Chương 88: 87. My Tsundere Blacksmith’s Tool-Heart Only Beats for High-Tier Swords

The sect gradually becomes a construction site. The first pressure-cooker orders and meat contracts do not make us wealthy, but they produce enough regular income for Shen Qiao to approve the beginning of repairs. Hiring a large workforce from Greenstone would draw more attention than he is willing to accept, especially while our visible income remains modest, so most of the labor comes from within the sect. Ling'er provides the materials.

She brings down trees from the upper slopes, strips the bark, and cuts the trunks into perfect planks. Stone comes from the mine in the same way. Old Zhao marks which sections can be removed safely, and Ling'er separates the rock into blocks with edges cleaner than anything the miners could produce by hand. The disciples handle everything else. They carry lumber, move stone, strip damaged tiles, scrape rot from beams, and haul debris away from the living quarters.

Wei Chen treats each load like a body-refinement exercise and soon has the younger disciples competing over who can carry the most without damaging the materials. Mei Lin puts an end to that after one stack of roof tiles nearly becomes gravel. The contribution system records all of it. Construction support, material transport, tool maintenance, debris removal, and supervised repairs are added to the board.

The disciples earn points steadily through the work, and Ling'er's balance becomes something Shen Qiao no longer discusses in public. Before the repairs begin, the last of the raccoon defenses are removed. The chalk lanes disappear beneath brooms and fresh snow. The trip-bells come down from the storehouse approaches. Nets return to ordinary storage, while Jun's defense board is moved into the records room as a tactical case study rather than left hanging beside the kitchen.

Xiao Zei watches the dismantling from the storehouse roof. Since becoming the sect's guardian beast, it has driven away mice, smaller raccoons, and one fox that attempted to reach the drying racks. It has also learned that food appears reliably when it performs its patrols and that Ling'er can locate it regardless of where it hides. The old defenses are no longer necessary, leaving the courtyard clear enough for the repair teams to move through it. The roofs come first.

The library roof sags near the eastern wall, and water has been reaching the shelves during heavy rain. One corner of the servants' hall has been covered with a basin so long that nobody remembers when it was placed there. I refuse to leave those problems untouched while Frostheart's inheritance sits inside my storage ring. Shen Qiao refuses to let me repair everything at once.

"We now have income," I tell him, standing beneath a section of roof where daylight is visible through the tiles.

"This is what the income is for."

"We have the beginning of income," he replies.

"Three meat contracts and several pressure-cooker orders do not explain rebuilding half the mountain in one month."

"The repairs are overdue."

"I agree."

"Then we repair them."

"We repair the worst ones first and spread the rest over time." I dislike the answer because it is cautious, slow, and entirely correct. A few patched roofs can be explained through better mine output and new contracts. A completely rebuilt compound would raise the same questions we created the Finance Hall to avoid. The disciples' quarters are repaired first, followed by the library and the servants' hall. Work that cannot be seen easily from the mountain road receives priority.

Damaged support beams are reinforced from within. Rotten floorboards are replaced. Cracks along the inner walls are sealed before anyone considers improving the exterior. Ling'er's wood affinity makes the work easier than it has any right to be. She fits replacement beams into old frames without leaving gaps, straightens warped boards, and guides living fibers through weak joints until the wood settles into place.

Wei Zheng supervises closely, though after the third day his supervision consists mostly of checking her work and finding nothing to correct. The kitchen storehouse is upgraded before most of the other buildings. No one argues with that decision. The new storehouse extends farther beneath the kitchen and partway under the rear courtyard. Ling'er strengthens the surrounding earth and stone as the excavation continues, preventing the ceiling from shifting while the disciples remove loose soil and carry it outside.

I coat the finished inner surfaces with thick swathes of ice, sealing cracks and maintaining a stable cold long enough for Lian to install formations that can preserve it indefinitely. Wei Zheng designs the door with Ling'er's help. It is nearly two inches thick, reinforced with metal ribs, and fitted into a stone frame that leaves no space for claws or tools. The locking mechanism has three separate catches. The vents are narrowed and reinforced. Hanging racks keep meat away from the floor.

Better jars replace cracked containers and loose lids. Separate sections are marked for fresh meat, preserved cuts, bones, organs, seasonings, and goods meant for sale. When the work is finished, the cellar can hold more than five thousand pounds of meat without crowding the passages. It is the most secure room on the mountain. Before Old Chen is allowed to move the supplies inside, Xiao Zei is brought down for testing. The raccoon sits beside Ling'er while Lian explains the rules.

A small package of dried meat has been placed inside the storehouse. Xiao Zei is permitted to use any route it can find, but it cannot damage the food or leave the cellar carrying anything. Old Chen listens with growing displeasure.

"We built the room to keep it out," he says.

"Why are we inviting it in?"

"Because if Xiao Zei can enter, something else may be able to enter," Lian replies. Xiao Zei's ears lift at the sound of its name. Ling'er points toward the storehouse door. It circles the kitchen once, disappears beneath the rear steps, and returns less than half an hour later with dust across its back and the dried meat held between its paws. The opening is found behind one of the old drainage stones, where the new wall meets part of the original cellar foundation. Ling'er seals it.

Lian extends the detection formation through the joint and adds a warning pulse around the drainage channel. They test the storehouse again the next morning. Xiao Zei vanishes onto the roof. This time, it takes nearly an hour. Old Chen waits beside the metal door with his cleaver. When Xiao Zei finally appears inside the storehouse, it is sitting on one of the hanging racks with the dried meat pressed against its stomach. The second route runs through a vent no wider than my forearm.

Xiao Zei had distorted its presence, loosened part of the outer screen, and worked through the gap by shifting the frame one claw-width at a time. The third version of the security formation does not attempt to identify Xiao Zei directly. Instead, it monitors changes in pressure, airflow, weight, and qi along the walls and vents. Lian adds smaller detection nodes near every opening and links them to the door seal so that any disturbance produces an alert in the kitchen.

Xiao Zei receives a portion of meat after each successful breach. Old Chen watches Ling'er hand over the second reward with open disapproval.

"You are feeding it for breaking into the storehouse."

"It found weaknesses," Ling'er explains calmly. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"That's sending the wrong moral message!" Xiao Zei continues eating without any visible concern for the moral implications. While the storehouse is being tested, work on Wei Zheng's workshop continues near the edge of the rear courtyard. The old repair building had been little more than a roof over two benches, with enough gaps in the walls to make winter work unpleasant and summer rain dangerous.

I had assigned it to him as a temporary space, but temporary arrangements have a way of becoming permanent if nobody intervenes. Wei Zheng resists every improvement I suggest.

"I do not need another forge." He says this while examining plans for a larger furnace, reinforced storage, better ventilation, and a separate work area for delicate repairs. The workshop I commissioned is better than the one he maintained in Celestial Jade City, which he seems to regard as both unnecessary generosity and a personal accusation.

"You did not come here to become the sect's smith," I remind him.

"The workshop is primarily for Frostbite and whatever other projects you choose to accept. You are free to refuse work, and you may leave the mountain whenever you wish." Wei Zheng grunts without looking up from the plans.

"You will also receive a monthly stipend." That makes him look up. The amount is modest by cultivator standards, but a fortune compared to what most mortal craftsmen earn. Wei Zheng reads the figure twice, then places the paper down as though it has offended him.

"I have no need for this much."

"You agreed to live under the sect's protection while repairing the sword. Protection includes food, lodging, materials, and payment for your time." His mouth tightens, but he does not refuse again. Wei Zheng has many of the habits I would have called ' tsundere' in another life. His words insist that he wants nothing from anyone. His actions include spending half the night reinforcing a servant's broken shovel because he noticed the handle slipping during construction.

The laborers build the workshop under his supervision. Every joint receives criticism. Every beam is measured again after it has already been measured. Wei Chen and two younger disciples spend most of one morning fitting a support brace, only for Wei Zheng to strike it with a wooden mallet and tell them to start over. By the fourth day, the laborers have developed the habit of waiting for Wei Zheng's inspection before celebrating any finished work. Their irritation remains, but so does the quality of the building.

Ling'er works on the interior after the main structure is complete. Wei Zheng explains how heat should move through the forge, where smoke tends to gather, and how qi from refined materials can interfere with delicate work if the room does not allow it to disperse properly. Ling'er listens once. Then she adjusts the grain of the wooden vents, smooths the stone around the furnace, and reshapes the interior channels so that heat and smoke travel through the workshop without pooling.

The changes take less than an hour. He runs his fingers along the edge of one stone channel, then stands in the center of the workshop while the first test fire burns.

"Well?" I ask. He looks around again.

"It is acceptable." That is the first inspection during which he finds nothing to correct. Frostbite remains at the center of his work. A reinforced table is built specifically for the sword, surrounded by the tools, clamps, oils, and materials he has gathered since Celestial Jade City. The blade is now restored to roughly three-quarters of its former condition, but the progress that once came steadily has begun to slow. One evening, I find Wei Zheng sitting beside the worktable with Frostbite resting before him.

Several tools lie unused within reach. He has spent most of the day examining the same section near the guard. I move closer.

"What changed?"

"The easy damage is gone." There was nothing easy about repairing a Nascent Soul weapon after nine centuries of decay, but I let him continue.

"The outer fractures could be cleaned and reinforced. What remains is tied to how the weapon sealed itself." His Tool-Heart is still only partially awakened, but repeated contact with a spirit weapon of this quality has clearly deepened his understanding. Wei Zheng places two fingers against the flat of the blade.

"It built a house around itself," he says.

"Stone over stone, wall behind wall, until there were no doors left. I can remove part of it, but if I open the wrong place, the whole structure may collapse inward."

"Do you know what materials you need?"

"Some. Better cold-aligned metal. A binding medium." His fingers remain on the blade.

"Knowing the materials is not the same as knowing how to use them." He sounds irritated by the admission, though most of the frustration appears directed at himself.

"You have already restored more than anyone expected."

"That does not mean the rest should be left unfinished."

"No, but it means you should not destroy what you repaired because you are impatient." Wei Zheng looks at me. I return the look until he turns back toward Frostbite.

"I know." The words come reluctantly. That makes them more reassuring than confidence would have been. He wants to continue. It's as though the sword is a challenge placed directly before his pride, since Frostbite offers him work far beyond anything he could have attempted in Celestial Jade City. He also understands that wanting to proceed does not make proceeding safe. For now, he studies. He records what he senses, tests materials on damaged fragments, and stops whenever the sword begins reacting unpredictably.

But… his restraint does not solve the other problem. Wei Zheng is old. The cold journey back strained him more than he admits, and long hours in the workshop leave stiffness in his hands and shoulders. His fever passed, but the weakness beneath it did not disappear entirely. Cultivators can reinforce their bodies through qi. Wei Zheng has spent more than fifty years relying on ordinary strength and stubbornness, and neither can be restored by improving the workshop. I begin researching what can.

The library has a few texts on mortal health, though most cultivation manuals treat non-cultivators as an afterthought. I look for longevity tonics mild enough for a mortal body, medicinal foods, joint treatments, breathing exercises, and strengthening methods that do not require a spirit root. Anything too potent could harm him more than it helps, so progress is slow. Old Chen receives instructions to send meals to the workshop regularly.

Wei Zheng objects the first time a servant arrives with meat, vegetables, broth, and a small portion of pickled vegetables, but reluctantly accepts them as they become a daily routine. I cannot make him young again. I can make certain that the sect does not treat his remaining years as fuel to be burned through until the work is finished. As the workshop settles into use, Frostbite is no longer the only object placed on its tables. A servant helping Mei Lin tend to the garden brings a hoe with a loose head.

Wei Zheng replaces the joint, shortens the handle for her height, and adjusts the angle after watching how she holds it. Old Chen sends over a kitchen knife that has been sharpened into an uneven curve. Wei Zheng restores the edge and changes the grip so it will not twist during heavier cuts. One of Old Zhao's miners brings a pickaxe with one point broken. A younger disciple arrives with a cracked practice sword and enough embarrassment to suggest he expected to be blamed for it.

Wei Zheng complains about every interruption, but he repairs the items anyway. The gratitude is disproportionate to the work. Most of the servants have spent years making do with tools repaired by whoever had spare nails and enough confidence to use them. A properly fitted handle or reinforced edge feels luxurious by comparison. Their earlier irritation with Wei Zheng's constant criticism slowly turns into respect, especially once they realize that he remembers who uses each tool and alters the repair accordingly.

The disciples become more persistent. Wei Chen visits often enough that Wei Zheng begins keeping a second stool near the workbench, though he denies placing it there for anyone in particular. Their conversations usually begin with a question about swords and end with Wei Zheng criticizing Wei Chen's grip, posture, breathing, or understanding of metal. One afternoon, I pass the workshop and hear the crack of a wooden ruler against bone. Wei Chen is rubbing the back of his head.

He has been taking swordsmanship pointers from Wei Zheng.

"You said the weight should follow the strike," he protests.

"I said the weapon's balance should support the strike. You are dragging it through the motion like a farmer pulling a stubborn mule." Wei Chen adjusts his stance and tries again with an unfinished practice blade. The blacksmith watches the movement, frowns, then steps behind him and pushes one shoulder lower.

"Stop trying to overpower the weapon." Wei Chen repeats the swing. This time, Wei Zheng does not hit him. Once I notice it, I see it often. Wei Chen visits him the most out of any disciple. The blows to his head carry more exasperation than anger. When Wei Chen leaves the workshop, Wei Zheng watches his practice from the doorway before returning to his bench. He never says what the resemblance means to him.

Late at night, when the forge has cooled and the other tools have been put away, I see he sometimes opens the wooden box containing the White-Hilt Sword. He sits beside it with a cup in hand, drinking slowly without drawing the blade. Shen Qiao is finding his place through ledgers and contracts. Xiao Zei is learning the borders of its new territory. Wei Zheng has a workshop, difficult work, and a disciple who irritates him in familiar ways. Whether any of that brings him peace is not something I can decide for him.

For now, I let him reach it in his own time.