In the fourth year of Zhenguan, the first day of the tenth month.
The blacksmith shop’s doors were open.
The furnace burned fiercely. Sparks flew up and landed on the ground, extinguishing almost instantly. The steady rhythm of hammering came from inside.
“Clang.”
“Clang.”
“Clang.”
Zhou Xiong stood at the long workbench as always, the hammer rising and falling in his hand.
Zhou Hong squatted at the doorway, idly drawing lines on the ground with a stick.
It was a habit he had picked up from Zhou Yi—when his hands were empty, he always needed to hold something.
As he drew, he suddenly looked up.
Three men were walking in from the end of the alley.
He recognized the one in front—dark robes, steady steps, a faint smile on his face.
He also recognized the two behind him—one tall and sturdy, the other calm and composed.
Zhou Hong froze for a moment, then quickly threw the stick aside and stood up to salute.
“This commoner greets—”
Emperor Taizong of Tang had already reached him.
He raised a hand.
“No need.”
Zhou Hong’s bow froze halfway.
The emperor didn’t even look at him. He stepped over the threshold and walked into the shop.
Qin Qiong and Cheng Yaojin followed but stopped at the entrance, not stepping inside.
Zhou Xiong’s hammer did not stop.
“Clang.”
“Clang.”
The emperor walked up beside him and stopped.
He looked at the back of the man forging iron.
He watched for a moment.
Then he spoke.
“Zhou Xiong.”
No response.
The hammer continued to fall.
The emperor waited a breath, then called again.
“Zhou Xiong.”
The hammer stopped.
Zhou Xiong set it down slowly and turned around.
He looked at the emperor.
His face held no expression.
But his eyes—
Cheng Yaojin, standing at the doorway, glanced over and felt his heart tighten.
Not anger.
Not emptiness.
Something else.
Something he couldn’t name.
Like fog—but not fog that simply dispersed. Something churning inside it, twisting everything into chaos.
He thought of one word.
Chaos.
Qin Qiong saw it too. His brows furrowed slightly.
The emperor did not notice.
He looked at Zhou Xiong and spoke.
“I came today to discuss something with you.”
No reply.
“I assume you already know about it,” the emperor continued.
Still silence.
After a moment, he went on.
“I’ve thought about it. You like forging iron, and I won’t stop you. But—”
He glanced around the shop.
“This place is not suitable.”
Zhou Xiong’s eyes moved slightly.
Just once.
The emperor continued.
“The Ministry of Works has a vacancy for a deputy director. You would still be forging iron—just weapons and armor instead of farm tools. You’d have assistants, people to take orders from you. You wouldn’t have to stand here in public, nor give the censors anything to criticize.”
He finished speaking.
And waited.
Waited for a response.
Waited for agreement.
Waited for a “yes.”
Zhou Xiong looked at him.
He looked for three breaths.
Then he moved.
Not to speak.
But to step forward.
And kicked the emperor in the chest.
The emperor staggered back two steps and hit the doorframe with a dull grunt.
Cheng Yaojin froze.
Qin Qiong let out a long sigh.
Zhou Hong stood frozen, the stick slipping from his hand.
The emperor steadied himself on the frame and looked up.
Zhou Xiong was still looking at him.
Those eyes—
Chaos.
A complete chaos.
Impossible to see what lay inside.
But something could still be felt.
Something that had been buried for fourteen years.
Something unspeakable.
Something even he himself could not untangle.
The emperor stood there, a faint pain spreading from where he had been kicked.
Not from the force—but from something else entirely.
He could not find any explanation for that kick.
His face flushed red. Veins bulged on his neck.
Cheng Yaojin looked between them, still not understanding what had just happened.
Qin Qiong did not move either.
He had seen those eyes.
He knew what they meant.
Not hatred.
Something far more troublesome than hatred.
It was disorder.
Everything had collapsed into disorder.
The emperor straightened himself, still holding the doorframe.
He looked at Zhou Xiong.
A nameless rage surged to his head.
Zhou Xiong looked back.
Silence.
No one spoke.
The shop was utterly quiet.
Only the faint crackling of the furnace could be heard.
Suddenly, the emperor spoke.
“Guards!”
Cheng Yaojin hesitated.
“Your Majesty?”
The emperor didn’t look at him.
He kept his eyes on Zhou Xiong.
“Seal the Zhou family blacksmith shop!”
Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth.
Qin Qiong stepped forward.
“Your Majesty—”
He ignored them both.
Still looking at Zhou Xiong.
Zhou Xiong’s eyes shifted slightly.
But the emperor did not see it.
He had already turned and walked out.
At the doorway, he stopped.
Without turning back, he said:
“From today onward, you are not allowed to come here again!”
Then he strode away.
Cheng Yaojin stood frozen, looking after the departing figure, then back at Zhou Xiong.
Zhou Xiong stood motionless at the workbench.
Qin Qiong walked over and stood in front of him.
He studied those eyes for a long time.
Then he spoke.
“Bear.”
No reaction.
He waited a breath.
“Bear.”
Zhou Xiong’s eyes moved slightly.
Just once.
He looked at Qin Qiong.
Qin Qiong looked back.
They held each other’s gaze.
Finally, Qin Qiong shook his head and sighed.
He said nothing more.
Turned around and walked out.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“Zhi Jie, let’s go.”
Cheng Yaojin hesitated.
He looked at Qin Qiong, then at Zhou Xiong.
Zhou Xiong was still standing there, unmoving.
Cheng Yaojin scratched his head and cursed under his breath—no one knew who it was aimed at.
Then he followed Qin Qiong out.
Their footsteps faded away.
The shop fell silent.
Zhou Hong stood at the doorway, his body stiff.
He looked at Zhou Xiong.
Zhou Xiong stood at the long workbench, his back to him.
Unmoving.
The furnace still burned.
Crackling softly.
Zhou Hong opened his mouth.
“Brother…”
No response.
Zhou Xiong did not move.
Did not speak.
Just stood there.
Zhou Hong remained frozen in place, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do.
So he just stood there.
Looking at that back.
For a very long time.
Inside the shop, it was dim.
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