Amidst the rhythmic wheezing of the bellows, Old Black picked up the iron tongs beside his foot, delicately seizing the glowing red billet. The thousand-jin hammer rose, catching the air with a sudden whoosh of hurricane sound, descending like a meteor from the heavens to smash brutally onto the heated metal.

The instant the hammer met the anvil, a cascade of scorching sparks erupted, accompanied by a deafening clang of metal collision that echoed endlessly. The searing sparks flew without cease, resembling dazzling bursts of flame magic, and the overlapping sounds of the impact began to merge, taking on the resonance of rolling thunder.

Qian Jin watched from the side, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had never imagined that forging could be executed in such a manner. The old smith’s performance transcended mere blacksmithing; it was pure artistry! In the way he worked the metal, he had truly forged a new realm of mastery.

Upon that small worktable, the thousand-jin hammer was wielded with effortless grace, sweeping and falling with the imposing aura of a master calligrapher bringing forth a world-shaking masterpiece with brush and ink.

The old smith’s movements were not particularly fast, yet they possessed an almost unbelievable steadiness. The hammer fell thousands of times, but the height to which the old smith raised it remained, invariably, along the exact same horizontal line—as if measured by the most precise instruments. The hammer lifted high, then struck the anvil heavily; thousands of blows, yet not a single misstep occurred.

If the hammer were replaced with a greatsword, Qian Jin felt he might possess some confidence in keeping that blade level across ten chops. But he knew this was an iron hammer, weighing a thousand jin. He struggled even to drag it, let alone attain the level of execution the old smith was displaying.

Staring at the flying sparks, Qian Jin was utterly transfixed...

"Player Qian Jin has mastered Elementary Smelting." "Player Qian Jin has mastered Elementary Forging."

Amidst these two successive system notifications, the old smith brought down his final hammer blow. A length of sword blank lay quietly on the anvil, still radiating fierce heat. Old Black used the tongs to retrieve the blank from the anvil and, with a casual flick, tossed it into the water bucket. A sharp hiss followed, and a plume of white steam billowed up from the water...

Having completed the process, the old smith gently set down the hammer in his hand and relit his extinguished pipe.

“As my apprentice, the first thing you must learn is how to properly wield a hammer,” the old smith said, then bent down again, retrieving a hammer from beside the anvil and tossing it to Qian Jin. “Starting today, you will strike this hammer on the anvil one thousand times daily. You may leave only when you have finished. Only when I deem you capable of properly wielding a hammer will I teach you anything new.”

The hammer thrown by the old smith was still heavy, but not as ridiculously impossible as the thousand-jin one from before. The head he tossed over was noticeably smaller by several increments than the one used for the demonstration. Qian Jin lifted it, testing the weight. It felt like perhaps two or three hundred jin. While swinging it was still somewhat difficult, it was certainly not as terrifying as the previous massive hammer.

Holding the hammer, Qian Jin did not immediately rush to swing it. He closed his eyes, doing his utmost to recall the old smith’s movements when striking the metal, correcting his own impending errors through repeated visualization.

Black’s cloudy old eyes watched the motionless Qian Jin with dawning curiosity, wondering silently what he was doing, and why he hadn't started hammering yet.

Qian Jin simulated the movement nearly a hundred times in his meditation. He suddenly snapped his eyes open, a flash of self-assured light radiating from them as he raised the hammer high above his head and brought it crashing down onto the anvil.

Clang!

In the cramped room, the sound of the hammer’s heavy impact on the anvil reverberated. The scorching sparks sprayed outward in irregular bursts, like brilliant fireworks exploding in the deep night.

Black’s curious, clouded eyes suddenly blazed with an intensity never before seen. His right hand, which had held the thousand-jin hammer with unwavering stability, now trembled violently, as if he could barely keep hold of his light pipe.

Impressive! Black watched the second blow Qian Jin landed with delighted surprise. The height and descent speed of the first strike were identical to his own hammering motion.

However, that was not what astonished Black. The true essence of judging the forging practice was not merely the height or speed of the hammer, but the distinct metallic zing produced at the exact moment of impact on the anvil.

The sound Qian Jin produced on his first strike shared a three-tenths similarity to Black's own—a resonance that could not be achieved by mere coincidence, but only through deep observation and feeling.

One strike, two strikes, three strikes...

Qian Jin swung the hammer relentlessly, repeatedly pounding the anvil.

He was so focused that he lost track of time and forgot the fatigue setting in his body. He suddenly realized that forging was quite interesting.

The old smith seemed to pay his apprentice no mind, leaning back in his recliner, dozing off, the pipe at his lips flickering faintly amidst the sound of the hammering.

“Your Forging proficiency has increased. Strength +1.” “Your Forging proficiency has increased. Strength +1.” “Your Forging proficiency has increased. Strength +1.” ...

All Qian Jin heard was this monotonous sequence of system notifications.

Five hundred strikes... Qian Jin’s arm grew increasingly numb and sore. He finally activated the Warrior’s Third-Level Fighting Qi to supplement his effort, continuing the repetitive motion.

It wasn't until evening that Qian Jin finally completed the thousand strikes.

When everything finally ceased, Qian Jin felt that not just his right arm, but every muscle on the right side of his body was aching and screaming in protest. Raising his arm again felt utterly impossible.

As Qian Jin left, the old smith was still dozing, but he nodded briefly toward Qian Jin before closing his cloudy eyes again.

Task complete for today? Qian Jin dragged his exhausted, limp body out of the smithy, catching sight of the sky, which suddenly triggered a memory.

“Damn it! System Spirit, get out here!”

“How may I assist you?”

Qian Jin raised his left arm, pointing to the sky, and demanded, “Didn't you say I would automatically return to my original world after eight hours? Look what time it is now. Eight hours—I think it’s been closer to sixteen!”

“I neglected to inform you that the time ratio within the game is one-to-two; meaning eight hours of real time equals sixteen hours of game time. However, you are correct; you have indeed been in the game for nearly sixteen hours. Rest assured, you will be returned to the real world shortly.”

ps: This is the debut period for a new book, and regular readers of Qidian are well aware of the situation. The three slogans authors look forward to most are universally known. Although we considered avoiding the clichés before starting, which is why we didn't jump on the popular current of 'transmigration,' opting instead to write about a native inhabitant of this other world—we still have three necessary rituals to perform: send recommendation votes, click for membership status, and add it to your collection! Ah, those happen to be the three most cliché slogans imaginable. I wonder if that counts as... triple cliché? I hear that the esteemed government bodies frown upon 'three clichés.' By charging ahead like this, I wonder if I risk being censored?