Chapter 19; The Iron Welder

Liguan closed her eyes. She drifted back to a time long past, a time of innocence and joy. She could almost hear the laughter of happy children, their tiny voices echoing in the streets. She and Huan, little children then, had wandered through the bustling city, her eyes wide with wonder.  

"Legends say the previous dynasty..." she recalled a voice echoing from a certain hall, his voice sounded old and laced with wisdom. 

  "Brother Huan, I want to hear the anecdotes!" she'd exclaimed, her eyes shining with eagerness.  

He had nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips, and they'd continued their stroll toward the hall, supervised by the watchful palace eunuchs.  

They had been offered the high table, a place of honor for the royals and the highest nobles.

  "Great Wei fought many wars to..." the storyteller continued, his voice rich and captivating. They sat quietly, their faces lit by the flickering flames of the hearth, listening intently to the tales of their ancestors. 

Her gaze lingered on Huan, his posture impeccably upright, a stark contrast to her brother Ming Yuan's perpetually stoic demeanor. Though both men possessed an unreadable countenance, Huan's features held a timeless elegance. Memories of the grand hall and shared experiences flickered through her mind. 

A sudden rumble broke her reverie. A wagon, charging towards them, sent shivers down her spine. With a desperate cry of "Yiangyiang!", Liguan leaped out of the path, her heart pounding in her chest. Yiangyiang, oblivious to the danger, was lost in thought, only turning when the wagon was a mere breath away. Her breath hitched as she saw the looming wheels.

A strong force shoved her, sending her tumbling through the air. She landed with a thud, the impact cushioned by someone's arms.

 "Are you alright?" she gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

He groaned, his voice a low rumble against her ear. As she lifted her gaze, she saw him: thick brows, slanted onyx eyes, a cutely upturned nose, fair skin, and lips that were a luscious shade of pink. He was handsome, undeniably so, and a jolt of awareness shot through her. 

He spoke, his voice laced with annoyance, "You are heavy."  

The word hung in the air, a harsh accusation. "Heavy?" she echoed, her cheeks burning with a sudden flush. Had he called her fat?

Yiangyiang bristled, a snort escaping her lips. "Hm!" she scoffed, turning away and walking off. 

"Are you alright?" Dan Zhang asked, concern etched on his face. Nan Fang stood, brushing off his clothes, his expression unreadable.

 "Let's go," he muttered, striding away. 

"Strange," Dan Zhang mumbled, shaking his head.

After a while, Liguan and Yiangyiang found themselves standing before a grand hall, its weathered exterior whispering of ancient history. The placard read, "Bao Hall," in elegant script.  

Liguan adjusted her simple cloak. They slipped inside together, perched at a nearby table. Two tables ahead, a man in simple clothes sat, adjusting his hat. His hair, though braided, was a mass of unruly curls, framing amethyst eyes that followed the historian intently. A single curl escaped from the braid, framing Ming Huan's face. He often frequented the hall, seeking to immerse himself in the history of their ancient land. While the palace library was at his disposal, he found the animated presentations of Bao Hall a welcome break from the tedium of reading.

The historian, Zhao Xian, was a master of his craft. With a keen understanding of his audience, he wove a blend of history, his words painting vivid pictures in their minds. His summaries were concise yet captivating, breathing life into long-forgotten characters. Ancient history, under his skillful narration, became a thrilling mystery, its secrets whispering through the ages.

Bao Hall, though steeped in the past, pulsated with an energy that defied its age. Its stories, speeches, and pronouncements resonated with a vibrant exuberance, filling the room with an intoxicating sense of life.

"Legends may be old, but they hold the echoes of historical events and memories that must be passed on," Zhao Xian declared, his voice a low rumble. He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, then whispered dramatically, "For instance, the legend of the Iron Welder..."

A ripple of murmurs and hushed conversations swept through the audience, intrigue sparking in their eyes. Ming Huan and Liguan were captivated, their attention glued to the historian.

"He is..." Zhao Xian began, his voice trailing off. Just then, a group of men in fine clothes caught sight of Liguan and Yiangyiang, their gazes lingering on the two women. The simple attire of the women betrayed their lack of noble lineage. 

"He's rumored to be an ex-assassin, who retired from..." the historian continued, his voice barely above a whisper, drawing the audience further into the shadowy world of the Iron Welder.

"Black mage!" a murmur ran through the audience, a shiver of fear and fascination mingling in the air. 

     "For you, young mistresses," the waiter announced, placing a tray of steaming tea before them.

   "But we didn't order..." Liguan began, her brow furrowing. 

  "Those gentlemen over there," the waiter said, gesturing with a nod. "They did." 

Liguan turned to see a group of young men, their clothing opulent, their smiles predatory. They were waving at them, their eyes lingering on them with a lascivious gleam. Liguan was about to savor the fragrant tea when her maid, Yiangyiang, shook her head, her eyes narrowed. Both women turned to meet the lecherous gazes, a wave of unease washing over Liguan.

Yiangyiang shivered, a mixture of discomfort and disgust twisting in her stomach. The city, with its hidden dangers, felt like a den of wolves. She and Liguan turned back to the historian. 

   "Some of the weapons he forged were legendary," Zhao Xian continued, his voice hushed, "lethal instruments that claimed countless lives. They are incredibly rare, almost impossible to find."

"Hm," Ming Huan mused, his gaze thoughtful. The historian's words painted a picture of the Iron Welder: a solitary figure, a peerless ex-assassin, whose love for weapons had led him to the forge. If Ming Huan wanted to find him, he knew there was only one source to consult. The Black Mage camp, but for centuries, its exact location has remained shrouded in mystery, a flicker of memory crossing his eyes.

 "They say anyone who sees him face to face disappears forever." 

The later's words conjured the chilling image of the Iron Welder, a man shrouded in both legend and fear. Ming Huan remembered Nan Fang's words, his voice echoing in his mind. 

"And with that, this is the legend of the greatest blacksmith, the Iron Welder." Zhao Xian concluded. 

A wave of applause swept through the audience, their appreciation for the tale evident. "Ha, thank you, thank you," Zhao Xian bowed, a wry smile playing on his lips. As the applause subsided, the audience, enthralled by the story, showered him with generous tips.

"What can I do for you, young master?" Zhao Xian asked, a practiced smile gracing his lips as he sensed Ming Huan approaching. 

"Do you perhaps have any additional information about the Iron Welder?" Dai Yu, Ming Huan's ever-vigilant guard, inquired, his eyes sharp and alert.

The historian shook his head, a faint apologetic tone in his voice. "I'm afraid it's only hearsay that I've shared. The details are scarce, the legend shrouded in mystery." 

Ming Huan, his face etched with disappointment, lowered his head in resignation.