"Thank you, Mom. I'll be on my way!" With a confident wave to Lin Ximeng, Yao Xuan left the familiar gates of Red Mountain Academy and set off towards Mangtian Studio, his steps quick with purpose.
Aolai City was compact, and the journey to the studio in the city center was a short one. Twenty minutes of walking through bustling streets brought him to his destination. The studio was nestled between a grocer and a tailor, its facade unassuming and weathered by time. Above the door hung a metal sign, its black paint faded at the edges, bearing the bold, gilded characters: "Mangtian Studio." Even from the street, the air felt different—a wave of dry heat carrying the distinct, sharp scent of coal fire, hot metal, and ozone. From within came a rhythmic, percussive cadence: Clang. Ding-dong. Clang. It was the sound of creation under duress.
Taking a steadying breath, Yao Xuan pressed the doorbell. The sound was swallowed by the noise from inside. A moment later, the door was opened by a brawny man in his twenties, his arms corded with the dense muscle of a physical laborer. Despite his intimidating physique, his expression was calm.
"Hello there, little friend. I'm Brother Long. Welcome to Mangtian Studio. What can I do for you?" His voice was a pleasant surprise—deep, but gentle and patient.
Yao Xuan offered a respectful slight bow. "Brother Long, my name is Yao Xuan. I'm here to undergo an assessment by Master Mangtian."
Recognition dawned in Brother Long's eyes. "Ah, Yao Xuan. Of course. Please, come in." He stepped aside, and a much thicker wave of heat rolled out to greet them. "The master is in the middle of a piece. He'll see you as soon as he's finished."
The interior of the studio was a world unto itself. The air shimmered with the heat rising from a massive central furnace. The walls were lined with tools of mysterious purpose, and the floors and workbenches were a organized chaos of metal ingots, half-finished components, and curious mechanical parts. The light came from glowing soul-guided lamps, reflecting off polished steel and casting long, dancing shadows.
"Hey, Brother Xuan! What are you doing here?"
A familiar voice cut through the ambient noise. In a corner of the waiting area, perched on a stool, was Tang Wulin. His eyes widened in genuine surprise and delight.
Yao Xuan turned, allowing a look of pleased astonishment to cross his face. "Wulin? What a coincidence! Are you here to learn forging too?" He walked over, the picture of a happy classmate.
"Wulin, is this the Yao Xuan you told us about? The one who stood up for you in class?" whispered a woman sitting beside Tang Wulin. She had a kind, weary face, her hands clasped in her lap. This was Lang Yue, Tang Wulin's mother. Next to her sat a man with a quiet, sturdy presence—Tang Ziran, his father.
"Yes, Mom, it's him!" Tang Wulin nodded eagerly, his joy plain. "I can't believe he's here too! It must be fate!"
By now, Yao Xuan had reached them. He bowed politely to the adults. "Hello, Uncle, Auntie. I'm Yao Xuan, a classmate of Wulin's. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Lang Yue's face softened into a warm, maternal smile. She reached out and gently patted his arm. "What a polite young man. Wulin has told us how you helped him. Thank you for being such a good friend to our boy."
"Indeed," Tang Ziran added, his voice a low, earnest rumble. "We are in your debt. Thank you for looking out for him."
Yao Xuan waved a hand dismissively, a modest smile on his face. "Please, there's no need for thanks. The moment I met Wulin, I felt we were meant to be brothers. If he ever needs help in the future, I'll be there. And meeting him here today just proves it." His words were calculated, designed to reinforce his image as a benevolent protector, but the warmth in his tone felt real enough to be convincing.
Lang Yue's eyes grew moist with gratitude. "You're a good boy," she repeated, her voice thick with emotion.
After the pleasantries, Yao Xuan took a seat next to Tang Wulin. Soon, the younger boy was asking him another question about the nuances of the Five Hearts Towards Heaven technique. Yao Xuan answered with meticulous patience, explaining the flow of soul power in a way that made Tang Wulin's eyes light up with understanding.
The point was a quiet affirmation. Across from them, Tang Ziran and Lang Yue watched the interaction, their expressions filled with relief and deep appreciation for this kind and capable friend their son had found.
About ten minutes later, a heavy door at the back of the studio swung open with a groan. A tall, broad-shouldered man emerged. His skin was darkened by soot and forge heat, and a thick, unkempt beard covered the lower half of his face, giving him a formidable appearance. His voice, when he spoke, was a deep bass that vibrated in the chest.
"Sister-in-law, you're here." His gaze swept over the group, landing briefly on Lang Yue.
"Uncle Mangtian, good afternoon!" Tang Wulin greeted immediately, his voice a mix of respect and nervousness.
The man, Mang Tian, merely gave a curt nod in return. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "Brother Ziran, sister-in-law, you can head off. Come back for him in two hours."
This was Yao Xuan's cue. He stood and bowed again, his posture perfectly respectful. "Master Mangtian, I am Yao Xuan. I am here to undergo your assessment."
Mang Tian's scrutinizing gaze shifted to Yao Xuan. He looked him up and down for a moment that seemed to stretch. "Yao Xuan. Hmph. Alright, you and Wulin, come with me." Without another word, he turned and strode back towards the inner room.
"Thank you for your trouble, Brother Mangtian!" Lang Yue called after him. She gave Tang Wulin one last, encouraging look. "Listen to the master, Wulin! We'll be back soon." With that, she and Tang Ziran departed, leaving the two boys to their fate.
Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin followed Mang Tian down a short corridor lined with storage racks, entering a different kind of room. It was a practice forge. Several heavy metal workbenches stood in the center, their surfaces scarred from countless impacts. To the two six-year-olds, they were dauntingly tall, reaching almost to their chins. Without a word, Mang Tian walked over to two of them and pressed a sequence of buttons. With a quiet hydraulic hiss, the tables descended to a more manageable height.
Mang Tian turned to face them, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence filled the room. "Yao Xuan. Tang Wulin." His voice was low and serious. "Do you know what forging is?"
Both boys shook their heads, their expressions a mirror of blank innocence.
"I didn't think so," Mang Tian grunted. "At your age, you're too young. Your bodies aren't ready for this kind of strain. Normally, I wouldn't waste my time." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "But since you're both here, and you seem to have some backing, I'll give you a chance. A single chance."
He gestured to the workbenches. On soul-guided screens beside each one, a large, bright red number zero glowed against a dark background.
"This is where you begin," Mang Tian said, his voice echoing in the hot, silent room. "Or where you end. Let's see what you're made of."