Su Su lingered outside for quite some time before finally gathering the courage to return to a blacksmith’s shop tucked away in a corner of the town. It was a modest two-courtyard earthen compound, the frame standing firm but the interior plainly sparse and giving off a hollow, uncomfortable feeling, immediately revealing the poverty of its inhabitants. In the front room, before a roaring furnace, a middle-aged man worked bare-chested, his frame broad and muscular, so solidly built that one could imagine horses galloping across his fists or men standing upon his arms. His arms were thicker than a woman’s thighs—truly a shame he wasn’t performing feats like breaking stones on his chest in the streets.
His skin was the color of ancient bronze as he hammered a glowing iron billet on the anvil. He glanced at Su Su but said nothing, continuing to strike rhythmically. Su Su, who had been helping out since childhood, knew the timing of blacksmithing like the back of his hand. He went to the basket and tossed more charcoal into the furnace, then thought about heading to the back room to rest for a bit—cultivating righteous energy, as the old scholar would say. But just as he reached the threshold, he heard a familiar footstep—twenty years of it—and quickly tried to sneak off. He had barely taken a step when a sharp voice called him to a halt.
Standing there with a sheepish grin, he faced an old, shabby scholar holding a carp pierced through the gills by a branch. The old man scolded, “Fighting with those ruffians like Liu Hong again? Is that the behavior of a gentleman? Cultivate oneself, manage the family, govern the state, bring peace to the world. If you can’t even cultivate yourself, how can you achieve anything great?”
Su Su muttered under his breath, “I’d rather be a gentleman who keeps away from the kitchen.”
The old man was about to glare when Su Su, with a grin, snatched the wriggling fish, “Old man, we’ve got some garlic and scallions left. I’ll cook you a red-cooked carp that even the chefs at Yue Bing Lou would envy.”
That was a mistake. At those words, the old scholar’s face darkened, “Where would we get garlic and scallions from our vegetable plot?”
Realizing his slip, Su Su dashed to the back courtyard with the fish. The old pedant didn’t even glance at the blacksmith as he followed, droning on about how a gentleman should deal with matters rather than let matters deal with him. Su Su had heard it all before and, with his back turned, mimicked the old man’s every word. When the scholar reached the part about how a youth must restrain his nature and not indulge his impulses to cultivate virtue, Su Su finally snapped, “What about me? My nature says I should be cheerful and open, not gloomy and repressed, to maintain good health! Old man Zhao, if you keep nagging, I won’t cook anymore!”
The old scholar paused, sighed, and said no more, though his expression softened. He combed his fingers through his beard, clearly approving of Su Su’s remark.
In the cramped, dim kitchen, Su Su tossed the carp onto the cutting board, opened the window, washed the rice, and began cooking. He then skillfully wielded his knife on the doomed fish. The old scholar stood at the threshold, watching with gentle eyes. As Su Su scraped the scales, he pushed a strand of hair from his forehead, deeply focused. Behind him stood the old scholar, a man of endless moralizing, who had raised him since he could remember. The old man could have been a sage, but instead taught a dozen children in the town for a meager living. Together with the blacksmith, Old Qi, in the front yard, they had barely survived. Yet strangely, despite all the hammering, they never seemed to sell any iron goods.
Su Su wasn’t cut out for books—just holding one made him drowsy. He lacked the discipline to secretly learn from the other boys in the neighborhood. He knew his limits. Unless a sack of gold fell from the sky and crushed him, he’d live and die a nobody. Marriage? Unlikely. He’d just drift along—join the army? He’d probably wet himself. Become a merchant? He had no capital, no stomach for flattery or groveling, and the old scholar would likely break his limbs if he tried.
Sighing, Su Su mused, *If only I were a switched baby like in those storytellers’ tales…*
Eventually, the meal was ready. Su Su grumbled, “Old man, go call Old Qi to eat.”
At the table, though the old scholar often preached, “No talk while eating,” Su Su, now grown, paid no heed. As he shoveled rice into his mouth, he mumbled, “Qi, why don’t you go to the Yayan Bridge market and drum up some business? If the wine is good, the alley’s not too deep. You’re wasting your talent.”
The old scholar snapped, “Sell craftsmanship to commoners? What a disgrace!”
Su Su rolled his eyes at the silent blacksmith and the scowling scholar, “What’s wrong with commoners? Aren’t they human? Do they have one less eye or two fewer legs than generals and kings? Don’t they all come from their mothers’ wombs?”
The old man slammed the table, “Absurd!”
While chewing, he shouted so fiercely that a few grains of rice flew onto the table. Su Su pointed with his chopsticks. The old man, face reddening, silently picked them up one by one.
Su Su muttered, “You always say sages don’t force others, just guide their kindness. But have you ever said a single good word about me? If I turn out a failure, it’s because you cursed me into it.”
For once, the old man said nothing. He just chewed slowly, eating the rare rice of this southern province.
After dinner and dishes, the old scholar sat by a few orchids in the courtyard, squinting in the dusk, reading by the dimmest lamplight. Su Su went to the forge, helping Old Qi with the fire. Ironworking was tightly controlled in Beiman, and missing the right temperature meant wasting precious iron. Though Su Su lacked ambition, he never slacked on such vital matters. The old man’s bookish wisdom, though, never stuck with him. It was the distant sight of riders in fine clothes or blooming flowers that truly stirred his heart.
The blacksmith remained silent, but his glances at Su Su carried a quiet warmth.
As darkness deepened, the scholar strained to read, his eyes nearly touching the yellowed pages. Finally, he closed the book, placed it on his lap, and gazed at the sky, murmuring, “A gentleman may be forced by circumstances to deceive others, but never himself. To deceive the heart is to deceive Heaven. If the heart is clear, one needs no blessings from the sky.”
Suddenly, the old man’s voice cracked, “I wish I could beg Heaven for blessings.”
He gripped the book tightly, his voice hoarse, “Life must have room to breathe. To speak all words, exhaust all meaning, is to be a wretched soul. Must we truly be wretched souls?”
After a long silence, he rose slowly, returned to the room, set the book down, and moved the orchids.
During a break, the usually stern blacksmith wiped his hands roughly on his sleeve before approaching Su Su and gently massaging his shoulders, easing his aches.
Su Su winced, “Qi, the other day Wang Xiaofeng said some bandits came to town last year—they could run along rooftops. Is that real?”
The bear-like man smiled but gave no answer.
Su Su shook his arm, “Hey, it actually feels better. You always fix me up after fights. The old man says it’s like acupuncture from the Central Plains, but it only heals, not fights.”
He threw a clumsy punch, then grinned, “Qi, how’d I look? Like a martial hero?”
The man nodded.
Su Su chuckled, “If I ever got a secret martial arts manual, I’d beat every fighter in the land!”
The man’s lips twitched—perhaps a smile.
Su Su boasted, “When I’m a hero, I’ll give you the biggest iron mine in the world! You can forge standing, sitting, or even lying on your back!”
The blacksmith said nothing. Su Su suddenly remembered something and ran out, shouting, “Qi, I’m going out for a bit!”
He darted forward, nearly knocking into a soft figure. It was a woman with a backpack, her head bowed. Her figure was unfamiliar. He apologized hastily, not meaning to grope. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t know how to chat, so he just ran off. But no sooner had he taken a few steps than the heavens opened, drenching the alley. Cursing, he turned back for an umbrella, remembering a fight he’d promised to join. When he returned, he saw the woman still crouched at his doorstep like a clueless fool.
Ignoring her, he grabbed an umbrella and ran out. He glanced at the woman—probably just a fool. But soon, the rain soaked her like a drowned sparrow. Su Su sighed, approached, and thrust the umbrella at her, “Take it. Don’t lose it. I’ll find you if you do!”
She looked up.
He startled—it was a blind girl, pretty in a modest way, but with eyes like empty wells under the dark, rainy sky. Was she a ghost?
He kept his distance, handing her the tattered umbrella, muttering, “I’ve got righteous energy in my heart!”
She stood gracefully, bowed slightly, and said in a hollow voice, “Thank you, young master.”
*Damn, I can’t even check if she has a shadow in this weather!*
She smiled faintly, “Don’t worry, I’m not a ghost.”
Su Su stepped back, trembling, “How do you know my name?!”
She thought, “You said it yourself.”
He recalled his careless words and relaxed. The rain poured. He guessed the fight was off and leaned against the wall beside her.
He asked, “Why are you here? This place is a wasteland.”
She whispered, “Waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
She thought, “Someone who came here.”
He smacked his forehead—she was clearly not right in the head.
The rain soaked them both. He offered, “Come inside. No one will hurt you.”
She shook her head.
He snapped, “Then give me back the umbrella!”
She tilted it toward him.
He threatened, “I’ll strip naked if you don’t move!”
She tilted her head, lips slightly curved.
Helpless, he pushed the umbrella toward her, “Fine. You’re the heroine.”
They stood in the rain. Su Su shivered, “You’ll catch a cold!”
She moved closer, sharing the umbrella.
He considered dragging her inside when a tall, unfamiliar figure appeared at the alley’s mouth, holding an umbrella.
Su Su muttered, *Damn, he’s handsome!*
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