Queen O's Timid Fugitive A - Chapter 54
54
Clang, clang, clang!
With each strike of the hammer, sparks flew from the furnace, and the outline of a Tibetan knife gradually took shape.
The blade was only two and a half feet long, with a slightly rounded and blunt tip and a straight body. At first glance, it might seem to lack lethality, but those familiar with it knew this knife was ruthlessly effective, often delivering a fatal strike in a single blow.
Sweat trickled down a sharp jawline, seeping into the collar and leaving dark stains on the thin fabric. The taut lines of the arms were sleek and defined, glistening like polished oil under the firelight. Shoulder-length hair, singed and curled at the ends, carried a wild, untamed air.
As the hammer rose and fell, Jiang Ciqing chose not to continue forging. Instead, she tossed the hammer to the ground, gripped the long tongs with both hands, and thrust the blade embryo straight into the fire. A plume of thick smoke rose instantly.
Jiang Ciqing didn’t so much as flinch, her full attention fixed on the blade embryo. The air in the room grew increasingly pungent, a mix of charcoal, raw iron, and an inexplicable hint of gunpowder. The odors clashed, none blending harmoniously, rendering the sweat on her body almost negligible by comparison.
She waited until the bubbling water’s surface stilled, then pulled the blade back with a forceful tug.
In the dim light, the rough surface of the handle revealed faint traces of Damascus steel patterns on the blade. But her focus wasn’t on that. Her eyes meticulously scanned the surface, and only after confirming there wasn’t a single crack did she let out a sigh of relief.
The first step was complete.
Perhaps this was what they called talent—Jiang Ciqing’s blades rarely developed cracks.
What seemed like a minor, insignificant flaw could drive other bladesmiths to despair. A single small crack often meant returning the blade to the furnace, wasting days of effort.
A thousand-mile dike collapses from an ant’s nest. This saying was never truer than in bladesmithing. Ignoring even a tiny crack could lead to a blade that might snap at any moment. Even if the blade was completed by some stroke of luck, it wouldn’t withstand more than a few swings in a warrior’s hands.
Thus, a small crack, seemingly trivial, determined the fate of the entire blade.
But Jiang Ciqing rarely faced this issue. As Di Changjie once grumbled, the steel under her hammer seemed glued together, impossible to tear apart, let alone crack.
She placed the blade back into the furnace, where it glowed red-hot once more. Jiang Ciqing picked up a carving knife, her clear brows steady, lips pressed into a focused line. Holding the tongs in one hand, she used the other to etch intricate grooves into the blade’s surface, as if sculpting in the midst of the flames.
Beads of sweat dripped into the fire, evaporating into mist in an instant. Strands of dark hair, unintentionally falling, curled further under the flames’ caress, emitting a faint burnt odor mixed with a subtle, fresh bamboo fragrance.
With the final stroke complete, Jiang Ciqing wiped the sweat pouring from her forehead like a spring, took a deep breath to steady herself, and sprinkled a handful of ground magical beast core into the fire.
The flames surged as if doused with oil, and a violent surge of feral mental energy erupted from the powder, accompanied by the faint roar of a beast. Jiang Ciqing’s expression turned grave. She stepped back with her right foot, assuming a bow stance, ready to respond.
Her bamboo-like mental energy didn’t exert the oppressive force that Xu Fusheng’s did. Instead, it flowed like a clear spring over stone, inexplicably soothing, clearing the mind of any haze. It gently enveloped the blade embryo, and the beast’s roar quickly weakened.
Moments later, the violent mental energy calmed. Jiang Ciqing exhaled a turbid breath, her body relaxing slightly.
If there had been an issue with the magical beast core, even she would have been powerless. The Liu family would have needed to source another core, and she’d have to start forging anew.
Otherwise, a cracked blade or a core that backfired on its wielder…
The consequences would be unthinkable.
Seeing the powder perfectly settle into the grooves, Jiang Ciqing lifted the blade embryo and plunged it into the quenching oil. After another careful inspection, she moved on to polishing the blade, sharpening it, and crafting the handle.
In the past, this would have meant laboriously grinding with whetstones and sandpaper. Now, machines took over much of the work. Sandpaper wrapped around the device spun with the kerosene motor, saving considerable effort.
The wind stirred the bamboo forest, sending waves through the emerald sea. In the cool shade, white flowers bloomed on the moss, swaying as if humming an unknown tune. The blazing sun gradually sank, brushing the mountain’s outline.
Creak.
The wooden axle squeaked, and Di Zheng, who had been waiting outside, lit up. Turning, she called out, “Family Head!”
Jiang Ciqing nodded slightly, looking better than she had during the forging. Compared to the earlier steps, the later ones were less taxing. She only needed to ensure the blade wasn’t ground too thin and that the handle balanced the blade’s weight.
Her sweat-soaked clothes had quietly dried, though the veins in her neck still pulsed faintly, as if recounting the earlier strain.
“Notify the Liu family to come collect the blade,” she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. What typically took ordinary bladesmiths seven or eight days, she had completed in one. No matter how skilled she was, it wasn’t effortless.
“They’ve been waiting at the foot of the mountain.” Di Zheng replied promptly.
Jiang Ciqing raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in her expression.
The person beside her added, “They’ve had people stationed there since they sent someone up the mountain to urge us a few days ago, as if they’re afraid we’ll run off with the goods.”
Jiang Ciqing couldn’t help but chuckle. As expected of Di Changjie’s cousin—she shared his knack for saying absurd things with a straight face.
Standing nearby was Di Zheng, a young Alpha just past eighteen. Her features bore a slight resemblance to Di Changjie’s, though hers were softer and more youthful, with the same distinctive dark complexion that marked the Di family bloodline.
With Di Changjie busy caring for his pregnant wife and Ah Fu juggling mountain affairs while guarding Jiang Ciqing, they were stretched thin. So, Di Changjie had sent his cousin to assist, sticking close to Jiang Ciqing.
“Why don’t I deliver the blade down the mountain now? It’d save them from camping out there every day. The villagers haven’t dared go into the city for days because of them,” Di Zheng muttered, clearly annoyed at the Liu family’s impatience compared to other clients.
Jiang Ciqing considered for a moment before saying, “I’ll deliver it myself.”
“Huh?”
With that, Jiang Ciqing stepped forward. The wind lifted her singed hair, and her steps lacked their usual steadiness, carrying a faint sense of fatigue.
Di Zheng opened her mouth but said nothing, hurrying to follow.
“Thank you for your trouble, my lord. My master is in a rush, so I won’t disturb you further. I’ll deliver this to him at once.”
At the foot of Bamboo Mountain under the dusk sky, Jiang Ciqing stood still, her eyes like the deep, tranquil pools of the forest, reflecting the figure of a man galloping away on horseback.
The young and naive Di Zheng looked confused. Turning, she asked, “Family Head…”
Why are we just standing here?
She couldn’t understand why Jiang Ciqing had gone to the trouble of personally delivering the blade, only to linger instead of resting, which she clearly needed.
The question was written all over Di Zheng’s face. Jiang Ciqing, reminded of a younger Di Changjie, smiled patiently. She flicked Di Zheng’s forehead and explained, “He has no intention of riding back to the city to deliver the blade to the Liu residence.”
Di Zheng blinked, immediately exclaiming, “What?! Is he not from the Liu family? Is he trying to steal the blade?”
Jiang Ciqing paused, looking at her helplessly. “This matter is confidential. How would anyone else know?”
“Then…”
“Look at the horse he rode. Its coat is glossy, its hind legs powerful—a fine steed even most nobles can’t afford. Yet it’s being ridden by an ordinary servant to transport a blade?”
As the figure disappeared at the road’s end, Jiang Ciqing turned back toward the mountain, continuing, “The moment he received the blade, he immediately sheathed it in a prepared scabbard made of cowhide and inlaid with gems—clearly not something made on a whim. And when he mounted the horse, his movements were swift and steady, like a trained martial artist.”
Di Zheng, trailing half a step behind, grew more confused, scratching the back of her head.
Jiang Ciqing didn’t keep her guessing. “He’s likely heading to the border city to deliver the blade directly to the young master of the Liu family.”
Before Di Zheng could ask more, Jiang Ciqing’s brows furrowed tightly, her tone turning cold. “Go back to the mountain immediately and have them thoroughly investigate whether something’s amiss in Beidi or Dongxia.”
“Alright.” Di Zheng replied instinctively, though she didn’t fully grasp what Jiang Ciqing meant. She turned and sprinted back toward the mountain.
Jiang Ciqing’s expression remained tense, her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of unease in her heart.
The Jiang family’s information network was too limited. Relying on bladesmiths stuck in the forge, passing messages through clogged channels, often led to oversights.
Her earlier assumption—that the eldest prince had rushed to the border to prove himself through military achievements—was too simplistic.
The typically neutral Liu family choosing to send their sole heir to the battlefield at this moment suggested Lord Liu was highly confident his son would return safely with accolades. This also explained the eldest prince’s urgency to head to the frontlines.
But what gave them such confidence that this campaign would be an easy victory?
No unusual reports had come from the craftsmen, indicating Nanliang’s military preparations were as usual. That meant the issue likely lay with the other two kingdoms.
Jiang Ciqing looked up at the faint white moon in the sky, her anxiety growing. She couldn’t afford to wait for the Jiang family’s subordinates to slowly gather information. A vivid figure flashed in her mind, and she made a decision.
Xu Fusheng.
For years, Xu Fusheng had been building her network, establishing secret beast-fighting arenas in every kingdom to gather intelligence. Her sources were far more reliable than the Jiang family’s.
She would have to visit her tonight.
Her frustration from the information bottleneck eased slightly. Stepping on a dry branch, which snapped underfoot, Jiang Ciqing paused and looked down at herself.
Perhaps she should bathe first?
Her sweat-soaked robes had dried into stiff, salty patches. If she used them to make salt, she might actually produce a fair amount.
Turning her head, she noticed her shoulder-length hair, half-singed and curled like scorched wool. If not for her relatively clean face, she’d look no different from a street beggar.
She’d need a trim before bathing…
Jiang Ciqing scratched her head, already anticipating a certain Omega’s disdain.
But no bitterness crossed her face. Her steps lightened, perhaps because she hadn’t seen Xu Fusheng in three days, and now, with these tasks finally done…
The sky had darkened, and the journey to the capital would be arduous. She likely wouldn’t return tonight and would have to stay in the city.
Her steps grew even lighter. The last rays of sunlight vanished beyond the mountain, leaving only a pale crescent moon.