Becoming a god starting from blacksmithing

Chapter 14 Chain Inheritance

It was completely light.

Shen Chi remained seated before the stove, watching the fire. The flames changed from red to orange, then to a greyish-white base. He hadn't moved or closed his eyes all night.

The heart imprint is no longer burning. It's warm. It's as if it's grown into my body, no longer needing to be deliberately suppressed, nor will it rush out on its own.

Mo Chenzi was still leaning against the door frame. The old man stood there all night, neither urging him nor speaking, nor leaving.

Seeing Shen Chi look up, he turned and took two steps outside, saying without turning back:

"Let's go."

Shen Chi stood up and followed.

------

The wooden house is still the same wooden house.

Mo Chenzi entered the room and went straight to the corner. There was a pile of old iron materials, covered with an old cloth, which was covered with a layer of dust.

He lifted the old cloth and pulled out a long, narrow cloth bag from the bottom.

turn on.

A hammer.

The hammerhead was larger than a regular hammer, jet black, and its surface was so smooth it could reflect a face. But unlike ordinary ironware, it gleamed with a dark sheen, not a polished shine, but a sheen that emanated from within the iron itself.

Mo Chenzi placed it on the table and said:

"When your father gave it to me, he specifically instructed me—'If my son can pass these three tests, give this to him. If he can't... just let it rot here.'"

Shen Chi looked at the hammer, then at Mo Chenzi.

"You've been keeping it?"

"I stayed for three years."

Mo Chenzi pushed the hammer towards him: "Take it."

Shen Chi gripped the hammer.

His palm felt like it had been bitten by something—like molten iron splashed on his hand, a burning sensation that you desperately want to pull your hand away but can't. He tried to let go, but his hand wouldn't obey him.

The hammerhead lit up in the next instant.

Iron-gray lines burst forth from the hammer's surface, like ink drops falling into clear water, or the cracking of red-hot iron being quenched in ice water. These lines spread wildly along the smooth surface. The intertwined patterns, circle after circle, were identical to the heart-shaped markings on his chest.

More than just hammered noodles.

Shen Chi's heart skipped a beat, as if something had tugged at it from the outside. He took a half-step back.

The texture on the hammerhead fades from light to dark, gradually disappearing back into the iron. But if you don't look closely, you can still see faint veins on the surface, as if the hammer has remembered his hand.

Mo Chenzi stared at the hammer face for three breaths.

"It recognizes you."

The sound was flat, but a beat slower than usual.

Shen Chi looked at Mo Chenzi: "It... was burning me just now."

"It's not about burning." Mo Chenzi shifted his gaze from the hammer. "It's about matching the grain. If it matches, then it's acceptable. If it doesn't, no matter how you hold it, it's just a piece of dead iron."

He paused briefly, raised his head, and stroked his beard.

"This is the Hundred-Refined Hammer. It was specially made for your father by the Mo Clan. During its forging, your father's heart imprint was engraved on it."

"A hammer can remember its users. With each use, the lines deepen. With another, the lines fade. It recognizes you because its blood flows in your veins, and your hearts are bound together."

Shen Chi gripped the hammer, no longer feeling its weight. After the burning sensation subsided, the hammer handle became warm, resting against his palm as if it were an extension of his hand.

He didn't speak immediately. He looked down at the faint pattern on the hammer's surface, like a fingerprint left by his father. He pressed the hammer against his chest, and his heart warmed slightly.

Then he looked up and asked, "How come I've never seen it before?"

"You haven't passed the three tests, so it's useless for you to see them."

Mo Chenzi sat down, picked up the wine gourd, and took a sip.

"The newly awakened Heart Seal is only in its embryonic form. Only after passing the three trials and perfecting the Iron Seal can the Heart Seal be considered a true Heart Seal. Only then can you be considered to have officially entered this path."

Shen Chi put the hammer down, but didn't let go.

He suddenly realized that this hammer was not the weapon his father left him, but rather another hand his father had left him.

------

Mo Chenzi didn't let him keep looking at the hammer. He patted the stool next to him.

Shen Chi sat down.

"Now you know about the nine levels of the Heart Seal," Mo Chenzi said, "iron, copper, silver, gold, blue, purple, and crimson. Nine levels, each level has three minor realms—initial realm, intermediate realm, and perfect realm."

He paused.

"Your Iron Seal is now at its peak, at the Mortal Seal stage. Above that are the Spirit Seal stage and the Dao Seal stage. First, make sure you walk your path steadily."

Shen Chi silently recited it once. Mortal Seal, Spiritual Seal, Dao Seal.

"How do I get promoted?" he asked.

Mo Chenzi glanced at him.

"It's not about quantity. If you help Old Chen fix his hoe today, mend Aunt Li's pot tomorrow, and make a sickle for someone the day after—doing a hundred small, easy things won't move your heart at all."

"Rely on what?"

"Quantity".

Mo Chenzi weighed the wine gourd in his hand.

"Do you still remember the four genuine inscriptions on the monument to human hearts that you left behind?" he suddenly asked.

Shen Chi nodded.

"Those four genuine inscriptions are the stele telling you—your mental strength has reached its peak. Mental strength is the root, and the imprint of the heart is the tree. If the roots are deep enough, the tree will naturally grow taller."

Mo Chenzi looked at the wine gourd in his hand as if he were looking at something else.

What kind of promise is considered a heavy promise? A promise that makes your chest feel heavy just saying it. A promise that you know will hurt, a promise that will come at a price, but you still say it.

He looked at Shen Chi.

"Your father didn't explain the specifics of how to do it back then, because everyone's commitment is different. But I can tell you the direction—each step you're asked to do is more important than the last."

Shen Chi looked down at his chest. The imprint on his heart was warm and still.

"Where is my father...?"

Mo Chenzi did not answer immediately. He took another sip of wine.

"Your father reached the sixth rank back then. Blue Seal."

He spoke very softly, as if he were talking about something he didn't really want to say.

"In this era, a sixth-tier Blue Seal is already at the pinnacle. There are no more than three people in the entire Yansheng Pavilion who can face him head-on."

Shen Chi had never seen his father make a move. In his memory, his father was a man who had spent his whole life forging iron in a blacksmith's shop, his hands covered in rust that could never be washed off.

"Then he..."

"He's dead."

Mo Chenzi interrupted him.

"He walked too fast. If someone walks too fast, there's no one behind to catch them. If they fall, they fall. No one can lend a hand."

He clenched his fist.

"So I'm not in a hurry to teach you how to break through. You need to learn to stand first, then learn to walk. Once you have a firm footing, you won't fall when you run."

Shen Chi held the hundred-refined hammer, and the patterns on the hammer's surface shone faintly once more.

------

Shen Chi remained silent for a long time.

"Where is the sword?" he asked.

Mo Chenzi put down the wine pot.

Which one?

"The one my dad played here. You said he played for three days and three nights."

Mo Chenzi didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the door of the wooden house, and glanced to his right.

At the corner of the wooden house's foundation, the soil bulged slightly, forming a thin, elongated outline, as if something was buried there.

"Still down there."

Shen Chi followed him to the door and looked in the direction he was looking.

"Your dad said to wait until you're ready before picking it up."

Mo Chenzi withdrew his gaze. His lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

"But I think...it's not the right time yet."

Shen Chi wanted to ask, "When will it be time?", but Mo Chenzi's expression kept him from speaking. There was something in the old man's single eye that he had never seen before—not sadness, not anger, but something that had been suppressed for a long time and that he didn't want to bring out.

He simply turned and sat back down on the stool, his back to Shen Chi, and added casually:

"Even if you take it now, you can't keep it."

------

evening.

Mo Chenzi and Shen Chi returned to the town together.

The path turns past the old locust tree, and the road at the entrance of town can be seen in the distance.

A horse-drawn carriage was parked there.

black.

But it wasn't the same car as last time.

This one was larger and heavier, pulled by four horses. The saddles weren't equipped with ordinary harnesses, but with iron buckles, the edges of which bore dark red rust—no, more like dried blood. A silver-gray emblem was embedded in the side of the carriage: two crossed locks with a nail in the middle.

The carriage stood motionless at the town entrance. There was no driver, no stable boy, and the four horses were like cast iron, not even wagging their tails.

Shen Chi had never seen that emblem before.

But Mo Chenzi stopped in his tracks.

The old man stood in the shadow of the old locust tree, his single eye narrowed into a slit as he stared at the emblem. He seemed rooted to the ground, his shoulders slightly tense.

Shen Chi asked in a low voice, "What is that?"

Mo Chenzi's voice was very flat, so flat that it didn't sound like he was speaking, but more like he was exhaling:

"From the Enforcement Hall."

He paused for a moment.

"What was bound to happen has finally happened."

Shen Chi stared at the carriage. The lock and nail emblem gleamed coldly in the twilight, like an unblinking eye. The heart imprint on his chest wasn't warm, wasn't beating—it was cold. Not the normal kind of cold, but a coldness as if it had sensed a natural enemy and shrank back.

Shen Chi gripped the handle of the hundred-refined hammer tightly. The hammerhead pressed against his palm, warm, as if responding to him.

But the warmth in his heart couldn't bring him any comfort.

Because the carriage was parked less than a hundred paces from the blacksmith's shop.