HNYWEF -Chapter 81 Returning the Knife

Fifth day of the tenth month, Zhenguan Year Two.

Before dawn had fully broken, Zhou Yi was already awake.

He lay on the kang bed with his eyes open, staring at the roof beams overhead. Birds were chirping outside, lively and cheerful.

There was no movement from his father’s side. He couldn’t tell whether he was awake or not.

The broken knife was still resting on the rack — split cleanly into two pieces, the fracture pale and glaring.

Yesterday, his father had told him to return the knife himself and say those two sentences.

He couldn’t sleep.

He repeated those words over and over in his mind more than a dozen times—

“The last knife was made by me. This one was made by my father. You can use it without worry.”

Every repetition made his palms sweat.

Every repetition made his heartbeat faster.

He didn’t even know what he was afraid of.

Shopkeeper Sun wasn’t a tiger. He wasn’t going to eat him alive.

But he was still afraid.

Afraid the shopkeeper would scold him.

Afraid he’d point at his nose and say, “You call this craftsmanship?”

Afraid he’d throw the knife onto the ground and say, “I don’t want it anymore.”

Lying there on the kang, imagining all the possible things that could happen, Zhou Yi became more and more unable to sleep.

Outside, the sky gradually brightened.

He heard his father getting up — soft rustling sounds, light footsteps, as though trying not to wake him.

Zhou Yi closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

From the outer room came the sounds of starting the fire, the furnace door opening and closing, a hammer being picked up and set back down.

Zhou Yi lay there a little longer.

Then he climbed up, dressed himself, and walked into the outer room.

Zhou Xiong was squatting in front of the furnace, feeding firewood into it. Flames surged upward, flickering across his face, bright one moment and dim the next.

He didn’t turn around, but he knew Zhou Yi had come out.

“Eat before you go.”

Just four words.

Zhou Yi answered quietly and went to the kitchen to grab a steamed bun. He squatted by the doorway and ate it.

Zhou Xiong never spoke again.

After Zhou Yi finished eating, Zhou Xiong stood up, walked to the rack, and took down the new knife.

It was wrapped tightly in cloth.

Zhou Yi accepted it.

It was a little heavy.

Holding the knife in his arms, he stood there and looked at his father.

Zhou Xiong looked back at him.

For two breaths.

“Go on.”

Zhou Yi nodded.

He turned and headed outside.

When he reached the doorway, he stopped and looked back once.

His father was already standing at the long workbench with his back toward him, hammering iron again.

Clang.

Zhou Yi withdrew his gaze, hugged the knife to his chest, pushed open the door, and headed toward the Eastern Market.

He walked slowly.

Not because he wanted to — his legs were just a little weak.

He repeated those two sentences in his head again and again. After that, he started imagining what the shopkeeper might say. Then he thought about how he should answer.

His mind was a complete mess, like a pot of porridge boiling over.

The Eastern Market wasn’t far away.

After crossing two streets and turning a corner, he saw the banner of the restaurant.

Zhou Yi stood across the street and stared at it.

For quite a while.

Then he took a deep breath, hugged the knife, and walked over.

A waiter standing at the entrance stretched out an arm to stop him.

“Hey, kid, who are you looking for?”

“Shopkeeper Sun.”

The waiter sized him up from head to toe. Plain clothes, carrying a wrapped bundle, and it wasn’t even mealtime yet.

“And you are?”

“From the Zhou family smithy. I’m here to deliver a knife.”

The waiter froze for a moment, then nodded.

“Wait here. I’ll go report it.”

He ran inside.

Zhou Yi followed him in. The sun shone warmly against his back, yet he still felt cold.

After a while, Shopkeeper Sun came out.

He looked the same as before — belly protruding, expression none too pleasant. When he saw Zhou Yi, he paused and glanced behind him.

“Where’s Blacksmith Zhou?”

“My father didn’t come.”

Shopkeeper Sun frowned.

“Then where’s the knife?”

Zhou Yi opened the cloth bundle, revealing the new knife.

Under the sunlight, the blade gleamed.

The edge had been sharpened perfectly straight, and the blade carried a faint bluish tint unlike ordinary kitchen knives. Looking carefully, one could see two layered patterns running along the blade, as though two different kinds of iron had been forged together.

Shopkeeper Sun glanced at it without speaking.

He took the knife, turned it over several times in his hands, ran a finger along the edge, then weighed it thoughtfully.

Standing there, Zhou Yi’s palms began sweating again.

He waited for Shopkeeper Sun to speak.

Waited for him to ask, “Why didn’t your father come?”

Waited for him to ask, “Did you make this knife?”

Waited for the chance to say those two prepared sentences.

But Shopkeeper Sun asked nothing.

After examining the knife, he turned toward the doorway leading to the back kitchen.

Then he spoke.

“Old Liu, stop prepping vegetables and come out.”

Zhou Yi blinked in surprise.

Right. It was a kitchen knife. Of course the cook should inspect it.

Shopkeeper Sun added,

“That smithy sent someone over to compensate for the knife. Come take a look.”

A burly man wearing an apron walked out — the restaurant’s chef.

He reached out and took the knife. After one glance, he froze.

Turning the blade over, he pointed at the layered patterns.

“This is sanmai steel, isn’t it?”

Zhou Yi paused.

He didn’t know what “sanmai steel” was, but his father really had forged it that way.

So he nodded.

Shopkeeper Sun smiled.

A very faint smile.

“I’ve seen blacksmiths who know how to forge,” he said, “but I’ve never seen one willing to forge a kitchen knife for you like this. The cost of making this thing can’t be low, can it?”

Zhou Yi didn’t know what to say.

He just stood there, looking at Shopkeeper Sun.

The cook spoke up.
“Shopkeeper, this knife is flawless.”

Shopkeeper Sun nodded.

“From now on, we’ll go with his family.”

The cook picked up the knife again and turned it over in his hands, examining it from every angle. After a moment, he suddenly said:

“This attitude of admitting mistakes—no wonder he can make money.”

Shopkeeper Sun told him to put the knife away, then nodded toward Zhou Yi.

“Go back and tell your father I’ve accepted this knife. From now on, whenever the shop needs blades, we’ll come to him.”

Zhou Yi stood there, his mind still not catching up.

The words he had prepared all the way there—none of them came out.

Not a single sentence. Not even: “The last one was made by me, this one was made by my father.”

Not a word.

Shopkeeper Sun didn’t scold him either.

He just looked at the knife, said a few words, and that was it.

Zhou Yi stood frozen for a long time.

Seeing his expression, Shopkeeper Sun suddenly smiled.

“What, still waiting for me to reward you with money?”

Zhou Yi snapped back to reality and quickly shook his head.

“No, no. I’m leaving.”

He turned and ran.

After only a couple of steps, he stopped again.

He looked back at Shopkeeper Sun.

“Shopkeeper, the last knife—it was made by me.”

Shopkeeper Sun paused slightly.

Zhou Yi continued, “I wasn’t careful during the quenching process. That’s why it broke. This one my father made—you can use it without worry. It won’t break.”

With that, he turned and ran again.

This time, he really ran.

Shopkeeper Sun stood at the doorway, watching the figure disappear into the distance.

He watched for a long moment.

Then he suddenly chuckled.

“This kid…”

Even Zhou Yi himself didn’t know how those words had come out of his mouth.

He had rehearsed the two sentences all the way there—but in the end, he added a third one: “I wasn’t careful during the quenching process.”

He added it himself.

He didn’t know why.

He just felt it should be said.

He stood there for a while, waiting for his heartbeat to slow, then started walking back.

After a few steps, he suddenly remembered—

He had said the two lines his father told him to say.

And he had added one more.

Would his father scold him?

He thought about it.

Probably not.

So he kept walking.

Before long, he reached the entrance of the tavern.

Then he suddenly heard something behind him.

Not someone calling his name.

Something else.

He couldn’t describe it.

He just suddenly felt like turning back.

So he did.

At the entrance of the tavern, a carriage had stopped. A few people stood beside it—adults and children. The adults were talking; the children waited nearby.

One of the children stood slightly apart.

A girl.

A few years younger than him. She wore a pale blue dress, her hair neatly tied. She stood there quietly, not saying a word.

The other children nearby were laughing and playing, but she just stood still.

Sunlight fell on her.

Then she turned her head.

And looked in his direction.

Zhou Yi froze.

Those were very calm eyes.

Not the kind of eyes a child usually had.

There was something inside them—something he couldn’t understand, couldn’t name.

He only felt that once those eyes looked at him, his whole body froze.

He couldn’t move.

She looked at him too.

No smile.

No words.

Just looking.

The sounds of the street—people walking, carts passing, voices calling—suddenly seemed to fade away, as if separated by something invisible.

Zhou Yi didn’t know how long he stood there.

He only knew that those eyes were looking at him, and something inside his chest stirred.

Very lightly.

Like wind brushing across the surface of water.

Then someone by the carriage called out.

The girl withdrew her gaze and boarded the carriage with the others.

The curtain was lowered.

The carriage started moving, slowly rolling forward, turning the corner of the street, and disappearing.

Zhou Yi stood there, unmoving.

He stared at the corner where it vanished.

For a long time.

People passed by him on the street. Someone bumped into him, but he didn’t react.

He just stood there, his mind completely blank.

Only those eyes remained.

And one question he couldn’t quite form clearly:

Who was she?

A cold early winter wind blew through the street.

He stood there for a very long time.

Long enough that he no longer knew how long it had been.

Then he turned around and walked home.

Slower than when he came.

Step by step, as if stepping on something invisible.

That indescribable feeling in his chest was still moving.

He lowered his head and looked at his own toes as he walked.