Chapter 11: Divine Weapon

Luoyang, Western Market.

If the two palaces of the north and south embody the grandeur and beauty of Luoyang, then the eastern and western markets are the living, bustling world beneath that splendor.

As the lofty towers recede and the thoroughfare narrows, the scenery gradually transforms into rows of blue-brick houses. Passersby mostly don coarse linen garments.

Yet, the excitement does not diminish—it only grows more intense.

People gather in groups, bargaining over goods at street corners, shouting at monkey shows, cockfights, and puppet plays.

The grain market, iron market, salt market, horse market, and slave market all converge here.

Without the two palaces, Luoyang would still be Luoyang. But without the eastern and western markets, many would go hungry the very next day.

Chen Cong, after asking his way from street to street, finally arrived at a blacksmith shop at the corner of Old Street.

“Wu Xi? I’ve heard you’re the best blacksmith in all of Luoyang.”

The ringing of hammers ceased. A sturdy man put down his hammer and looked up.

“What is it?”

With a clang, Chen Cong dropped the wooden chest he’d carried on his shoulder. Dazzling gold ingots rolled across the floor.

As the saying goes, a craftsman must first sharpen his tools.

You can’t face danger without proper weapons.

“I want you to forge a nine-foot saber with a broad blade, a ten-foot iron spear with barbed hooks on both sides, and a three-foot sword. The heavier these weapons are, the better.”

Wu Xi glanced once at the gold scattered across the floor, then looked away.

“There’s half a block of meteorite left in the shop. If you have no other requirements, come back for them in half a year.”

Chen Cong was startled. “How long?!”

“Half a year.”

“No, that’s too long!”

Half a year? Was this some international joke?

By then, Luoyang would have been burned eight hundred times over by Dong Zhuo—where would he get his weapons?

Wu Xi considered for a moment. “Leave one hundred gold, and I’ll have them ready in three months.”

Chen Cong kicked the chest with his foot and held up three fingers.

“I’ll name a number—three days. If you can finish in three days, all the gold is yours.”

Wu Xi shot Chen Cong a disdainful look and didn’t even bother glancing at the gold ingots, turning back to his work.

Chen Cong was dumbfounded. He’d brought three hundred gold!

And yet this blacksmith, who didn’t look particularly prosperous, scorned him?

Was there no justice left? No law?

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want the money?”

Wu Xi continued hammering, his tone indifferent.

---

“All legendary blades require a month’s work to refine the material, ten thousand hammer strikes to form the blank, ten thousand more to temper it, then shaping, quenching for strength and flexibility, rough polishing for luster, fine polishing for brightness, engraving for beauty, and finally assembling the weapon. I said three months, and that’s already a rush job. Three days? Turn left as you leave—at Hu’s Blacksmith, you can buy a spearhead for a hundred coins, stick it on a wooden shaft, and you’ve got a weapon. The cost is barely a hundred coins.”

His logic was impeccable, but Chen Cong remained unruffled.

If custom work couldn’t be done in time, he’d just take what was ready-made.

He’d already looked into it before coming. Not only was Wu Xi the best blacksmith in Luoyang, he had also once been a retainer of Grand General He Jin, only coming to the Western Market to make a living after He Jin’s death.

Imagine it.

If this blacksmith lacked true skill, how could he have become the Grand General’s confidant?

Such a man must have some stockpiled treasures.

“Mind if I check the backyard?” Chen Cong pointed at the small door to the side of the room.

Wu Xi paused his work again and stared at Chen Cong for a while.

“Follow me.”

Through the side door lay a modest courtyard.

Along the wall were neatly stacked household iron tools—cleavers, sickles, plows, and rakes.

But weapons for war—spears, halberds, swords—were piled in a corner like rubbish.

Wu Xi gestured at the heap. “Pick one. One string of coins each.”

Chen Cong casually picked up a long saber.

The blade was twelve feet long, forged from fine iron, pitch-black, with a three-foot-long blade, three spikes along the back, and an inlaid copper tiger ornament at the hilt, making it heavier and more beautiful. The shaft was carved with flying eagles and beasts.

It felt cold in his hand, weighed about a hundred pounds. The pattern on the shaft was layered, some raised, some recessed, adding grip rather than discomfort.

Setting aside its weight, it was quite handy.

“This saber, one string?”

Wu Xi nodded. “One string each. All the same.”

Chen Cong was surprised. “Did the Jiangnan Leather Factory go bankrupt?”

Wu Xi didn’t understand and didn’t respond.

Chen Cong kept the saber and dug out a nine-foot spear from the pile.

Likewise, it was pitch-black and weighed about a hundred pounds.

Its shaft was carved with the same eagles and beasts, but at the connection between the spearhead and shaft, the copper tiger ornament changed from a crouching tiger to a winged tiger. The winged tiger’s double blades were both inside and outside, making it more beautiful and convenient than the hooked sickle spear Chen Cong had imagined.

“One string?” Chen Cong asked.

Wu Xi nodded.

“Impressive.” Chen Cong gave a thumbs-up.

Wu Xi shook his head, pulled out a matching halberd from the pile and swung it.

“Crouching Tiger Saber, Winged Tiger Spear, Flying Tiger Halberd, Red Tiger Sword. The Grand General loved tigers—he ordered me to forge these four weapons with all my skill, and after seven years, they were complete. Yet he only took the Red Tiger Sword for himself, leaving the other three to adorn his main hall as ceremonial displays.”

Wu Xi’s face softened with memories as he caressed the engravings.

“After the Grand General died, I couldn’t bear to let the weapons gather dust. I sneaked into the mansion and took them. Many nobles in Luoyang have seen these weapons. If you don’t mind their dubious origins, pay three strings of coins and take them all.”

“So cheap?”

---

“Legendary blades belong with heroes.”

Chen Cong was puzzled. “We’re meeting for the first time. How do you know I’m a hero?”

Wu Xi replied, “Anyone who dares carry heavy gold alone through the market is either a hero or a fool.”

“Hey, you’re not wrong.” Chen Cong strapped the three weapons to his back with hemp rope.

“Fine! Three strings it is!”

He’d just received a thousand gold from his generous father-in-law—three strings were nothing.

Of course, he wasn’t a sucker; he wouldn’t bargain up when the price was set so low.

He hurried to the front room, bent over, and... picked up the gold.

The ingots were still lying there. Once the show was over, he had to retrieve them.

The contrast made Wu Xi feel as if his own eyes had deceived him.

Hero ×

Fool √

“Old Wu.”

“Huh?”

“Interested in relocating? Say... Yanzhou, perhaps?”

In times of chaos, what’s most valuable?

Talent!

Wu Xi might not be famous, but fame is often a matter of luck.

Pu Yuan is remembered by later generations only because Jiang Wei wrote his biography.

If Chen Cong made a name for himself, he’d write Wu Xi’s story and make his reputation outshine Pu Yuan’s.

“I won’t go.”

“Don’t be so quick to refuse. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? My name is Chen Cong. If you ever come to Yanzhou, mention me—it’ll help.”

“.....”

Chen Cong scooped the gold back into the chest, took a pouch from his belt, and poured out copper coins, counting out three thousand and pushing them toward Wu Xi.

“Count them.”

Wu Xi was speechless.

He’d given away priceless legendary weapons for next to nothing, and this man showed no heroic grace, even insulting him with three strings and five coins!

Hero?

Hero??

Hero???

Wu Xi raised his hand and slapped himself. He really must have been blind!