The Hammer and the Heart
The familiar, comforting walls of the orphanage faded behind Yao Xuan as he strode with purpose towards Mangtian Studio. The lingering warmth of Na'er's hand in his and the memory of her joyful smile at the amusement park fueled his steps. Today was not just his birthday; it was a day for milestones. After six months of relentless practice, of studying the dance of hammer and metal until his muscles ached and his mind was numb, he felt a quiet certainty settle in his soul. Today, he would challenge the Thousand Forging technique.
He found Mangtian in his usual spot, surrounded by the tools of his trade. Yao Xuan stated his intention without preamble, his voice calm but firm. Mangtian studied him for a long moment, his experienced eyes reading the determination in the set of Yao Xuan's jaw and the focus in his gaze. A slow, approving nod was his answer. The master blacksmith went to his warehouse and returned with a ingot of metal that gleamed with a soft, inner light even in the dim workshop.
Refined Gold.
It was a cube, each side about twenty centimeters long. Its beauty was deceptive; its extreme density made it weigh nearly two hundred kilograms. To Yao Xuan, it felt like lifting the weight of three grown men, but his 1,500 kilograms of strength made the task seem trivial.
"Since you're confident, why wait?" Mangtian's voice was a low rumble. "Begin immediately. I will observe. Also," he added, a note of purpose in his tone, "I have decided to have Wulin observe your forging process. Do you have any objections?"
"Of course, no problem," Yao Xuan replied, hefting the dense ingot. The presence of an audience, especially his junior, was not a distraction but a motivation.
"Good. Prepare yourself. I will fetch the boy."
As Mangtian left, Yao Xuan began his preparations. He opened the massive forging furnace, the roar of the flames a welcoming sound. He set the temperature to its maximum, a necessary ferocity to soften the stubborn Refined Gold. Using a large pair of tongs, he carefully placed the ingot into the heart of the inferno. The metal began to glow, first a dull cherry, then a brighter red, sizzling and protesting as the heat penetrated its incredibly hard structure. Only at these extreme temperatures would it become malleable enough to forge.
While he waited, Yao Xuan closed his eyes. He wasn't resting; he was reviewing every lesson, every failed attempt, every flicker of insight from the past half-year. He visualized the hammer strokes, the flow of soul power, and most importantly, the elusive "Mental Forging"—the spiritual connection Mangtian had described. Piece by piece, his confidence solidified into an unshakable pillar.
Twenty-five minutes later, Mangtian returned with a wide-eyed Tang Wulin in tow. The refined gold in the furnace was now a dark, pulsating red, radiating an intense heat that warped the air around it.
"Almost there," Yao Xuan murmured, more to himself than anyone.
After five more minutes, he judged the temperature perfect. With a smooth, powerful motion, he used the tongs to extract the glowing ingot, placing it squarely on the anvil with a solid thud. He then picked up his Thousand Forged Tungsten Steel hammers—gifts from Mangtian on his seventh birthday. At 150 kilograms each, they had once been a perfect challenge. Now, they felt like extensions of his own arms.
He blocked out everything: Mangtian's watchful gaze, Tang Wulin's awestruck expression, the very world outside the anvil. His entire universe narrowed to the glowing metal before him. He raised his right hammer high and brought it down in a gentle, almost delicate tap on the Refined Gold.
CLANG!
The sound was clean and resonant, a single, pure note that hung in the heated air. It was a trial strike, a way to listen to the metal, to understand its current state and its hidden song.
Watching Yao Xuan's absolute focus and the effortless skill in that first, testing strike, Mangtian felt a surge of pride. This boy understood that forging was not brute force; it was a conversation.
Beside him, Tang Wulin watched, utterly captivated. His own soul power had reached the eighth level, and he could perform Hundred Refining on nine different metals. The Thousand Refining technique was the dazzling peak he aspired to climb, and seeing his "Brother Xuan" attempt it filled him with a fierce, burning admiration.
Then, the true forging began.
Yao Xuan's arms became a blur. He raised both hammers and brought them down in a rapid, rhythmic cascade upon the Refined Gold.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The workshop filled with a harmonious, percussive symphony. In less than three minutes, a hundred blows had fallen. The Refined Gold had visibly compacted, shrinking by a tenth of its volume, its surface smoother, its impurities beaten out and expelled in showers of brilliant sparks.
Mangtian nodded silently, a faint smile touching his lips. The Hundred Refining was flawless. Even if Yao Xuan failed the next step, his mastery was undeniable, and success was only a matter of time.
But Yao Xuan was far from done. His calm composure did not break. He entered a profound state of concentration, a trance where his soul seemed to merge with his task. Without conscious effort, a wisp of his spiritual power, now honed to the Spiritual Connection realm, seeped into the glowing metal.
And then, he felt it.
He could sense the intricate, hidden grain of the Refined Gold, the latent potential sleeping within its atomic structure. It was no longer just an object; it was a partner, waiting to be awakened. His hammers continued to fall, but now each strike was different. They landed on specific points with a peculiar, evolving rhythm, no longer just beating the metal but guiding it, persuading it. The clanging sounds transformed, becoming less like noise and more like the notes of a unique, powerful melody—the song of creation.
'That's it! That's the feeling!' Mangtian's heart hammered in his chest. He pressed his lips together tightly, afraid to make even the slightest sound that might break Yao Xuan's perfect concentration. His experienced soul trembled with recognition. This was it—the true essence of Thousand Forging!
This indescribable moment of connection eluded ninety-nine percent of blacksmiths for their entire lives. It was the flash of inspiration that separated a journeyman from a master. And Yao Xuan, at eight years old, had found it.
Mangtian's mind raced. The current record for the youngest to achieve Thousand Forging, held by an eighth-level Saint Craftsman, was eleven years, three months, and two days. If Yao Xuan succeeded today, he would shatter that record by more than three years. The boy standing at the anvil, bathed in the light of the forge and the music of his own making, was not just a prodigy. He was a legend in the making.