The forge was louder than usual.
Not with noise, but with life.
Xi Chen stood under the low beams, sleeves rolled up, sweat trickling down his spine. His hammer rang steady against the anvil, striking a rhythm only he seemed to understand. Behind him, a shallow trough of water hissed with steam every time hot metal touched its surface.
The scent of heated iron filled the space. For three days, he had worked without pause. Not for money. Not for status. But because those farmers—the ones Lin Bo had brought—were like him. Men forgotten by the powerful. Men who only wanted to survive.
The tools they'd dropped off were ruined. Not just dull, but warped. Rust had eaten away at the edges, and most had cracks hidden under grime.
But Xi Chen didn't throw anything away.
He cleaned them. Melted what he could. Forged new edges. Replaced what was broken.
By the time the third sunrise painted the forge roof in amber, he had finished thirty-two tools.
Each one was simple—but solid. Honest work, for honest hands.
He looked over his work, a quiet pride forming in his chest.
Then he washed his hands, stepped outside, and found the boys.
Xi Bing was already in the yard, balancing on one leg with his arms extended—his version of a new stance Xi Chen had taught him. Xi Xuan sat nearby, mimicking the pose, but kept toppling over onto his backside with a dramatic groan.
Xi Chen watched them silently for a moment.
Not long ago, they would've been sleeping until the sun reached their windows. Now, they rose before the light. Not because he made them. Because they chose to.
That meant more than progress.
It meant belief.
"You're improving," Xi Chen said, walking over.
Xi Bing turned, steadying his form. "It still feels like I'm standing on water."
"That's the point. You're learning balance. Stillness in movement."
Xi Xuan grumbled from the ground, covered in dirt. "I feel more like a tree in a storm!"
Xi Chen smirked. "Then keep growing roots."
He knelt and adjusted their postures gently. A slight shift in the hips. A firmer anchor in the heel.
"You don't have to be strong yet," he told them. "But you do have to be consistent. One day at a time."
Xi Bing nodded seriously. Xi Xuan just sighed and stood back up.
By noon, Lin Bo returned with his two sons and an empty cart.
The moment he saw the reworked tools laid out in bundles, his jaw went slack.
"These... these look better than anything we've had in years," he said, running a calloused hand over a new hoe.
Xi Chen handed him a wrapped blade—a compact hand sickle with a curved edge and reinforced spine.
"I retempered the metal. The handles are redwood soaked in oil. They'll last twice as long."
Lin Bo blinked. "You did all this alone?"
Xi Chen nodded once. "I work fast."
The farmer bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Thank you. You've no idea what this means to us. The spring rains ruined half our tools. The clans wouldn't even speak to us."
Xi Chen motioned for him to rise. "I don't need gratitude. Just keep quiet. I'm not looking for attention."
"Of course," Lin Bo said, straightening. "And if you ever need food, supplies... anything... we'll provide."
As they loaded the tools onto the cart, Lin Bo added, "I've already told a few others. Quiet ones. Outcasts like us. They'll come in twos and threes."
Xi Chen paused. "You told others?"
Lin Bo paled. "Only the ones who hate the clans more than they fear them. I swear on my life, word won't reach the nobles."
Xi Chen didn't answer right away. Then he nodded, just once.
"Next batch, bring better raw iron if you can. Less impurities."
"Yes, of course."
As the cart rolled away, Xi Chen stood in the shadow of his forge, arms crossed.
It had begun.
That evening, after the boys were fed and bathed, Xi Chen sat on the porch, staring out at the alleyway. The lantern above the door cast a soft glow, flickering whenever the wind moved.
He held a small wooden carving in his hand—a bird with broken wings. His father had carved it for him when he was a child. Somehow, he'd kept it through fire, through death, even through rebirth.
He turned it slowly in his palm.
In Guangzhou, he'd been feared. Respected, in a way—but never truly loved.
Now, in this world, he had something more fragile. Real connection.
But fragility, he knew, was a target.
He heard the door creak behind him.
Xi Bing stepped out, barefoot.
"You're thinking again."
Xi Chen didn't look up. "I always am."
The boy sat beside him, legs swinging gently off the porch.
"Today at the market... I heard two men whispering. They said the Guo Clan might hire an out-of-town cultivator to find the 'ghost-fisted' stranger who injured their man."
Xi Chen's expression darkened.
A cultivator? That would complicate things.
He looked at Xi Bing. "Did they say how soon?"
"No. Just... that it was likely."
Xi Chen nodded. "Thanks for telling me."
Xi Bing hesitated. "Should we... leave town?"
Xi Chen thought for a long moment.
"No," he said finally. "This is our home. We don't run from what's ours. But we'll need to be smarter."
He stood and stretched.
"I'll need to modify the training. We'll build a hidden practice area. Somewhere even the neighbors won't know."
Xi Bing's eyes lit up with excitement.
Xi Chen placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll move like smoke. Quiet. Unseen. But every day, we get stronger."
Xi Bing grinned. "Like ghosts."
Xi Chen smiled faintly. "Exactly like ghosts."
That night, in the small chamber behind the forge, Xi Chen trained harder than he had in days.
The Scarlet Furnace Body activated more rapidly now—his blood adapted faster. The red glow deepened, like embers beneath the skin. Veins thickened, skin tightened, muscle roared under the strain.
He moved through all five Muscle Tempering Forms, each one designed to push different tendons and ligaments to their limit.
By the end of it, his body was steaming, his lungs rasping for air.
[Progress: 52%]
His left shoulder gave out, forcing him to kneel. Pain surged through the joint like white-hot fire.
But he didn't stop.
He didn't scream.
He gritted his teeth and switched to one-arm push-ups—forcing the pressure into the other side.
One.
Two.
Three...
He lost count.
He only stopped when he collapsed, face inches from the cool stone floor.
In the dark silence, he whispered:
"Step by step. No more falling behind."
Outside, the wind rustled the iron wind chimes gently.
Somewhere beyond the city walls, a storm was brewing.
But here in the alley behind the forge, a fire burned quietly.
And it would never go out.