Yang Zhaoxing, in his old age, not only exhausts physical strength but also tempers willpower when opening the forge. He fears he might not be able to forge weapons again in the future.
With a hint of apology, Meng Chuan nodded, unsure of what to say, so he could only express his gratitude:
"Thank you, senior."
"Ah, no need for politeness. Quick, quick, quick! Nephew, don't just stand there, keep adding coal!"
Meng Chuan said no more and focused on adding coal into the furnace.
The furnace fire gradually intensified, causing the Thunder Pattern Steel to emit a dark red glow as the body of the Ying Zhao spear slowly twisted and melted.
Yang Zhaoxing closely watched the fire, frequently using long tongs to adjust the position to ensure even heating.
Something like molten iron flowed within the mold, bubbling along.
"It's done!"
Yang Zhaoxing suddenly shouted, lifting the red mold containing the spear embryo and immersing it in the nearby quenching pool.
