Becoming a god starting from blacksmithing

Shen Chi hung the pliers back on the shelf.

The fire in the shop had been extinguished. The daytime heat hadn't completely dissipated, but the night breeze was already seeping in through the cracks in the door.

He stretched his stiff shoulders. He hadn't slept much all night after Li Han left yesterday.

Nothing came.

Perhaps Li Han has really left. Perhaps he will come back.

Just as he blew out the oil lamp and was about to go back to the inner room, a muffled thud came from the door.

Shen Chi dared not make a move. He stood in the darkness, listening intently.

A few breaths passed. There was no sound outside.

But he did hear it just now.

He felt for the hammer handle in the darkness. The hammer was still beside him, its head gleaming coldly in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

He opened the door.

There was a person huddled outside the door. Leaning against the door panel, head tilted to one side, the person looked as if they had fallen from a great height, climbed to this spot, and finally couldn't hold on any longer.

The moonlight shone on that person.

He wore a dark, short-sleeved outfit, covered in mud and blood that had dried and then dried repeatedly, forming hard scabs on his body that obscured the original color of his clothes. His hair was disheveled, covering most of his face.

Shen Chi squatted down.

He didn't immediately search the person; instead, he glanced around—the alley was empty at both ends. There was no one else. No footsteps.

He turned his gaze back to the man.

The clothes under his ribs were torn in several places. Through the tears, you could see the wounds inside. The edges of the wounds were dark gray, as if they had been burned or frozen by something. Thin black lines extended outward from the wounds, slowly creeping along the direction of the blood vessels, like tree roots digging into the skin.

Shen Chi had never seen such an injury before.

But he knew this was no ordinary knife wound.

He reached out and checked the man's breath. He was still breathing. Very weakly, but still alive.

Just then, I heard soft footsteps behind me.

Ah Zhu ran out of the inner room wearing an outer robe, her hair disheveled, and her bare feet stepping on the stone slabs.

"A-Zhu, go inside," Shen Chi said.

A-Zhu didn't move. She stood half a step behind Shen Chi, leaned forward, and looked at the person on the ground.

Just as Shen Chi was about to urge her again, A-Zhu spoke up.

"The light around him is almost gone. But it's still there."

Shen Chi hesitated.

This person's origins are unknown. Li Han just left yesterday, and tonight a man covered in strange injuries has arrived.

What a coincidence! So coincidental it seems like it was arranged on purpose.

He remembered the glance Li Han gave the blacksmith shop as he left yesterday. Shen Chi remembered that glance. That glance didn't mean "never mind." It meant "I'll come back."

What if this person has tracking marks on them? Or is it a ruse by the Yansheng Pavilion?

If he saves him, it's like planting a spy next to him; his little secret will probably be hard to keep. If he doesn't save him, can he really be so heartless as to let him die?

Ah Zhu didn't urge him on from behind. But he could feel her watching him.

He gritted his teeth.

He reached out and turned the person over.

The man let out a low, hoarse groan. He half-opened his eyes, and after a few moments, his gaze finally focused on Shen Chi's face.

Shen Chi also saw the man's face. It was a young face. He was probably in his early twenties. Although his lips were chapped and his face was pale, it couldn't hide his handsome features.

He saw Shen Chi and his lips moved.

"Don't...don't tell anyone..."

His voice was muffled. After speaking, his eyelids drooped, and he fainted again.

Shen Chi squatted there.

A voice in my head was saying: Get rid of this trouble. Qingxi Town doesn't need heroes. You're already conspicuous enough in Qingxi Town—the Monument of Hearts has been erected, Gray Eyes is dead, and Li Han has arrived. Now you're taking in another wounded person of unknown origin? Are you tired of living?

But there is another voice.

He glanced again at the wound on the man's ribs—if left untreated, those black threads would likely spread all over his body before dawn. Even a celestial being couldn't save him then.

He glanced at Azhu again. Azhu was still standing in the night wind, her shoulders hunched, but she didn't retreat. She looked at the man on the ground, her eyes showing no fear—she was just looking at him as if he were a lamp about to go out.

Shen Chi stood up, turned around, and went back to the shop.

A moment later, he came out with a roll of old linen. He unfolded the linen, spread it on the ground, rolled the man onto the linen, then grabbed the corner of the linen and dragged him inside.

A-Zhu ran over and pushed open the door, then ran back to help him drag the person into the yard.

After bringing the man to the backyard, Shen Chi placed him on a straw mat next to the cellar.

"Go fetch a basin of water," Shen Chi said.

A-Zhu nodded, turned around and ran away.

Shen Chi squatted down and tore the man's clothes at the wound site into an even larger hole.

The moonlight shone on the wound—clearer and more striking than he had seen before.

Besides the black threads, some areas of the skin and flesh had hardened, and pressing on them felt like pressing on old wood rather than on a person.

A-Zhu ran back carrying a basin of water, with an old cloth draped over the rim. She put the basin on the ground and squatted down beside Shen Chi to watch him treat his wounds.

Shen Chi soaked the cloth, wrung it out, and pressed it against the man's wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the man's right hand—his fingers were curled up, clenched tightly. Even unconscious, he wouldn't let go, as if clutching something as vital as his life.

Shen Chi pried open the man's fingers one by one.

The man's grip was too tight; it took three fingers to finally loosen the grip slightly. Shen Chi peered inside by the moonlight and saw a piece of iron lying in his palm.

The edges were rough, as if it had been forcibly broken off from something. It was about half the size of a palm, one side was covered in blood, and the other side had several lines etched on it.

Shen Chi picked up the metal sheet and wiped the blood off it.

The pattern was revealed—it looked like a fragment of something, with half a rune engraved on it. The strokes were crooked, as if it had been hastily carved.

Although Shen Chi did not recognize the rune, he recognized the brushstrokes—the habitual pause at the end of the strokes and the small hook that appeared at the end.

This is his father's handwriting.

He had seen it countless times. When he was a child, his father taught him to write, and after writing the last character, he would always leave a small, habitual hook at the end of the stroke. Shen Chi asked why, and his father said, "When you're writing, if you think about how to finish, your hand will be steady. It's the same with doing things."

He looked down at the person on the straw mat—this person had suffered such serious injuries, fled all the way to Qingxi Town, and was clutching the iron piece engraved with his father's handwriting, refusing to let go.

Does he know his father?

Or did his father know him?

Shen Chi stood in the moonlight and glanced at the two things in his arms.

Fragments of the Guardian Sword, fragments of the bronze mirror, and now this piece of iron.

All three things were related to his father.

If we don't save this person who is still unconscious, it may be too late.

Shen Chi thought of the one-eyed old man.

He couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the pot of wine. Perhaps it was the note—the words on the note came true, and the people from the Yansheng Pavilion did indeed arrive. The one-eyed old man seemed to know more than anyone else in town.

If anyone can recognize the runes on this piece of iron, and if anyone is most likely to save this unconscious person, it is probably him.

Shen Chi put the iron piece into his pocket, placed it together with the two fragments, and turned to walk out.

"You have high hopes for him," he said to Azhu.

"Where are you going?"

"Go find that one-eyed old man."