Chapter 261
Chapter 261
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 261
Chapter Title: Flying Wheel
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"Will this do if we make it like this?"
Dang Mujin held up a round chunk of wood he'd carved and showed it to Dan Sulyeong, but she shook her head.
"No. Shave the edges down as thin as possible."
"It's wood, not metal. If I make it any thinner, it'll snap along the grain."
"That's fine as long as you can throw it a couple times and get a feel for it. We're remaking it in metal later anyway. Since we're going thin, let's make it a bit smaller too."
Dang Mujin echoed her request.
"Smaller? Larger ones fly smoother."
"That matters if you're making a toy for Yeong-i. But you're planning a hidden weapon, right? Smaller is more practical, even if it's a little less comfortable to throw."
"Ah, got it."
Dang Mujin and Dan Sulyeong holed up in the Tang family workshop, crafting discs.
Dan Sulyeong had the knack and knowledge to predict how the finished product would fly, while Dang Mujin had the skill to shape it.
Their roles divided naturally.
She'd describe the form and spot improvements, and he'd incorporate her feedback to produce new discs.
Occasionally, Dang Mujin would get hung up fixating on some odd detail, but then Dan Sulyeong would set him straight and guide him back on track.
A thought suddenly crossed Dang Mujin's mind.
Wasn't it usual for a pregnant woman to be shielded from anything rough, exposed only to the finest sights and sounds?
He wasn't sure if it was right for Dan Sulyeong, whose due date was approaching, to be cooped up in a workshop carving discs.
But her face was so bright with joy that Dang Mujin couldn't bring himself to stop her. If he told her to rest in the annex since she knew what she was doing, she'd surely shoot him a withering glare.
As he carved the wood, Dang Mujin thought.
'Is this the first time we've made something together since Mokinhang?'
The Heavenly King Needle Case and Rainstorm Flower Needles were things Dan Sulyeong had made first, which Dang Mujin then reproduced, so calling it "together" was a stretch.
'It's been way longer than I thought.'
Dang Mujin and Dan Sulyeong filled each other's gaps as they worked on.
Memories from their time at Shaolin Temple bubbled up fresh, so they lost track of time, chatting away in the workshop while shaving wood.
And in this scene, the most excited wasn't Dang Mujin or Dan Sulyeong—it was Dang Yeong.
Sticking around the workshop meant Dad kept making fun new toys. Way better and more precious than random courtyard pebbles, sticks, or toys snuck to him by Tang family folk.
Dang Yeong didn't even have to bother picking them up.
When she hurled a disc with her tiny hands as hard as she could, passing Tang family members would gather them up and bring them back to her.
The one who took on that role most was Blood Rain Guest Jang Il-nam. Unlike most martial artists, he didn't train, so he had the most time to play with Dang Yeong.
*
A few days passed, and Dang Mujin and Dan Sulyeong had nearly finalized the disc's size and shape when Samanbul, who'd been watching, spoke up.
"How about making it a ring instead of a solid disc? Hollow out the center."
"A ring?"
"Yeah. Dang Mujin, remember the Ghost King?"
"Yes. The guy from the Demonic Cult who spotted Reverend Flame Lotus and fled while we were escaping. Used to be called Turtle King instead of Ghost King. For messing around down below, right?"
Samanbul stared hard at Dang Mujin after hearing that.
His gaze held a world of meaning, but Samanbul said no more on it.
"Anyway, back when I was with the Demonic Cult, that guy once talked about the Golden Wheel."
"What's that?"
"According to the Ghost King, it was a weird weapon some monks used back at the Potala Palace in Tibet. A ring with blades on the edge and hollow in the center."
"A throwing weapon?"
"Basically held by the bladeless part, but could be thrown if needed, from what I heard."
"Then we should try making one."
The idea of hollowing the center was novel, so Dang Mujin made another disc like the ones before and gouged out the middle entirely.
Barely palm-sized, it wouldn't be easy to grip and fight with like the Golden Wheel Samanbul described, but it was much lighter.
Dang Mujin relaxed his wrist, spun the ring smoothly, and threw it.
The solid discs so far had curved a bit in flight, but the ring curved far more dramatically.
It'd be tricky to handle, but such an unpredictable path would torment anyone on the receiving end. Dang Mujin saw potential in the ring.
'With luck, this could be something amazing.'
Dang Mujin headed straight to the forge with Dan Sulyeong.
Once attached to the Qingcheng Chengdu Branch, Seok Jiseung's forge had naturally folded into the Tang family compound.
Unlike before, it was now big enough for several blacksmiths to work at once.
It had expanded bit by bit as more blacksmiths gathered.
Clanging metal echoed from the forge, and the hearth blazed with red flames, steamy as summer. Even in winter, the blacksmiths hammered away, drenched in sweat.
They stared only at their anvils, caring for nothing but the iron.
But as Dang Mujin approached, three blacksmiths cooling off outside fixed their eyes on him. Intense enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Their gazes all but shouted at him.
*'Come over here, please.'*
Dang Mujin saw himself more as a physician and warrior than a blacksmith. But in the Tang family, the ones who welcomed him most warmly weren't the physicians or warriors—they were the blacksmiths.
Physicians could learn from Dang Jesun, Chu Sam, or Mok Wan-ah.
Trained martial artists were countless, including many stronger than him with better teachers.
But the blacksmiths were different.
No one could replace Dang Mujin. Not just in the Tang family—even across the world.
He was the one and only at his level.
Yet among those living in the Tang family, blacksmiths were the ones Dang Mujin encountered least.
It was only natural they'd eye him hungrily whenever he passed nearby.
Dang Mujin rarely entered the forge, but today was different. His steps were clearly headed straight for it.
When he got within twenty paces, one impatient blacksmith shot up and approached.
A man past fifty, nearing sixty, bowed politely.
"Young Master Dang, do you have business at the forge?"
"Yes."
That was enough. The other two by the door leaped up and bellowed inside.
"Clear the central hearth now!"
"But it's almost heated—what nonsense..."
A grumbling voice from inside trailed off. They'd spotted Dang Mujin entering with the blacksmiths.
The grumbler snatched his glowing ingot with tongs and shoved it to a corner away from the hearth.
He wasn't the only one stopping.
Every blacksmith hammering away dropped their metal.
Blacksmiths rarely halt midway on a red-hot piece.
Best case, restart from scratch. Worst, ruin it.
But this was no time for that. Dang Mujin entering the forge was a once-a-year event, if that.
Dang Mujin glanced around and pointed to the best-looking ingot.
Shapeless, just purified iron bar.
"Looks good. Mind if I use this ingot?"
"Use as much as you like!"
The ingot's maker beamed.
Worth all the sweat and burns from hot metal, just sticking to the furnace.
Dang Mujin tonged the small ingot into the hearth, and the blacksmiths crowded around, buzzing.
"Who's the lucky one getting a new sword today?"
"Samanbul? No, he doesn't use swords..."
"Master Jang? But he quit the jianghu life."
"Then Young Master Dang must be making one for himself."
"No, ingot's too small for a sword. And with Lady Dan here, probably a lady's dagger for her."
They guessed wildly, but Dang Mujin waved it off.
"Nothing like that. Making this in metal."
"...?"
Eyes turned to the wooden ring in his hand.
A flat ring of unknown purpose. The blacksmiths couldn't fathom it.
A young one voiced his disappointment.
"You come to the forge after so long, just to make that ring?"
"That's the plan."
"But I heard martial artists revere swords as the king of weapons."
He'd phrased it tactfully, but meant he wanted to see a proper sword instead.
These weren't hack blacksmiths banging out crude farm tools.
They were swordsmiths who'd devoted their lives to blades. Dang Mujin understood wanting to watch sword-making. He'd feel the same in their shoes.
An elder blacksmith scolded the young one.
"Quiet. Young Master Dang didn't come here to entertain you."
As the young man deflated, Dang Mujin chuckled.
"This could be a sword, in a way. I'll edge the rim sharp."
"You'll put a blade on a ring like that?"
"Yes."
The veterans showed deeper interest.
They'd seen Dang Mujin make swords before and learned much from the process.
A weird item like this promised even more lessons—a real treat.
What intrigued them now was how he'd craft the ring.
Curved blades weren't rare.
Sickles curved, and some warriors swung curved swords.
But a perfect circle, that tiny?
No one here had made one.
Dang Mujin explained.
"It's not for holding and swinging—it's for throwing. New to me too, so it'll take extra care."
"Can you make it in one go? You could, of course..."
"I can. But no guarantee it's the best shape, so I'll need to experiment with variations."
"You'll be coming around more often?"
"Looks like it."
The blacksmiths cheered at the prospect.
As they peppered him with questions and sought advice, the hearth metal glowed red.
"Step back, please."
Dang Mujin tonged the glowing chunk, gripping tight.
Hot enough to shape with hammers, but far from soft.
Yet his keen fingertips sensed its state through the tongs.
*'Just right.'*
He pulled it out and set it on the anvil. Seok Jiseung stepped up and took the tongs.
Dang Mujin found it unexpected. Usually, the most skilled veteran took them.
*'Seok Jiseung must have made real progress.'*
Dang Mujin grabbed a hammer nearby, whirled it high, and smashed down.
The flashiest moment.
Kaang—
The first strike on the hot metal boomed, spraying hundreds, thousands of sparks. Impurities from the hearth flung free.
Dang Mujin glanced around. Reactions varied.
Novice blacksmiths gawked at the fireworks.
Veterans eyed the ingot's new shape.
The masters listened to the sound of hammer meeting metal.
Seok Jiseung stood eyes closed, ears attuned. Dang Mujin smiled, pleased.
No longer the awkward smith of old, Seok Jiseung now led the Tang family's blacksmiths.
His skill must rival the elders' for him to hold the tongs before Dang Mujin.
To let Dang Mujin swing freely without shifting, Seok Jiseung slowly turned the ingot.
He anticipated each step flawlessly without instruction, making the work effortless.
The beaten metal returned to the hearth, reheated red again and again.
Flat became long; long flattened back.
The forge folk held their breath, riveted on Dang Mujin's hammer swings.
The blacksmiths' faces flushed red as kids huddled round a winter hearth, roasting snacks.
Hearth heat, ruddy glow, and thrilled hearts colored the old men's faces.
After repetitions, the metal took small, flat form.
Dang Mujin fetched tongs and small hammer, gouged the inner curve round, then final-heated, shaped, and quenched in the water trough.
Steam billowed as the metal hit cold water, droplets splashing.
Dang Mujin gestured to the blacksmiths.
"Show's over. Back to work."
But they stayed. They wanted to see the final polishing too.
Their lifelong dream unfolded before them; eyes glued to his hands.
Dang Mujin sat comfy in a corner, chatting leisurely with them as he ground the ring.
The blacksmiths waited eagerly for the tiny result.
Small neglected hearth-fires died out, but elders didn't scold the young.
After long grinding, the ring emerged. Perfect circle blade, no flaws or dents. Even the sword-begging youth gaped.
"What do we call this?"
"Didn't think of a name... Flying Wheel works."
One final step remained.
What Dang Mujin focused on most while hammering and polishing wasn't the form—it was weight distribution and balance.
He stood a stray awl upright, balanced the Flying Wheel atop, and gently released.
Even thick coins like wuzhu varied in weight, hard to stand.
But the Flying Wheel stood steady on the awl.
Tough even for him; unbelievable for the blacksmiths.
"My god..."
As swordsmiths, they knew blade balance mattered.
But not to this precision.
It was like balancing one upright blade inverted on another.
A normal sword wouldn't get such obsessive balancing from him.
But the Flying Wheel was for throwing. Tiny errors could warp the path disastrously.
Dang Mujin slipped a finger through the hole, spun it idly, and headed outside. The sun had set; dusk cloaked the forge yard.
Blacksmiths test new swords with swings, sword skills or not.
To see the Flying Wheel in action, they quietly followed. How would that edged ring work?
Outside, Dang Mujin infused his hand with qi and hurled the Flying Wheel hard.
It flew silent and stealthy, vanishing into the night sky.
The blacksmiths stood stunned, uncomprehending.
*'He put that much heart into it... and just tosses it like that?'*
*'If you're throwing, at least throw close!'*
Too dark to see where it landed.
They knew the direction, but so small—finding it hopeless.
"What the—"
"Shh! He didn't throw it carelessly."
They sighed, but Dang Mujin focused, sensing the Flying Wheel.
Years ago, first learning Object Pulling in Air struggled even with light needles. Now he could subtly control one flung far.
His martial prowess had soared.
Moments later, he raised his right index finger. From the dark, the Flying Wheel flew back, hooking onto his finger.
The blacksmiths couldn't grasp it.
Unaware of Object Pulling in Air, and unable to replicate, they had no clue.
But one thing was clear: a sight they'd rarely witness again.
Dang Mujin spun the hooked Flying Wheel and said to Dan Sulyeong.
"It's decent enough. Right?"