Chapter 023: Song of the Fire God (II) 1/2

Smoke began to curl up from the furnace. Cao Ji dared not pause; he kept twisting the drill shaft, singing loudly.
“Peng’er, give it a push with all your might!”
At Cao Ji’s shout, Cao Peng yanked out the bellows rod and then thrust it in forcefully. In the hearth, a ball of flame whooshed upward, instantly igniting the drill board. Cao Ji quickly let go and shoved Cao Peng aside, shouting, “Peng’er, add charcoal, add charcoal!”
Wang Meng and his son brought in two buckets of charcoal from outside the shed.
Under Cao Ji’s direction, Cao Peng rhythmically fed the furnace.
The hearth had to be filled and the temperature maintained. Only after the charcoal was burning did Cao Ji release the bellows rod and signal for Cao Peng to step back.
Even this short stint left Cao Peng drenched in sweat, exhausted.
The fatigue wasn’t just physical but mental too… The ritual to welcome the Fire God created a solemn atmosphere. Working in such an environment, every ounce of strength felt three or four times heavier than usual… How could Cao Peng not be weary?
“The Fire God is here!”
The firelight cast a rosy glow on Cao Ji’s face, and his honest features broke into a radiant smile.
“Father, is it over? When do we get to start hammering?”
“This? Not even close to finished,” Cao Ji replied with a laugh. “This is only the beginning. We have to keep watch over the furnace. Only when the flames change color can we strike the first blow. Peng’er, I’ve always told you, smithing is hard work. Just opening the furnace, from now on, neither of us can leave for a moment. When the first hammer falls, then it’s truly done. Rest now and gather your strength!
The first blow is critical.”
Cao Peng couldn’t help but swallow nervously.
Good heavens, after all this trouble, it’s only the beginning?
“Ah Fu, do your best. I’m waiting for the fine blade you forge with your own hands,” Wang Mai joked carelessly, irritating Cao Peng, who shouted, “Get lost!”
In the blink of an eye, Wang Mai had vanished…
Wang Meng helped out on the side, chatting with Cao Ji as he worked.
The temperature inside the shed gradually rose. Cao Peng wiped the sweat from his brow and sat down. Of the three hundred and sixty trades, it seemed smithing was truly a technical art. Even a humble craftsman like his father poured heart and soul into it—those great masters and artisans must have it even harder. He wondered, how did those legendary swordsmiths come to be?
Lost in thought, Cao Peng watched Cao Ji busy at work.
So, in the blink of an eye, an entire day slipped by.
As dusk fell, heavy snow suddenly began to fall.
Deng Ji returned, lending a hand outside the shed.
“It’s time to smelt the iron,” Cao Ji ordered. Wang Meng immediately hefted a bucket full of broken ironware and dumped it all in. These fragments had been collected earlier, mainly as a foundation for the first forging. Once the furnace was lit, there could be no rest. As the iron inside the hearth began to fuse together, Cao Ji beckoned to Cao Peng to get ready for the hammering.
Using tongs, he pulled out a workpiece, and Cao Peng stepped forward with a specially made hammer.
This hammer weighed eighteen catties, prepared for him by Cao Ji. Cao Peng took a deep breath, gripped the workpiece tightly, and readied himself.
Using one arm, he let out a great shout, drew strength from his core, and swung the hammer down.
Clang—
A crisp ring, sparks flying.
“Golden flowers bloom, the Fire God returns to his palace!”

Cao Ji was overjoyed, rushing over to snatch the tongs and take over the hammering.
His hammer weighed sixty-eight catties, a full fifty more than Cao Peng’s, and the power behind each blow was considerable. The constant clangor filled the shed. In the firelight, excitement danced on Cao Ji’s face, his focused gaze radiating a unique charisma…
Striking once, he used nearly all his strength.
After stepping back, Cao Peng let out a long breath.
“Is it done?”
“Heh, we didn’t ruin it.”
“That’s a relief!”
Inside the shed, Deng Ji watched, heart pounding.
Who would have thought forging a blade could be so imposing?
As Cao Ji swung the heavy hammer, the muscles on his arms rippled with rhythm. It wasn’t just his arms; his whole body, even his spirit, was engaged.
“Ah Fu, do you really think that method will work?” Wang Meng whispered. Cao Peng just smiled. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”
As far back as the Warring States period, the ancients had invented quenching techniques. But from those days through the late Eastern Han, no matter how it was done, water remained the only quenching medium. During the Eastern Han, smiths discovered that different water sources yielded blades of differing quality, so water selection became a required skill for swordsmiths.
Yet this skill required innate talent. Out of a hundred men, barely one might possess it, making master smiths exceedingly rare.
Pu Yuan, the renowned swordsmith of late Three Kingdoms, had this gift. But few ever mastered it.
Cao Ji did not possess this talent and thus could not become a great smith.
However, Cao Peng had given him an idea: first quench in animal urine, then in animal fat—perhaps it would work wonders.
As for how he knew this?
He claimed, “It was that old alchemist who told me.”
In his heart, he felt profound gratitude for that mysterious sage. If not for him, Cao Peng would have struggled to explain.
Alchemists were seen as possessing vast powers, even as immortals.
If an immortal gave such advice, surely it would have special merit. Cao Ji believed wholeheartedly and didn’t hesitate to try.
If Cao Peng’s method truly solved the water problem, it would be a major breakthrough for Cao Ji.
In the shed, a vat of horse urine and a vat of pig fat were prepared. Horse urine was free, as the family’s three horses more or less sufficed.
But the pig fat… that had cost a pretty penny.
If it failed, Cao Peng would surely be blamed.
“Father, I’m tired. I’ll rest a while…”
“Go on, get some sleep.”
Cao Peng brimmed with confidence, for the twin-liquid quenching technique he told Cao Ji about had been proven in later times. In the Northern and Southern Dynasties, the famed weapon-smith Qiwu Huaiwen invented this method and forged the celebrated Su-tie Sword. Thanks to this process, weapons like the cross saber and the Mo sword followed. Cao Peng was certain that once his father solved the quenching problem, his skill would rise to new heights. But he hadn’t revealed the secret of forging Su-tie Swords yet—he felt it wasn’t time.
Back in his own room, Cao Peng collapsed into a chair, unwilling to move.
At last, one problem was solved!
If his father could use the twin-liquid quenching method to forge fine blades, then no matter whom he served in the future, he’d have a firm foothold.
That would be a great achievement…

With the quenching problem resolved, all that remained was to raise the furnace temperature and fix the bellows.
Cao Peng took a breath, stood up, and walked to his desk.
Wait—
Where were his blueprints?
To his shock, the bellows design he’d drawn was missing…
A chill ran through him. He searched frantically around the room, overturning boxes and chests, but the papers were nowhere to be found. Could someone have taken them?
He had no time for fatigue now; he bolted from his room.
“Mother, did anyone come into my room today?”
Madam Zhang and Cao Nan were preparing dinner. Startled by his shout, they stopped in their tracks.
“I didn’t go in… Nan, did you?”
Cao Nan shook her head. “I haven’t been in your room, Ah Fu. What’s wrong? You look so pale… Hey, where are you going?”
Before she could finish, Cao Peng had already turned away.
No one ever entered his room except Madam Zhang and Cao Nan, who tidied up for him. Neither Cao Ji nor Deng Ji, nor even Wang Meng, would go in.
Wang Mai did come and go often, but he’d been with Cao Peng all day.
Stay calm, stay calm!
Cao Peng kept telling himself, trying hard to recall.
Last night, I was still studying the blueprints… Then I got tired and went to sleep. But before bed, I… That’s right, I stuffed the papers into my leather pouch.
Where was his pouch?
Anxious, Cao Peng hurriedly asked,
“Brother Tiger-head, have you seen my black leather pouch?”
Wang Mai replied, “You mean the pouch you took with you this morning?”
“That’s the one!”
“You didn’t bring it back?”
He remembered!
When he was practicing, he’d taken off the pouch and left it under the peach tree by the riverbank. In his hurry to leave, he’d forgotten all about it.
Oh no, let it not be stolen…
The pouch itself wasn’t worth much, just a memento sewn by his mother. But the blueprints inside…
Sweat broke out in fine beads on Cao Peng’s forehead.

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