Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 65: The Feng Guard

CLANG!

The iron lock shattered. A man dressed in black swaggered into Li Qing’s blacksmith shop as if he owned the place. He made no attempt to muffle his movements, brazenly holding an oil lamp aloft. The dim, yellow flame cast dancing shadows as he surveyed the shop’s contents.

“Tsk, tsk. A blacksmith in Shengtian City must be rolling in it. This iron alone is worth a fortune.” The man’s tone was flippant, dripping with contempt. A mere blacksmith, he thought, would be easy prey.

The intruder continued deeper into the building, passing through a corridor before pushing open the door to Li Qing’s room.

A potent, cloying aroma of wine washed over him, making the man wrinkle his nose in disgust. A drunkard, he concluded, probably passed out cold by now.

With that thought, he raised the lamp to illuminate the room. The scene inside froze him solid.

There, by the bed, sat Li Qing. He held a large jar of Winter Plum wine in one hand, a faint, unsettling smile playing on his lips as he stared directly at the intruder. A thick killing aura radiated from Li Qing, the intangible pressure left over from his tiger hunt—a predator’s killing intent, now his own. And at his feet, a young tiger cub lay curled, watching with unnervingly intelligent eyes.

“H-hand over the silver… and I’ll spare your life…” The man was utterly cowed, his voice a stammering mess. The words held no conviction; he could feel his own legs beginning to shake uncontrollably.

“Courting death!”

Li Qing shot to his feet, his massive frame seeming to swallow the light in the room as he strode forward.

BOOM!

The man’s only answer was a Tiger Fist. As Li Qing’s arm swung, a torrent of Inner Force coursed through him, erupting from his knuckles.

CRACK!

It was a punch that would stagger even a mountain tiger. How could this thug, who hadn’t even mastered Outer Force, possibly withstand it? Li Qing’s fist slammed squarely into the man’s chest. The devastating impact shattered his sternum, pulverizing bone and instantly stopping his heart.

“Hmph. I overestimated them,” Li Qing grunted, looking down at the crumpled form. “Not even an Outer Force practitioner, yet he dared to rob me.”

He kicked the corpse dismissively. A few pieces of silver and a handful of copper coins clattered onto the floor.

Li Qing let out a dry, mirthless laugh. The man was nothing more than a common street thug. Killing him had been a waste of effort.

He raised the wine jar, took a long, deep swallow, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then, he sat back down and resumed his cultivation as if nothing had happened.

The night wore on. Two more groups of would-be robbers tested their luck. Without exception, Li Qing beat each one to death with his bare hands. None who entered the blacksmith shop with ill intent left alive.

As the first gray light of dawn crept over the city, Li Qing stepped outside, yawning as he fitted a new lock on his main door.

Old Zhang, the owner of the wonton stall setting up next door, shot him a curious look. “Master Li, you made quite a racket last night. What happened to your lock?”

“Hm? Oh, that.” Li Qing didn’t even look up from his work. “I was forging late. The old lock has been busted for a while. Just getting around to replacing it.” He finished and stretched. “Old Zhang, fix me two bowls of wontons, will you? And let them cool a bit. It’s already getting too hot.”

“You got it!” Old Zhang replied cheerfully.

A glance inside the blacksmith shop would have revealed no corpses, not even a single drop of blood. Li Qing had already disposed of the bodies, tossing them into the Extreme Night World.

A whole night of commotion, three waves of intruders, four men in total. And not a single one had even reached the Outer Force realm.

Li Qing was somewhat disappointed. Then again, it made sense. In Shengtian City, a true Outer Force martial artist could easily take over a whole street and live comfortably off protection fees. The deaths of a few petty thugs wouldn’t cause so much as a ripple. The imperial capital was a turbulent sea, where even Inner Force experts occasionally clashed in the open. No one would notice the disappearance of a few bottom-feeders.

Spring bled into summer. Time slipped by like sand through his fingers.

With the Wuli Army garrisoned in the city, the situation in the capital gradually stabilized. The martial artists who had flocked there from all corners of the land seemed to have quieted down.

But the Wuli Army was the primary military force of Feng Country. They couldn’t remain in the capital forever. Should trouble brew on the borders, they would have to march. To prevent a power vacuum and the resurgence of chaos, a capable minister proposed a new strategy to the emperor.

The plan was to recruit from the ranks of the martial world itself, forming an organization of martial artists to police their own.

The proposal earned high praise from the reigning Emperor Taiwen and was approved immediately.

In the height of summer, the imperial court made the official announcement. The Feng Guard was to be established, a department operating under the emperor’s direct authority, tasked specifically with managing the martial world. All capable individuals were invited to register; those who passed the assessment would be inducted.

When Li Qing heard the news, he found the move intriguing. A department reporting directly to the emperor? Like the Imperial Guard? Or the Eastern Depot?

If he were selected, he would become a government official.

Despite the martial artists who publicly cursed the idea of becoming the court’s “dogs,” they were the first in line to register. Within days, the registration site was swamped. The stability of an “iron rice bowl”—a secure government job—was far more appealing than the bloody struggle for territory. They had mastered the art of fighting; now it was time to sell that art to the highest bidder—the imperial court.

With Shengtian City teeming with martial artists, the competition was fierce. Outer Force experts signed up in droves. Even local bosses who controlled a street or two were tempted by the offer of official employment.

On Chiming Street, the so-called “Eight Heroes of Liangzhou” were already scheming.

“Brother Yang, what’s your take on this?” Boss Fang asked bluntly. Among the eight of them, Yang Xing was the youngest, but he was also the sharpest—their de facto strategist.

Yang Xing’s eyes flickered thoughtfully. “If one of us could secure a position in the Feng Guard,” he said in a low voice, “it would bring us nothing but benefits.”

Boss Fang nodded, his expression grim. “Well said. Having a man on the inside always makes things easier. We must have someone in the Feng Guard.”

The other six were simple brutes who rarely thought beyond the next fight. To them, life was already good, a world away from their previous hand-to-mouth existence.

“Aren’t we doing just fine? Working for the court is a thankless job!” one grumbled.

“Exactly!” another chimed in. “A corrupt official killed my sworn father! I’ll never work for them!”

Boss Fang knew his other brothers’ temperaments and didn’t waste his breath trying to convince them. His gaze fell on Yang Xing.

He was the youngest, but his internal martial arts had already reached the Outer Force level, and he had a good head on his shoulders.

Yang Xing met Boss Fang’s gaze and gave a solemn nod.

“Big Brother, I’ll go.”