of blacksmithing. Fueled by a stamina far beyond that of mortal men, Li Qing felt no fatigue as he finally finished the hilt.

Looking at the nearly completed weapon, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment.

He flicked the flat of the blade with a single fingertip, channeling a sliver of his force into the steel. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the air, clean and pure.

Then, Li Qing hefted the great blade with both hands, swinging it through a few experimental arcs to get a feel for its balance.

“The grip is perfect,” he murmured, “but the cut… it feels sluggish.”

He pondered for a moment, then his eyes lit with an idea.

“I can etch channels into the blade’s face. It will reduce the drag, make the swing cleaner, faster.”

He immediately set back to work, immersing himself in the delicate process of carving the patterns. Soon, a series of fine lines appeared on both faces of the blade. The resulting patterns resembled fractures running along the steel, giving the weapon a savage, yet elegant, ferocity.

“Perfect. This is its final form,” Li Qing said, pursing his lips. He felt a genuine reluctance to part with it.

“‘A blade whose power is held in reserve, a masterpiece of brutal simplicity.’ I’ll call you Jingji. May you one day be a name that inspires silence—the Jingji Blade!”

This was, without a doubt, the finest weapon he had ever forged. Though it had taken only five days, he had poured every ounce of his skill and spirit into its creation.

He was no ordinary smith. He was a martial artist of the Outer Force, one who had even cultivated Inner Force. His foundation was a hammer technique. Every strike that fell upon the anvil was backed by a monstrous power no common craftsman could ever hope to match.

“And you,” Li Qing chuckled, patting the head of his Peerless Hammer, “deserve much of the credit for the birth of the Jingji Blade.”

He spent the rest of his time quenching and sharpening the weapon. As he put the final edge on the blade, a cold, lethal light glinted along its length, and a notification materialized in his vision.

[Successfully forged a Fine-grade Mortal Artifact: Jingji Blade! Reward: One Year of Lifespan!]

“So, it’s possible to forge a Fine-grade Mortal Artifact from common materials,” he mused, his eyes flickering with understanding. “The Peerless Hammer only reached that grade because I used the special material, Black Gold, even though my skill was less refined then.”

Staring at the completed Jingji, the tension that had gripped him for days finally melted away.

“I should have charged more than fifty taels,” he muttered with a pang of regret. “If I’d known it would turn out to be a Fine-grade artifact, I would’ve demanded at least three or four hundred.”

Five days passed in a flash.

Zhao Yuan, the mountain of a man, arrived at the blacksmith shop as promised.

The moment he pushed aside the curtain, his eyes locked onto the great blade planted in the workshop floor, and he simply stopped breathing. A moment later, his breath returned in a ragged gasp.

“This… is that… for me?” Zhao Yuan stammered, utterly dumbfounded.

One look at the weapon’s texture and finish told him everything. This was a true masterwork, a world apart from the crude iron blades sold in the market.

Exhausted, Li Qing let out a deep yawn. “Mhm,” he said listlessly. “Try it out. See if it suits you.”

Zhao Yuan needed no further encouragement. He strode forward and lifted the massive blade with a single hand. He didn’t even need to swing it; just gripping the hilt of fused ox-tendon wood and brass told him how exceptional it was.

When he attempted a few slashes, the blade cut through the air with a clean, hungry *whoosh*. There was no drag, no resistance—only a feeling of pure, fluid power.

“Good! A fine blade!” Zhao Yuan exclaimed, his chest heaving with excitement. “Does it have a name?”

Seeing his client’s satisfaction, Li Qing smiled faintly. “Jingji.”

“A good name!” Zhao Yuan’s eyes lit up. His usual taciturn demeanor vanished, replaced by a sudden talkativeness. “Master Li, I know this blade is worth far more than fifty taels. This is all the silver I have on me. Please, take it!” He pulled several silver ingots from his robes, worth sixty or seventy taels at least.

But Li Qing shook his head. “No. We agreed on a price. To raise it now would be bad for my reputation.” He paused, his face a mask of integrity. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

As he spoke, he didn’t so much as glance at the silver Zhao Yuan offered.

“This…” Zhao Yuan was stunned. After a moment, he put the silver away. “Master Li, your integrity is admirable! Zhao is impressed,” he said with deep sincerity. “If you ever need anything in the future, just say the word. I live on Gufeng Street!”

This time, Li Qing didn’t refuse. He simply nodded and saw Zhao Yuan to the door.

As the giant departed, a calculating look entered Li Qing’s eyes.

He can lift the Jingji with one hand… even most Outer Force experts would struggle with that. A favor from a man this strong is worth far more than a few extra taels of silver.

He stroked his chin, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I could even bring him along for the tiger hunt on Xiaocui Ridge.