Becoming a god starting from blacksmithing

Shen Chi woke up just as dawn was breaking.

His chest was still burning. He tugged at his shirt to take a look—the iron-gray line was gone, but he could still feel its presence. Like a red-hot wire embedded in his flesh.

He reached out and touched it. It was warm.

The wound on the tiger's mouth had scabbed over. But a very shallow line appeared on the palm, thin and curved, like an unfinished character.

He rubbed it with his other hand, but it wouldn't come off. The lines looked like they were growing out of his skin.

Footsteps came from the outer room.

"Brother Shen Chi, are you awake?"

"woke up."

A-Zhu came over with a bowl of thin porridge, her eyes still swollen—from crying last night. She put the porridge on the table and stared at Shen Chi's chest for three seconds.

Shen Chi felt uncomfortable under her gaze: "What are you looking at?"

"That thing on your chest," Ah Zhu tilted her head, "is lighter than last night, like it's asleep."

Shen Chi was taken aback: "You can see that?"

"Yes," Ah Zhu nodded, "It was blindingly bright last night, but now it's... grayish."

Shen Chi looked at his chest again. He couldn't see anything, but the feeling was definitely there.

He didn't think much of it. He put on an apron and went into the blacksmith's shop.

A group of people were standing in front of the blacksmith's shop.

Aunt Li, Old Zhang, Aunt Wang, Carpenter Liu, Tofu Vendor Zhao... everyone was holding something in their hands: a plow, a kitchen knife, a spatula, an iron pot, and a sickle.

All of them were smashed last night.

Last night, a gray specter swept through the town, smashing many people's belongings. The townspeople didn't dare stop him, only daring to pick them up after he left. This morning, without prior arrangement, they all took them to the blacksmith's shop.

No one had discussed it beforehand.

I just felt that it should be brought here.

Aunt Li spoke first. She handed over a spatula with a broken handle: "Young Master Shen, do you think... you could fix it?"

Shen Chi accepted it.

The moment my fingers touched the spatula, it felt like I was burned by fire.

A scene flashed before my eyes—Aunt Li's kitchen. Vegetables were cooking on the stove. A scream came from outside. Aunt Li rushed to the door, spatula in hand, and saw Gray Eyes. Her hands were trembling. The spatula fell to the ground. Gray Eyes walked past the doorway and stepped on the spatula. *Crack*, his hand broke.

The image lasted only a moment.

It wasn't a memory. Shen Chi was certain this wasn't his own memory—he had never been to Aunt Li's kitchen.

I'll remember this spatula.

The fear of that moment was branded into the iron like a mark.

Shen Chi held the spatula, frozen for three seconds.

"Young Master Shen?" Aunt Li called out, "Can you fix it?"

Shen Chi snapped out of his daze. He glanced at the broken section and said, "It can be repaired."

He walked to the stove and put the broken end of the spatula into the charcoal fire.

The iron is red-hot.

Shen Chi raised the hammer.

The moment the hammer fell, a surge of heat rose in her chest. The iron-gray pattern flashed briefly—A-Zhu saw it from the doorway, but she remained silent.

The iron at the broken point of the spatula seemed to come alive. The iron filings, slag, and broken edges all came together on their own the moment the hammer fell. Shen Chi didn't even need to exert any force; the hammer led his hand to the spot it was meant to strike.

One hammer blow. Just one hammer blow.

The spatula is fixed. There's a thin line now at the break.

Aunt Li took it, examined it from all angles, and smiled slightly: "Young man Shen's cooking is really good."

The second item. A plowshare.

The moment Shen Chi touched the plowshare, he "saw" again—fear. Humiliation. Anger.

The third item. A kitchen knife.

Aunt Wang was hiding in the cellar with her child in her arms when the kitchen knife fell to the ground. The knife "remembered" that moment of helplessness.

The fourth item. The fifth item.

With each piece of ironware he acquires, Shen Chi "sees" a scene: fear, anger, and helplessness—like rust clinging to each piece of ironware.

Shen Chi didn't say a word.

He simply forged the iron in silence.

The hammer fell, the iron glowed red, and the patterns on it lit up.

With each piece repaired, the heat on his chest intensifies.

Aunt Li watched for a while, then whispered to Azhu, "What's wrong with him? He hasn't said a word."

A-Zhu watched Shen Chi's retreating figure and said, "He's busy."

Aunt Li didn't ask any more questions.

------

Old Chen was holding a hoe with the word "Never Apart" engraved on it.

The hoe wasn't broken. But the golden pattern on the blade was brighter than yesterday, faintly glowing in the morning light.

Old Chen handed over the hoe, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopping himself.

"Young Master Shen... are you alright about what happened yesterday?"

Shen Chi shook his head.

Old Chen sighed, lowered his voice, and leaned closer: "They say you are... a Keeper of the Promise. I don't know what that is," he paused, "but this hoe was burning hot all night."

He added, "My wife said it felt like hugging a heater."

Shen Chi took the hoe. Just as he touched the handle, the scene flashed before his eyes again.

Even further back. Forty years ago.

Before the monument to human compassion, young Old Chen and his wife stand facing each other. Old Chen wears old clothes covered in patches, and his wife wears a red paper flower in her hair.

There were no guests. There was no suona (a traditional Chinese wind instrument).

Old Chen said, "No matter how poor we are in this life, I will never leave you."

His wife, her eyes red, said, "Me too."

The two did not hold a wedding ceremony. They simply stood in front of the monument to human compassion for a while and said these two sentences.

Then forty years passed.

Over the past forty years, this hoe has been used to clear wasteland, plant vegetables, and dig bamboo shoots. The handle of the hoe has been worn smooth as jade, and the blade has been worn thin and then thickened, thickened and then worn thin again.

What this hoe remembers is not fear.

It's every single day of these forty years.

Daily necessities, raising children. Quarrels. Reconciliations. Illness. Gray hair.

Shen Chi gripped the hoe, his eyes stinging with tears.

He didn't know why he could see these things. He didn't know why an iron hoe could remember a promise made by someone forty years ago.

The hoe wasn't broken. But Shen Chi still picked it up and gently adjusted the curvature of the blade.

He knew he wasn't fixing a hoe.

He was revising that sentence.

After repairing it, he returned the hoe to Old Chen.

"Uncle Chen, the hoe is fine."

He thought for a moment, then added, "It just... remembered what you promised."

Old Chen took the hoe, paused for a moment, then smiled.

"Remember that, remember that."

------

In the evening, when Shen Chi was packing up his stall, he noticed a pot of wine outside the shop.

The wine pot was made of coarse pottery, and its mouth was sealed with oiled paper. A mark was drawn on the paper—an iron hammer with three horizontal lines on the handle.

Shen Chi picked up the wine pot and turned to look in the direction of the bell tower.

The one-eyed old man leaned against the railing, carrying a jug of wine in his hand. His expression was obscured in the twilight; only his silhouette was visible.

The old man raised his bowl to him.

He turned and disappeared into the twilight.

Azhu ran over and tugged at Shen Chi's sleeve: "Brother Shen Chi."

"Um?"

"That old man—" Ah-Zhu pointed in the direction of the clock tower, "he also has light on him."

Shen Chi looked down at her: "What light?"

"It's the light from that thing on your chest," A-Zhu gestured, drawing a circle in the air with her two small hands, "It's the same."

She thought for a moment, then added, "But his light is much dimmer than yours; it feels like it's about to go out."

Shen Chi was stunned.

He looked towards the clock tower. The railings were empty.

Only twilight descended, layer by layer.

------

Three miles outside Qingxi Town, on the official road.

Night had fallen completely. A man in a black cloak appeared silently at the entrance of an inn beside the official road.

He took off the token from his waist and casually flashed it.

The token is engraved with three characters: Yansheng Pavilion.

Below are two more words: "Enforcement".

The waiter's face turned deathly pale. The man ignored him and walked straight into the inn's lobby.

Two men in gray followed him out of the night—the same two gray-eyed men who had escaped from Qingxi Town the previous night.

The three of them booked a room on the second floor of the inn.

The door closed.

"My lord," one of the gray-eyed men knelt down, "this is it. Qingxi Town. That blacksmith... he shattered the Heart-Locking Blade with a single blow."

The man didn't speak, standing by the window, gazing in the direction of Qingxi Town in the night. Only a few scattered lights illuminated the town.

"One hammer blow shatters the Heart-Locking Blade." He repeated the sentence, his tone unreadable, neither surprised nor sarcastic.

Silent for a long time.

"interesting."

He turned around, sat down in a chair, picked up the teapot, and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Stay here first. There's no rush."

Outside the window, another light in Qingxi Town went out.

The night was darker.