HNYWEF -Chapter 48 An Invitation from a Warrior

By the time Cheng Yaojin arrived, the sun had already begun to sink westward.

Dry fallen leaves scattered across the ground, pushed forward by the wind. They rolled a few times, stopped, then rolled again.

He walked quickly, taking large strides. His boots struck the stone pavement with heavy thuds.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

All the way down the alley.

The door to the Zhou family forge stood open.

He stopped at the entrance without going in immediately.

And glanced inside.

Zhou Yi stood before the long workbench, hammer in hand, striking a piece of iron.

The child worked seriously, one strike after another, his rhythm steady.

The iron on the anvil had already begun taking shape. Sparks flew out and scattered across the ground, dying almost instantly.

Zhou Xiong sat on a stool nearby, watching.

Just watching.

There was no expression on his face.

Cheng Yaojin watched for a while.

Then he lifted a foot and stepped over the threshold.

“Bear Blind.”

Zhou Xiong raised his head and looked at him.

Cheng Yaojin dropped heavily onto a nearby stool. The stool creaked and wobbled before steadying itself.

Leaning back comfortably, he stretched his legs forward, lounging bonelessly.

He pulled something from his robe and stuffed it into Zhou Xiong’s hand.

Zhou Xiong lowered his eyes and glanced at it.

A hu bing.

Still warm, wrapped in oiled paper. Even through the paper, the heat could be felt.

“Bought it on the way. Eat it while it’s hot.”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He placed the flatbread on the stool beside him without touching it.

Cheng Yaojin did not mind.

He turned his head and watched Zhou Yi forging iron.

The child’s hammer rose and fell steadily. Sweat had appeared on his forehead, droplets running down his face and dripping onto his shoulders.

But he neither wiped it away nor stopped.

He simply kept hammering.

Cheng Yaojin watched for a while.

Then he spoke.

“Tomorrow’s Mid-Autumn Festival. There’s going to be a poetry gathering.”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Just for a moment.

Cheng Yaojin caught it.

So he immediately added, “You definitely wouldn’t be interested.”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes opened again.

As though he had already prepared to say something—words reaching the edge of his mouth—only to swallow them back down.

Cheng Yaojin did not notice.

Leaning against the stool, he stared up at the roof beams.

“I’m not interested either,” he said. “Those sour scholars gathering together to compose poems and match couplets—what’s the point? Every one of them swaying their heads around. They recite two lines of poetry and still need half a day to think about it. Drives people crazy. Instead of wasting time on that, better to head to the training grounds and loosen up the muscles.”

He turned and looked at Zhou Xiong.

“Want to head to the training grounds tomorrow for some fun?”

Zhou Xiong did not answer.

He sat there motionless, eyes fixed ahead, no one knew looking at what.

After two breaths passed—

He turned his head toward Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi still stood at the workbench, hammer rising and falling.

But the child’s back stiffened slightly.

His movements slowed for half a beat. When the hammer came down, it landed a little off-center, sending more sparks flying than before.

He did not look up.

But he knew his father was watching him.

Zhou Xiong looked at that small back.

For three breaths.

Then he withdrew his gaze.

He looked at Cheng Yaojin.

“Another day.”

Two words.

Hoarse. Flat.

Cheng Yaojin froze for a moment.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, then at Zhou Yi, then back at Zhou Xiong.

Then he nodded.

“Alright.”

He asked no more questions.

Nor did he try to persuade him further.

Just that one word.

He stood up.

The stool creaked again.

Walking over to the workbench, he stopped beside Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi’s hand paused briefly before he raised his head to look at him.

Cheng Yaojin reached out and rubbed the child’s head. His large hand messed up the boy’s hair completely.

“Keep practicing well, kid.”

Zhou Yi looked at him silently.

Cheng Yaojin winked at him.

Then he turned and started back toward the door.

When he reached the entrance, he stopped.

Standing there, he turned around and looked at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong still sat on the stool in the same posture as before.

Light streamed in from the doorway, illuminating half his face and half his body. The other half remained hidden in shadow, impossible to see clearly.

Cheng Yaojin looked at him.

For two breaths.

Then he walked back.

Stopping before Zhou Xiong, he bent slightly and patted him on the shoulder.

Three times.

Not too hard. Not too light.

“Then another day it is.”

That was all he said.

Then he straightened up, turned, and walked out.

This time he did not look back again.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

Growing lighter and lighter until they disappeared completely.

The alley fell quiet once more.

Wind poured in through the doorway, blowing the iron filings on the ground so they rolled a few times.

A bird chirped outside.

Two calls, then silence.

Then two more.

Zhou Xiong sat on the stool, staring at the doorway.

For a very long time.

The doorway stood empty. Nothing there at all. Light spilled in through it, casting a neat square upon the ground.

He sat there for a long while.

Then he turned his head and looked toward Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi stood at the workbench, gripping the hammer tightly, not daring to move.

The child kept his head lowered, staring at the iron on the anvil. His shoulders were tense. His back was tense. His entire body was tense.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He simply watched him.

Three breaths.

Five breaths.

Zhou Yi’s hand trembled slightly.

Zhou Xiong saw it.

He stood up.

The stool scraped softly against the brick floor.

He walked to the workbench and stopped beside Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi did not raise his head.

Zhou Xiong reached out and grasped the hand holding the hammer.

The child’s hand was cool and trembling faintly.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Holding that hand, he guided it upward—

Then brought it down.

Clang.

One hammer strike.

Zhou Yi froze for a moment.

Zhou Xiong released his hand.

Standing there, he lowered his head and looked at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi looked up at him.

Their eyes met.

Then Zhou Xiong spoke.

“Keep the strength even.”

His voice remained as hoarse as ever.

Then he turned around, walked back to the stool, and sat down.

Zhou Yi stood there, staring at the hammer in his hand.

For a very long time.

Then he took a deep breath.

And continued forging.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

One strike after another.

Steadier than before.