For Whom Does the Hammer Ring?
In any city of decent size, there was always an Ironworks Street. They left the carriage at an inn, asked for directions to the blacksmith district, and set off again. Only then did Cheong realize something felt missing.
“Come to think of it, no one came out to greet us?”
She hadn’t exactly been expecting anything, but the lack of the usual welcome left her feeling oddly empty. When you didn’t know something, you could just ask someone who did, and luckily their group included a muscle-bound eccentric who would answer questions without being asked.
“Jumadian has no notable Orthodox factions at present, Sister.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“It is primarily a government stronghold, is it not? In cities where the authorities hold strong sway, Orthodox sects are naturally scarce.”
In cities controlled by the government, great clans and local powers could not take root. Even those that had originally held territory were often squeezed out and forced to relocate. Moreover, Orthodox martial artists were, by nature, chivalrous types who refused to obey the government. This had only grown more pronounced since the time of the Mucheon-daeje. When the authorities sought the help of the murim, it was usually for something dirty or unjust, so righteous warriors would not comply. In contrast, the unorthodox factions had no such pride and eagerly curried favor with officials. Their usual activities were already sordid and unjust, so they gladly took on the government’s dirty work. Thus, in cities firmly gripped by the authorities, the seeds of the Orthodox path wither while the unorthodox flourish.
“Then isn’t it dangerous? If the place is crawling with nothing but unorthodox scum.”
“It is true that the southeastern region of the central plains, where the Sadoryeon holds influence, has that tendency. However, at least in Henan, there are no unorthodox factions bold enough to lay a hand on an Orthodox warrior.”
Jegal Ihyeon smiled faintly as he explained.
The city’s location was simply terrible for them. To the north lay the Shaolin Temple and the Beggars’ Sect, to the south the Jegal Clan, to the east the Namgung Clan, and to the west the Wudang Sect. If the unorthodox tried to run wild under government protection, they would face the combined wrath of the Orthodox powers from all four directions and be wiped out.
“Therefore, the most they can manage is to pretend we do not exist and ignore us, Sister.”
“Hmm.”
Once they reached Ironworks Street, Dang Nan-a took the lead and guided the group. Cheong knew nothing about the district, and while Jegal Ihyeon loved to chatter about any subject, this was not his area of expertise. That said, Dang Nan-a was hardly a reliable guide.
“Hey, you there, blacksmith. Who’s the best needle-smith in this city?”
She immediately launched into informal speech with a complete stranger. One could call it the basic courtesy of the infamous Understanding Poison Flower, the sharp-tongued villainess. Only when she was with Cheong did she get treated like a chihuahua-level idiot. In truth, she was a noble young lady of high birth who normally showed no respect to anyone beneath her station.
The poor blacksmith was so captivated by her radiant beauty that he completely missed the rude tone.
“Hey. What’s with you? Are you ignoring me?”
“N-no, not at all. But… a needle-smith? What craftsman in the world makes a living crafting only needles?”
“……?”
There were few craftsmen in the world who specialized exclusively in needles. Only the Tang Clan, which practiced both medicine and metalworking, kept dedicated needle-smiths within the family. Just as the blacksmith said, who would specialize in something with so little demand? Of course, if a craftsman became famous for their needles, physicians from across the realm would come seeking them, but asking for a needle specialist at a random neighborhood ironworks would naturally draw strange looks.
“Then how do the physicians in this town make their needles?”
“They just hammer the iron thin and long—”
Dang Nan-a’s face crumpled into a deep scowl. Calling it “thin and long” was an insult no self-respecting physician could let slide.
“What kind of stupid answer is that? Forget it. Then who’s the best craftsman in the city?”
“That would be Master Ban, but right now he—”
The blacksmith tried to continue, but Dang Nan-a, whose patience had already run out, snapped at him.
“You talk too much. Just tell me where to go.”
“Keep going straight, then turn at the second alley…”
The directions were surprisingly complicated. It seemed Ironworks Street was more developed than expected. Yet Dang Nan-a nodded as if she understood perfectly.
“Jegal, you remember that, right?”
“Of course, Sister Dang.”
“Then let’s go.”
Watching this, Cheong nodded to herself. People really should leave things they can’t do to others. She may be a quack, but she’s still a doctor. Looks like she’s not completely brainless.
Jegal Ihyeon demonstrated the pinnacle of muscular intellect by perfectly memorizing the complex directions after hearing them only once and leading the way. They finally arrived in front of what was supposedly the city’s best workshop, Ban Family Ironworks. Cheong asked,
“Um, Jegal. Are you sure this is the right place?”
The building looked long-abandoned. The open space typical of ironworks, covered only by a roof, was already overgrown with lush weeds up to their ankles. Given that it was early spring and the cherry blossoms had not yet bloomed, it was clear no one had maintained the place at all.
“We came to the right place, Sister. Look, there it is. Ban Family Ironworks.”
Jegal Ihyeon pointed at a signboard lying on the ground. True to its ironworks origins, the metal plaque clearly bore the elegant characters for Ban Family Ironworks.
“Just from the signboard, it’s obvious the craftsman is of the highest caliber. However…”
Even though he knew nothing about needles, the Jegal Clan’s own ironworks were renowned throughout the world for their precision mechanisms. One could tell the craftsman’s skill just from the calligraphy on the sign.
“Well, we’ll find out once we go in. Excuse me! Is anyone here?”
Cheong called out as she stepped into the workshop that looked more like an abandoned house.
“What, did the shop go out of business?”
She looked around, then suddenly froze as her eyes met those of an old man silently glaring at her from the shadows.
“Eek! Damn, you scared me…”
Cheong let out a decidedly unladylike shriek. But it only lasted a moment. The only things she truly feared were ghosts or her master’s Nuclear Noogie suddenly descending from the sky. A mere glaring old man was nothing.
“Hey, Grandpa? Are you okay? Why are you just sitting there? You startled me.”
“So you’ve even resorted to sending a woman now! Get lost! I would rather die than forge weapons for the likes of you!”
The old man bellowed with grave intensity.
“Huh? We came to have a needle made, not a weapon.”
“Ha! Are you saying an hidden weapon is not a weapon?”
“No, not that kind of needle. I mean the long acupuncture needles that doctors use. You know, acupuncture? Grandpa, are you already senile?”
The old man’s expression shifted to one of bewilderment.
“You came to have a needle made? Not a blade?”
“I already have a sword. Why would I need another blade when I have the one my master gave me?”
Cheong patted her scabbard as she spoke. Only then did the old man look embarrassed.
“Ahem. So… you came for a needle. It’s been a while since I’ve had a customer. Needles are rather expensive, though.”
“Ah, one moment. It’s not for me.”
Dang Nan-a promptly held out the broken needle. The blacksmith, Master Ban, let out a deep sigh the moment he saw it.
“Heavens, how could you have broken such a precious needle? At a glance, it is clearly a divine object that might appear only once in an era.”
“Um, can you reforge it?”
The old craftsman carefully examined the broken end.
“Tsk tsk. How much force did you apply to snap such a fine needle? They say even a dog’s hooves can be shod, but it seems the tool is a divine object while its owner’s skill falls far short.”
“What? What did this old man just say?”
“Still, the break is clean, so reattaching it should not be difficult.”
Dang Nan-a’s face flushed bright red.
“What would an old man know? What kind of muscle can block a needle infused with inner energy? It would be easier to stick a needle in a boulder.”
“Ah. So the young lady was the one who used it. This old man spoke out of turn.”
“Hmph.”
Dang Nan-a snorted.
“So, where is the other half?”
“Well, about that…”
Dang Nan-a glanced at Cheong.
“Here’s the thing. Grandpa, you wouldn’t happen to have those thin forceps used for making needles, would you? There’s something embedded in someone’s body that needs to come out…”
The broken needle was lodged in Cheong’s shoulder with only the tiniest tip protruding. Without a proper tool to grip it firmly, it could not be removed. It was too short to grab with fingers, too slippery for fingernails, and they could not apply enough force. Ordinary tongs could not even clamp down on something so thin. Fortunately, the old man who had run an ironworks his entire life had a pair of forceps specifically for holding iron needles among his collection of tools.
“Then I’ll pull it out?”
“If you pull it out and it’s only half, I won’t let it slide. I’ll stand on the podium at the Hidden Dragon Tournament and declare that the quack doctor from the Tang Clan who endangers her patients is a hack.”
“Ugh.”
Dang Nan-a’s movements suddenly became stiff. Cheong narrowed her eyes.
“Wait, don’t tell me there’s actually a chance of that?”
“It’s all your fault, Cheong! Your muscles are compressed like a ten-thousand-year cold iron boulder, so if the needle twists while trying to endure—”
“Yes, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault.”
“Whatever. Anyway. Ah, over there!”
“Huh? What? What is—”
Shluck. The sensation of something sliding out was crystal clear. A sigh of relief followed right after.
“Phew, it came out cleanly.”
“To lure me into letting my guard down with such a cheap trick…”
“This girl. How can you talk like that even after I warned you?”
Dang Nan-a laughed and gave Cheong’s back a light smack. Then the old man named Ban started fussing about needing to restart the fire. Since Cheong knew nothing about ironworking, there was no point in watching.
“Now that I think about it, his surname is Ban. Could he be a descendant of Ban Chi?”
“Oh! Sister, you know of Ban Chi? He was quite literally the greatest blacksmith of all time!”
“Uh, yeah…”
It was the usual empty flattery Cheong tossed out. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth felt strangely different. Is this guy actually from the central plains? Is this what transcending eras with fake knowledge looks like?
“In truth, ironworking is difficult and exhausting, yet it does not bring in much income. Most children do not wish to inherit the trade. Moreover, unless a craftsman is exceptionally skilled and has saved some wealth, it is difficult to marry…”
Therefore, many craftsmen took in orphans, raised them, and passed on their skills. Of course, the “tuition” was usually paid through labor, so they were little more than servants or assistants who received only room and board. Some craftsmen with poor character would work them like slaves until their bodies gave out, then cast them aside.
“That is why so many blacksmiths are surnamed Ban. It is an aspiration to emulate the greatest craftsman of all.”
“Hmm.”
“Ah. Speaking of Ban Chi, I cannot help but mention his beautiful love story and the Boksinjeok. The Boksinjeok was Ban Chi’s treasure, a flute made of ten-thousand-year cold iron that has now vanished from the world forever…”
Cheong casually extended her hand to the side. Gyeon Po-hui produced a flute from somewhere and placed it in her palm. Thanks to Choe-ri-ong having completed the handover.
“Jegal. This is the very Boksinjeok that supposedly vanished forever.”
“……It really is ten-thousand-year cold iron. Is this genuine?”
The Jegal Clan’s ironworks were famous, and Jegal Ihyeon possessed knowledge of everything his family did. He could recognize the unique dull, dark-blue luster of ten-thousand-year cold iron at a glance.
“Would it be a fake?”
“Good heavens, such a treasure…”
By handing the Boksinjeok to Jegal Ihyeon, Cheong successfully sealed the terrifying chatterbox for a moment. However, the rare peace and quiet did not last long.
“What the hell, old man? Who told you to light the fire?”
“We clearly told you to close up shop, didn’t we?”
“Who’s in there? What brainless bastard dares violate the laws of the Namyun Sect…”
A group of thugs swaggered in, swords at their waists. Upon confirming their evil deeds, Cheong broke into a bright smile.