Unorthodox Wuxia: While Others Practice Martial Arts, I Cultivate Immortality - Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Forging the Blade 

Xiao Kong Kong stroked his chin and said, “I’ve seen plenty of those, but I’ve never tried forging one myself.”

Yuan Zhao replied, “Then give it a try. Build a secret underground chamber.”

“Alright, but what about the materials?” Xiao Kong Kong asked again.

Yuan Zhao generously said, “I’ll give you the money later. Whatever you need, just buy it at the market.”

“Okay, deal!” Xiao Kong Kong readily agreed.

After instructing Xiao Kong Kong to handle the chamber construction, Yuan Zhao also told him to carry the boxes from the carriage into the house and then settle the carriage and horses.

“Don’t you dare peek inside those boxes, or you’ll see how I deal with you later!” With that, Yuan Zhao left the courtyard.

“What on earth is inside… acting all mysterious.”

Puzzled, Xiao Kong Kong jumped onto the carriage and tried to lift one of the boxes—only to nearly break his back. The box was absurdly heavy.

Meanwhile, Yuan Zhao left the house and knocked on the door of Aunt Zou’s home next door.

“Who’s there?”

The one who answered was Zou Auntie’s daughter-in-law, Wu Xiaohui. When she saw it was Yuan Zhao, she almost fainted on the spot, terrified that somehow their family had offended her.

At home, Wu Xiaohui was used to being domineering and having the final say, but in front of Yuan Zhao she didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. After all, she had personally witnessed Yuan Zhao kill someone before.

“Y-Young Lady Yuan… is there… is there something you need?” Wu Xiaohui stammered.

Yuan Zhao’s tone was calm, “Yes. I want to buy your family’s house and land. I came to ask if you’re willing to sell.”

Wu Xiaohui was stunned—this was the last thing she expected.

Looking troubled, she said, “This… this house has been in our family for generations. It’s not easy to sell.”

Yuan Zhao said bluntly, “I can offer one hundred taels—if you’re willing to move out quickly.”

“One hundred taels?” Wu Xiaohui’s eyes went wide.

Their house and land were worth maybe fifty taels at most, and here someone was offering double that!

“Y-you really mean a hundred taels?”

Yuan Zhao nodded. “Of course.”

Overjoyed, Wu Xiaohui said, “Then I’ll discuss it with my husband and in-laws.”

But in her heart she had already decided—she would definitely accept. With a hundred taels, she could move into a bigger house immediately. Who would still want to live in this shabby place?

“Fine. Just give me your answer quickly,” Yuan Zhao said.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Wu Xiaohui ran back inside, practically trembling with excitement.

Leaving the Zou household, Yuan Zhao returned home briefly, then brought her Heaven’s Prison Blade to the blacksmith’s shop.

In her battle against Yang Fei, the blade had been badly damaged—its body was full of dents and fist marks, its edge curled. It needed to be reforged.

At the blacksmith shop, Yuan Zhao found the master smith and his apprentices working furiously, the sound of hammers on metal ringing through the air.

The forges blazed fiercely, and as Yuan Zhao stepped closer, a wave of heat rushed over her.

“Master smith!” she called.

The old smith was focused on hammering a glowing-red iron block, only looking up when she called.

“Oh, it’s Young Lady Yuan…” He looked surprised.

By now, Yuan Zhao was a well-known figure in Tianmen Town. Few locals didn’t recognize her. Seeing the battered blade at her back, the smith frowned. “How did it get into such a state?”

Yuan Zhao set the blade before him. “Can you repair it?”

The smith frowned deeper. “It can be repaired, yes—but can you guarantee that next time it won’t end up like this again?”

Of course Yuan Zhao couldn’t guarantee that.

The smith sighed. “With your skills, anyone who can cross blades with you must be a master among masters. No wonder the sword looks like this.”

“Please fix it first. What happens later… we’ll see when the time comes.”

“Alright then,” the smith nodded, taking the blade. “If only I had a better fire… then I could forge true refined steel and take this weapon’s quality to the next level.”

Yuan Zhao’s eyes flickered. “With a stronger fire, you could forge refined steel?”

The smith nodded. “Barely. But good fire needs good coal—something ordinary folk like us can’t even get close to.” He sighed deeply.

Yuan Zhao said, “If I can provide the right flame, could you reforge the Heaven’s Prison Blade?”

The smith’s eyes lit up, thinking she meant quality coal. “You have a way?”

“I’ll try!” Yuan Zhao strode toward the furnace, raised her hand, and the heat in the smithy suddenly began to flow toward her palm. Even the apprentices noticed their own forges blazing hotter, their fires drawn toward her.

With a boom, a flame burst forth in Yuan Zhao’s palm.

It shifted—yellow to whitish yellow, then to pure white, then blue-white, until finally it became a pure, deep blue flame.

Holding the fire aloft, Yuan Zhao asked, “Master, will this do?”

The smith stared wide-eyed, feeling the intense heat wash over him. Ecstatic, he cried, “Yes! Perfect! Quickly, let’s begin the forging!”

Yuan Zhao nodded and placed the blue flame into the furnace. The heat surged, terrifyingly intense.

The smith placed the Heaven’s Prison Blade inside, and soon the weapon melted completely.

Clang—clang—clang!

He hammered at the molten blade, rhythmic strikes echoing through the shop.

But the special flame devoured fuel rapidly, nearly exhausting the coal in moments.

“Add more coal!” Yuan Zhao urged.

“Yes, yes!” the apprentices scrambled to obey.

The hammering continued from dawn to dusk. As impurities were forced out, the blade grew smaller and smaller.

Suddenly the smith said, “Lady Yuan, too many impurities… there’s not enough material left!”

“I’ll fetch more right away!” Yuan Zhao said, then sprinted off.

She still had plenty of weapons she’d looted after the killings in White Jade City.

In no time she returned, arms full of weapons.

As the smith tossed them into the furnace, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he nearly stumbled. “No… I’m too old. My body can’t keep up.”

Seeing his pale face, Yuan Zhao rolled up her sleeves. “Then let me take over. You just guide me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the smith nodded. “Alright. I’ll leave it to you.”

Yuan Zhao seized the hammer and continued the forging herself.

Soon the extra weapons melted into the reforged blade. Oddly, though, the Heaven’s Prison Blade shrank further rather than growing.

By midnight, a brand-new longblade stood before her.

The old blade had been six chi long (1.98 m) and weighed 180 jin. The new one was under five chi (about 1.6 m) but weighed 260 jin.

[TL: A jin is equal to 500 grams.]

Forged from refined steel, it gleamed coldly, its brilliance undimmed even in darkness.

Strangely, blood-red markings like dragon patterns coiled across its spine. According to the smith, this was the remnant blood fiend energy from the old blade, now fused into the steel during reforging.

Yuan Zhao swung it once—the blade’s sharp light sliced a distant stone cleanly in two, its smooth cut showing just how terrifyingly sharp the new Heaven’s Prison Blade had become.

“Many thanks, Master Smith!” Yuan Zhao was utterly satisfied with the new blade.

The old blacksmith shook his head. “No, I should be thanking you, Lady Yuan. If not for your help, I would never have had the chance to forge refined steel in this lifetime.”

Yuan Zhao was about to take out money to pay him, but the smith pressed down on her hand. “Lady Yuan, there’s no need for payment. Being able to help you forge this blade is the honor of my life. How could I accept your money?”

But Yuan Zhao forced the silver into his palm. “Master, what nonsense is that? I hired you to forge a blade, you take my payment—that’s only proper. Besides, I’ll be troubling you again in the future. Will you refuse payment every time?”

Hearing this, the old smith finally laughed and accepted the money. “Then I’ll shamelessly take it.”

“As you should.”

Leaving the smithy, Yuan Zhao carried her new blade and walked home through the night.

In the past, the Heaven’s Prison Blade had been so long she had to drag it behind her. Now, shortened, she could finally hold it properly.

Not only that, the smith had fitted it with a scabbard—something impossible before because of its unwieldy length.

***

Early the next morning, Wu Xiaohui knocked on Yuan Zhao’s door.

After discussing among themselves, her family had agreed to sell the house and land to Yuan Zhao for one hundred taels. Their belongings were already packed, ready to leave as soon as they had the money.

In fact, they had come the evening before, but Yuan Zhao wasn’t home and Ah Qing had turned them away.

When Ah Qing opened the gate this time and saw Wu Xiaohui, she said, “Looking for my sister? Wait here.”

Then she ran inside, and soon Yuan Zhao came out.

“Have you decided?” Yuan Zhao asked.

“Yes, yes, Lady Yuan, we’ll move. You see…” Wu Xiaohui held out her hand expectantly.

Yuan Zhao brought out fifty taels in silver ingots, plus forty taels in loose silver and ten strings of copper coins, bundled them into a cloth bag, and handed it to her. “Here’s your money. Move quickly—the sooner the better.”

With dozens of people crammed into the house, it was truly unlivable.

“Yes, yes, we’ll move right away, immediately!” Wu Xiaohui said, taking the bundle with joy.

Her family acted quickly—by noon, they were completely gone.

No sooner had they left than Ah Qing led the thirty-six young women happily into the house, cleaning it and moving their things in.

***

Far away, Guan Xiaoniu had no idea his uncle’s family had moved out.

By now, he had been transported by human traffickers to Shangjing, the capital of Great Liang, hidden in a deserted alley while waiting to be handed over to brokers.

After days of grueling travel and inhumane abuse, Guan Xiaoniu was little more than skin and bones.

The boy with him was in no better state. The two of them had survived only by supporting and encouraging each other.

Inside the wooden cage, the boy asked softly, “Xiaoniu, are you hungry?”

Guan Xiaoniu licked his cracked lips and nodded faintly.

The boy grinned mysteriously and pulled out half a blackened bun from his clothes.

Breaking it in two, he pushed one half into Guan Xiaoniu’s hand. “Eat—quickly, before they notice. I’ve hidden this for a long time.”

Seeing food, Guan Xiaoniu’s joy was overwhelming. He stuffed it into his mouth, chewing as he gratefully said, “Thank you, Hong Wazi.”

“No need to thank me.” Hong Wazi grinned wide.

“If only the two of us could be sold to the same place in the future… then we could look after each other.” His mood suddenly dimmed.

“Yeah…” Guan Xiaoniu stared blankly, his eyes full of uncertainty about the road ahead.

By now, he no longer dreamed of fame or success—he only wished to survive.

***

Meanwhile, not far away on the main avenue of the capital, a line of prison carts rolled slowly toward the execution ground, surrounded by crowds of onlookers.

The carts were guarded by fierce soldiers with drawn blades, their stern expressions warning the people not to approach.

Today was the day the Duke of the country was to be executed.

He had been accused of treason and selling out the country—an offense punishable by the extermination of nine clans. But the emperor, in his “mercy,” decreed only that all the adult men of the duke’s household be put to death, while the women and children would be exiled to the borderlands.

The Duke’s ancestors had been founding heroes of Great Liang liang, earning him a hereditary noble title. Who could have imagined it would all end like this?

Soon, the household was driven out of the carts, forced to kneel one by one on the execution ground.

In a deserted corner of the square, a little girl was crying bitterly.

“Wuuu… Father is too cruel! How can he treat Uncle this way? I don’t believe Uncle would betray the country. Father must be wrong!”

Her maid quickly covered her mouth.

“Princess, please, don’t say such things! If Eunuch Wang finds out we slipped out of the palace and reports to His Majesty, we’ll be doomed!”

Still wiping her tears, the girl said indignantly, “And Mother too—Father has locked her away! What is he trying to do?”

At the third quarter of noon, the supervising official checked the time and shouted, “It is the appointed hour—carry out the sentence!”

He dropped his command token, and the executioners raised their great blades.

At that critical instant, a sword-light flashed out of nowhere, knocking every executioner’s blade from their hands.

Someone had come to storm the execution ground.