The rhythmic clang of hamr against tal filled the forge, a steady, unbroken cadence. Sparks flared and died as Wang Jun brought the hamr down, shaping the heated blade beneath his grip. The air was thick with the scent of iron and burning coal, the heat pressing against his skin like a living thing.
He barely noticed.
His arms moved on instinct, muscles attuned to the weight of the hamr, the precise force needed for each strike. Years of practice had carved this routine into his body. He could do this blindfolded.
"Funny how habits take over."
The thought drifted idly through his mind, but it wasn’t where his focus lay. Not really. His body was here, in the forge, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Sowhere beyond the glow of embers and the hiss of quenching steel.
Kai.
Wang Jun exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to turn his attention back to the weapon in front of him. A Verdant Lotus disciple’s blade—one of the many that had seen battle against the demonic cultists in the forest. The edge was dull, the nicks along its surface evidence of heavy use.
He ran his fingers along the steel, then set to work, sharpening. Refining. Repairing.
Still, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him.
He had seen the way the disciples looked at Kai after the battle. Respect. Awe. Recognition.
He had seen the way Kai stood among them—not a disciple, not a sect mber, but soone who belonged all the sa.
It was hard to reconcile that image with the boy he had grown up with.
"When did the gap between us get so wide?"
A shadow fell across his workspace, and Wang Jun blinked, realizing soone was watching him.
Master Qiang stood by the workbench, arms crossed, his usual stern expression softened by amusent. The old blacksmith surveyed Wang Jun’s work, nodding approvingly.
“You’ve co far,” he grunted. “Didn’t think you had the patience for fine work when you were younger.”
Wang Jun let out a short breath, the closest thing to a chuckle he could manage. “Guess you were wrong.”
Master Qiang snorted. “I’m never wrong.” Then, with a smirk, he flexed his bicep, a thick knot of muscle earned through decades of working the forge. “But you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up to your master.”
Wang Jun rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.
It was a familiar exchange, one they had shared countless tis before. Normally, it would have been enough to ground him in the present.
But today, his thoughts still strayed.
Kai had always been small, his fra unsuited for the martial arts he spoke of so fervently. And yet, it had never stopped him. Even when they were children, Kai had been obsessed with the stories of cultivators, of great heroes and sect masters.
Wang Jun hadn’t paid much attention back then. He was content in the simplicity of their village life—working, training under Master Qiang, learning a trade that would provide for him and his future family.
It was Kai who had always dread of sothing greater.
Even after his parents passed, the fire in his eyes never dimd. If anything, it had only burned hotter.
"If I had your build, I’d probably be in a sect by now."
Wang Jun still rembered those words. The wistful edge in Kai’s voice.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the ti. Just another one of Kai’s dramatic declarations, the kind he made when he got too caught up in his own excitent.
But looking back now…
He should have seen it.
It wasn’t he who was talented.
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It had always been Kai.
Wang Jun once thought gardening was easy.
He had always seen Kai in his family’s garden, hands brushing over leaves, tending to plants and assisting his family.
So he tried. With the seeds provided by Kai's parents, Wang Jun planted them on a simple patch of soil, just outside of his ho.
How hard could it be? Put the seeds in the dirt, water them, wait. That was all there was to it.
He quickly realized how wrong he was.
Within a week, the sprouts had either shriveled or drowned. So withered where they stood, their yellowing leaves curling inward. Others rotted in place, blackened stems sinking into the soil.
Kai had found him glaring at the pathetic remains of his attempt, arms crossed, jaw set in frustration.
Wang Jun had expected laughter or mockery. But Kai had simply crouched down, fingers brushing the dirt as he inspected the damage. His expression was one of focus, not amusent.
"Your soil’s too dense," Kai had said, poking at one of the dying sprouts. "And these? You planted them too close together. The roots are choking each other."
Wang Jun had frowned as Kai rattled off terms he barely understood. Nutrient balance, moisture retention, aeration... He spoke about planting depth, about how different crops needed different spacing to thrive.
The words blurred together, half of them aning nothing to him.
"It’s just plants," Wang Jun had muttered, frustration bubbling up. "How do you even know all this?"
Kai had blinked at him, looking genuinely confused. As if the answer should have been obvious.
"Because I pay attention whenever my mom plants them."
Wang Jun hadn’t known what to say to that.
But even now, he rembered the mont clearly; the way Kai’s mind worked, how easily he analyzed things most people overlooked.
That was the first ti he had realized nothing about gardening was easy; it just looked that way because Kai made it look effortless.
Wang Jun smiled sadly, the mory lingering like the fading warmth of embers.
Just like back then, Kai made things seem effortless. But he knew better now. Knew how much effort it had taken for Kai to learn every aspect of tending to his family’s garden and shop after his parents passed. Knew how, behind every seemingly natural success, there was an obsession with learning, an unwillingness to fail.
Kai wasn’t just lucky. He had always been brilliant. Always relentless.
And now, his efforts had co to fruition. Beyond herbalism and alchemy.
In less than a year, Kai had surpassed him completely.
Wang Jun tightened his grip on the hamr, his breath steady despite the storm in his chest.
Kai had only started martial arts months before him. In the lifelong pursuit of cultivation, what were a few months? But the difference between them felt insurmountable.
Kai wasn’t just ahead—he was closer in ability to the disciples who had cultivated for a decade than to Wang Jun himself.
He could feel it. In his bones. Even after all his training, he would never match his friend.
And now, he had left again. Facing dangers alongside the other cultivators. Carrying burdens as if they were his alone, shouldering the weight of responsibilities that no one had asked him to bear. Always smiling, always giving them dicine and resources, never once asking for anything in return.
Wang Jun was proud of him.
But beneath that pride was sothing else.
A quiet, lingering sadness. A deep, unshakable powerlessness.
Despite Wang Jun’s natural strength, Kai never turned to him for help.
When Narrow Stone Peak attacked, he hadn’t involved them. Kai had faced Wei Long and his sches alone, with only Tianyi and Windy by his side.
Now, Kai was heading to Pingyao, not because he had to, but because he could.
Because no one else would.
The hamr in Wang Jun’s grip struck harder, frustration rippling through his muscles. Sparks leaped from the blade, scattering across the forge floor like fragnts of his resolve. He pounded the steel again and again, each strike a futile attempt to chip away at the vast, unyielding gap separating him from his friend.
But the gap refused to narrow. It was stubborn, like poorly tempered steel that refused to yield, no matter how fiercely he hamred. The harder he tried to close the distance, the more the reality burned itself into him, blistering like hot tal against skin.
Wang Jun’s hamr slowed. He stared into the glowing blade, breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his temples.
He couldn’t forge himself into soone he wasn’t.
But perhaps he didn't need to.
Not every piece of iron was destined to beco a sword; so beca armor, steady and unyielding, strong enough to protect.
"If I can't match Kai on the battlefield," he whispered quietly to himself, "then I'll beco the one who forges the armor he wears into battle."
With renewed clarity, he returned to sharpening the blades of the Verdant Lotus disciples, knowing these weapons had defended their ho alongside Kai—and trusting they would continue to do so, forged by his hands.
He thought of Lan-Yin, his betrothed, who had once trained beside them, who had once stood in those sa morning lessons.
Now she rested, forced to be careful.
She worried for Kai just as he did. But her worries were not about Kai’s strength; she had never doubted that.
She feared his recklessness. His heroism.
But Wang Jun?
He didn’t want Kai to bear everything alone.
His hamr ca down in a final, ringing strike, the tal beneath it gleaming in the forge’s fire.
Just as he reached for the cooling tongs, a blue glow flickered at the edge of his vision.
A chi rang out.
Blacksmithing has reached level 10.
Your skill has reached the qualifications to evolve to the next stage, Flowing tal Arts.
Flowing tal Arts grants you two new abilities.
...
Wang Jun read the words once. Then again. A strange tightness curled in his chest; part disbelief, part sothing heavier. This wasn't strength born of talent. This was forged from every day he spent watching Kai’s back disappear into the distance.
And now, sothing—soone—had noticed.
Wang Jun stilled, his grip tightening around the hamr as his gaze flicked toward the translucent interface hovering in the air before him.
The forge flickered, and for a mont, Wang Jun could feel it, his qi resonating with the steel in his hands, stretching toward the half-forged blade as though recognizing it for the first ti.
The hamr in his grasp suddenly felt different. Lighter, sharper. More than just a tool, but an extension of his will.
He stared at it, caught between wonder and disbelief.
“Why’d you stop?”
The gruff voice jolted him from his trance. He turned to see Master Qiang frowning at him, brows furrowed in curiosity. “Sothing wrong with your tal?”
Wang Jun blinked, then let out a slow exhale. He glanced at his master, lips curving in sothing between amusent and quiet awe. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… evolved my Blacksmithing skill.”
For the first ti since he had started working under Master Qiang, he saw the old blacksmith drop his hamr. It landed with a solid clang on the anvil, rolling once before coming to a rest.
The elderly man gaped at him, then barked out a short, incredulous laugh. “Hah! Well, I’ll be damned.”
Master Qiang’s voice rolled over him, loud and proud, but Wang Jun barely heard it. The hamr in his hand felt like it belonged to soone else. Or maybe, for the first ti, it truly belonged to him.
Because he could feel it already.
A pull at his qi.
A quiet whisper within the steel.
A connection between him and the forge that hadn’t existed before.
Wang Jun turned back to his work.
Lan-Yin once said Kai carried too much. That one day, the weight would crush him. Maybe she was right. But Wang Jun would forge sothing that could bear that burden.
The blade before him pulsed faintly as he lifted his hamr again, his qi threading into the steel as he struck.
The weapon absorbed it. Held it. Beca stronger for it.
His smile deepened.
It felt as though the Interface had heard him.
His wish not to be left behind.
To beco a pillar.
Soone Kai could turn to, not soone left in the dust. He whispered quietly into the explosion of sparks, his focus unwavering.
"I may not be able to fight beside you, Kai. But when you look back... I swear I’ll be standing right here."
The forge glowed. The hamr rose.
And Wang Jun kept forging.
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