Drunken Sword Forging

Carpenter Zhao's "secluded" workshop had no windows, with only a few small air holes in the walls for ventilation.

Bright oil lamps hung on the walls, illuminating the entire wooden house.

On the floor, neatly arranged, were hand-drawn blueprints, each depicting a different design for a sword. Yet, all of them carried a sense of being overly deliberate.

When Gu Ning'an commissioned Carpenter Zhao, his instructions were simple: "Keep everything minimal." Zhao adhered to this principle while designing the blueprints.

From the blade to the body of the sword, and even to the hilt, the designs lacked any overly intricate patterns.

However, perhaps to reflect Gu Ning'an's perceived extraordinary status, Zhao added small, seemingly mystical symbols to the designs. Even the Buddhist swastika ("卍") appeared in one of the sketches.

These symbols were not something Zhao knew previously. He had recently gleaned them from books or by asking people with religious or spiritual inclinations.

From all this, it was clear why Zhao couldn't craft a wooden sword that satisfied him. He had elevated Gu Ning'an to the status of an immortal in his mind.

He wanted to design a sword that, in his view, was worthy of an immortal.

"Carpenter Zhao, your craftsmanship is so fine that you'd make an excellent blacksmith," Gu Ning'an remarked with a smile as he set down one of the blueprints.

Zhao waved a hand dismissively. "There's some overlap in skills, but they're still very different… Sir, now that you've seen my sketches, is there one that you like?"

Gu Ning'an shook his head. "It's not about whether I like them… Are you satisfied with these designs?"

Hearing this, Zhao was taken aback, then sighed deeply. "No, not a single one."

Gu Ning'an nodded. "Is it because you think these designs don't match the sword you imagine an immortal would wield?"

"This…" Zhao hesitated, murmuring, "The immortal I envision…"

Before Zhao could respond further, Gu Ning'an gathered his wide sleeves in his hands and continued, "Carpenter Zhao, does the immortal in your mind resemble someone like me?"

This peculiar question left Zhao even more puzzled, his furrowed face forming deep creases. "I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean, sir."

Gu Ning'an smiled and nodded. "Let me put it this way: is the immortal in your mind someone who could split mountains and rivers with a single sword and roam the skies on clouds?"

"Yes…"

Gu Ning'an's concise words immediately painted a vivid picture in Zhao's mind of a divine being wielding a sword and roaming freely through heaven and earth.

"Now, let me ask again," Gu Ning'an paused before continuing, "Does the immortal you envision resemble me?"

Hearing this, Zhao studied Gu Ning'an intently for a long moment before replying, "No, not like you, sir."

Gu Ning'an chuckled. "Exactly. You've imagined an immortal based on your own thoughts, but I am not what you envision.

Now, it's me asking you to craft a wooden sword—not the immortal you've envisioned. So why trouble yourself over whether the sword you make is worthy of your imagined immortal?"

Although Gu Ning'an had simplified his reasoning as much as possible, Zhao, who had been deeply entrenched in his own thoughts for days, found it difficult to let go of his fixation.

"Let's go… If you can't figure it out for now, a drink will clear your mind," said Gu Ning'an, grabbing Carpenter Zhao by the arm. "Come on, come on, Old Hu brought me two jars of wine, and I brought one over today."

"Old Hu's brew?" Carpenter Zhao's eyes lit up, and the burden on his heart suddenly eased. "That's a must-try!"

From the moment Gu Ning'an stepped into Carpenter Zhao's workshop to when the two left together, no more than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea had passed.

When Zhao Liu, who had just reheated the food, saw her stubborn father come out so quickly, she couldn't help but give Gu Ning'an a thumbs-up. "It has to be Mr. Gu. If it were anyone else, my father wouldn't have come out even by tomorrow morning."

Carpenter Zhao didn't deny his daughter's remark. He simply chuckled awkwardly and joined Gu Ning'an at the table.

Zhao Liu was an excellent cook. Knowing that Gu Ning'an planned to drink with her father, she prepared plenty of dishes to accompany the wine.

During the meal, Gu Ning'an repeatedly praised Zhao Liu's cooking, and her enthusiasm soared. She insisted on making more dishes, refusing to be stopped.

If there had been a live chicken at home, or if the market hadn't already closed, she might have gone out to get one just to make chicken soup for Gu Ning'an.

After the meal, Gu Ning'an said his goodbyes to Zhao Liu and her father and left with long strides.

"Father, would you like some strong tea to sober up?" Zhao Liu asked, already lifting the teapot to pour.

"No need," Zhao replied, his cheeks flushed red as he squinted drunkenly. "I didn't drink much anyway. The buzz is just right; wasting it would be a shame..."

Seeing her father's drunken state, Zhao Liu was about to say something when Zhao suddenly shot to his feet, causing the stool beneath him to crash to the ground.

"Father!" Zhao Liu rushed to steady her swaying father.

But the old man's eyes were unfocused, and his steps were unexpectedly quick. In a flash, he bypassed the dining table and dashed straight toward his "secluded" workshop.

Within moments, a loud bang echoed as the door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Father! What are you doing?"

"You've had so much to drink—leave it for tomorrow!" Zhao Liu shouted, knocking on the door in a panic.

Inside, Zhao's muffled voice came through. "Don't call me. The things I couldn't figure out these past few days—I've finally got it after drinking today!"

"Mr. Gu is indeed an immortal, but not the kind of immortal I imagined. The sword he wants is simply one made by me, Old Zhao—not some celestial sword that splits the heavens and earth!"

"If Mr. Gu trusts my craftsmanship, why should I doubt myself and fear I can't make a sword that satisfies him?"

With a sharp crack, a crisp sound rang out from inside the workshop.

It turned out that Zhao had taken a small hatchet and split open a piece of lightning-struck wood. The charred outer layer fell to the ground and shattered into a pile of black ash.

Looking carefully at the exposed interior, Zhao exclaimed, "Well, I'll be! This old willow wood, seemingly useless and charred on the outside, has perfect, clear grain inside, untouched by the lightning or fire!"

"Hah! Mr. Gu sure has an eye for things!"

"Charred on the outside, pristine within—its quality surpasses even freshly cut wood!"