HNYWEF -Chapter 40 Out of Step

Twenty-First Day of the Sixth Month, First Year of Zhenguan. Mid-Summer.

The sun was vicious.

The stone-paved streets were scorching hot, and even the air felt like it burned. There were barely any people in the alleyways; everyone was hiding indoors from the heat. Cicadas screamed themselves hoarse, their cries making people restless and irritable.

But the chill hanging over the imperial court could be felt even across several streets.

Feng Deyi was dead.

It had happened yesterday.

That old bastard had spent his whole life currying favor with both sides, and only after dying did everyone realize what a piece of work he really was. But now that he was dead, his position was vacant—and the court was about to become unstable again.

Cheng Yaojin came out of the imperial city and headed straight for the alley instead of returning to his manor.

The Zhou family smithy was open.

Zhou Xiong stood behind the long workbench, hammer rising and falling in his hand.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Sweat streamed down his neck, soaking a large patch across his back, but he neither wiped it away nor stopped working. The iron block flipped over and over on the anvil. Sparks burst into the air, fell to the ground, and quickly died out.

Cheng Yaojin stood at the doorway, panting twice before blurting out:

“Bear Blind, the sky’s about to change.”

Zhou Xiong’s hammer paused.

Just once.

Then it continued striking.

Cheng Yaojin waited a breath. Seeing no response, he added:

“Feng Deyi’s dead.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He flipped the iron over and kept hammering.

Clang.

Clang.

Cheng Yaojin wiped the sweat from his face. It smeared everywhere, so he used his sleeve to rub at it carelessly, all while staring fixedly at Zhou Xiong’s back.

“You’re not even going to ask?”

Still no answer.

Cheng Yaojin stepped closer and stood beside the workbench. He looked at Zhou Xiong’s profile.

There wasn’t a trace of expression on that face. Sweat slid down from his temples, dripping onto his shoulder and spreading into a dark patch.

Cheng Yaojin waited a while.

Then waited some more.

Clang.

Clang.

Zhou Xiong spoke first.

His voice was soft, almost drowned out by the sound of hammering.

But Cheng Yaojin still caught it.

He said two names.

“Xiao Yu. Changsun Wuji.”

Cheng Yaojin froze for a moment.

“Why are you bringing them up?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

He set the hammer down, picked up the iron with tongs, and held it before his eyes for inspection. Firelight flickered across his face, bright one moment and dark the next. Then he tossed the iron back into the furnace to heat again.

The fire crackled.

Cheng Yaojin leaned in another step.

“And how do you know Xiao Yu?”

No answer.

Zhou Xiong put down the tongs and picked up the hammer again.

Clang.

Cheng Yaojin stood there waiting.

Waiting for him to speak.

Waiting for him to say something.

Clang.

Clang.

The hammer fell again and again. Slowly, the iron changed shape. Sparks flew up, hit the ground, and vanished.

Cheng Yaojin simply stood there watching him forge.

Watching for a very long time.

Zhou Xiong never said another word.

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head.

“Will you say something already?”

Zhou Xiong ignored him.

Clang.

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head again. Suddenly, he felt that the room was strangely cold.

Outside, the sun blazed mercilessly, cicadas shrieking so loudly they grated on the nerves.

Yet inside this room, it felt chilly.

Not the comfortable kind of coolness either.

It was the sort that felt like something heavy was pressing down inside, making it hard to breathe.

He stared at the back of the blacksmith.

For a while.

Then he turned and walked out.

At the doorway, he stopped.

Without turning around, he said:

“I’m leaving.”

Clang.

Cheng Yaojin pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The sunlight stabbed painfully into his eyes. He narrowed them, standing there a moment to adjust.

The alley was still empty. The cicadas still screamed themselves hoarse.

He stood there thinking.

Xiao Yu. Changsun Wuji.

He knew Changsun Wuji. They had even met during the New Year celebrations.

But how did Zhou Xiong know Xiao Yu?

Zhou Xiong was just a blacksmith. He’d hidden out in the countryside for nine years and had only moved into the city half a year ago. How could he possibly know who Xiao Yu was?

Unless he had known him all along.

Unless he had always known.

Cheng Yaojin desperately hoped he had misheard.

Back in the days at Wagang, Zhou Xiong had often talked about things nobody else knew.

Not information he had gathered.

He simply knew them.

Whenever people asked how he knew, he wouldn’t answer.

If pressed too much, he’d just smile and say:

“Guesswork.”

Back then, nobody took it seriously.

But now?

Cheng Yaojin stood beneath the blazing sun, sweat streaming down his neck and soaking into his collar until everything felt damp and sticky.

Then suddenly, he froze.

Wait a second.

Why was I even talking to him about court politics?

He’s not an official…

Cheng Yaojin turned back to glance at the alley once more.

At the far end of the alley, the smithy doors remained open.

Inside, the hammering continued.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.