Artifact Sect, part 2

Su Qing had no grudges with Dan Sect. A month ago, she’d reaped plenty from rubbing their tribulation—eating, taking, and even getting gifts.

Voting for Artifact Sect felt a bit against her conscience.

But it was anonymous.

And it seemed like Artifact Sect’s self-indulgent hype. Surely Sword Sect wouldn’t uproot ninth-tier earthfire from Dan Sect’s depths and stuff it into Artifact Sect’s based on a poll.

With that, Su Qing shamelessly voted for Artifact Sect.

*Support Artifact Sect.*

*[Perfect choice. Welcome to Artifact Sect.]*

The door *boomed* open, a scorching wave hitting her face.

Stepping into the forging hall, she felt like she was entering a giant furnace. So hot!

First- and second-year artifact refining focused on fire forging—melting materials at high temperatures, shaping with force, removing impurities through thousands of hammerings, blending new materials, quenching for strength and toughness, and infusing spiritual energy and materials to craft a qualified spiritual weapon.

This was the mainstream method.

The hall housed thirty-six third-tier crystal fire furnaces and sixty-six second-tier black iron furnaces, plus students’ personal furnaces, totaling 108.

Each furnace was a heat source, making the place swelteringly unbearable.

It was also loud. The clanging of metal never stopped, mixed with bellows pumping, quenching hisses, and grinding friction, creating a chaotic din.

Refining wasn’t easy, even with resources.

By the center, Su Qing was drenched, hair and clothes soaked.

Luckily, she spotted a familiar, bear-like muscular man—the Artifact Sect student from the spiritual weapon shop.

Shirtless, wearing a leather apron, his bulging arms lifted a red-hot longsword, plunging it into a second-tier, high-grade ice spring for quenching.

With a *hiss*, the spring boiled, the sword’s color deepening. Muttering, he channeled energy, pressing pre-drawn array diagrams into the blade.

“Hah—!”

“Gather Spirit!”

“Call Wind!” @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

“Ice!”

Spiritual energy surged, forming ordered patterns. But as the array neared completion, the glowing lines faded, energy dissipating, leaving the sword a useless hunk of iron.

Frustrated, the man paused. “Ruined! Not enough energy—another failure! Why? My furnace is third-tier, my spirit fire too, and I used high-grade third-tier black iron. Why can’t I make a mid-grade third-tier sword?!”

A female cultivator at the next furnace glanced over, understanding. “Xiong Pi, your forging’s insufficient. The sword embryo’s impurities aren’t cleared.”

Xiong Pi doubted. “I followed the manual—12,000 strikes!”

She hammered her own material, replying, “Did you check the manual’s example for third-tier black iron? What did you use? See the difference?”

“I used high-grade third-tier black iron…” Xiong Pi paused, realizing. “No, mine’s from the Northern Continent. The manual’s is redder, fewer pores—Southern Continent black iron!”

“Exactly,” she said seriously. “Both high-grade third-tier, but Northern’s gold element is thinner, with more impurities. You need 13,000 strikes before quenching and infusing.”

Problem found, Xiong Pi’s eyes lit up, reignited with zeal. “I’ll try again!”

Su Qing, listening for a while, seized the moment to step forward. “Sorry to interrupt, Brother Xiong. I’m Su Qing, Body Sect first-year. I’m looking for an Artifact Sect disciple to refine a sword. Any recommendations?”

Xiong Pi, eager to retry, was annoyed by the interruption, but business meant spirit stones for better materials. Forcing a grin that bared his rugged face, he said, “Oh, I see. Go on?”

Su Qing blinked. “Go on with what?”

“What tier weapon do you want? Your materials or mine? If yours, prepare three portions—I’ll guarantee the result, and leftovers are my fee, no extra cost. If I provide, you pay for materials and labor. Clear?”

“Clear,” Su Qing nodded, “but I don’t know what kind of sword I want. Can you offer some suggestions?”

His smile faded a bit. “Not impossible. What materials do you have?”

She felt sheepish. “I don’t have any.”

His smile dwindled to a sliver of politeness. “No problem. What’s your budget?”

Su Qing hesitated. “Six hundred spirit stones?”

For some reason, she’d added a hundred to her planned budget, perhaps instinctively. Standing before Xiong Pi, she felt an economic pressure—not from his bulk, but his presence.

It hit her again: she was still poor.

Getting rich was a long road.

“Oh, I see.” Xiong Pi kept a trace of courtesy, pointing. “Last row, last furnace. My junior brother’s there. He’s cheap!”

Su Qing nodded. “Alright, thanks.”

Xiong Pi held his faint smile until she left, then grumbled to the female cultivator. “Thought I’d hooked a fat sheep. Turns out, vague demands, low budget, high maintenance—no decisiveness. The worst client.”

She laughed. “That’s Body Sect for you. Didn’t notice Xiao Shi didn’t announce it? If it was an Array Sect client, Xiao Shi would’ve shouted to the heavens: ‘Heads up, fat sheep!’”

The forging hall, a seventh-tier, high-grade artifact, had a spirit—Xiao Shi, the window that greeted Su Qing.

*

Following Xiong Pi’s direction, Su Qing found the last furnace in the last row.

It was a far cry from Xiong Pi’s shiny one—pitted, cracked, patched with welds to barely hold water.

It burned ordinary fire crystal stones, coal, and wood, the flames weak, flickering like they’d die if she sneezed. The bellows were rotten, handleless, purely decorative.

No vibrant ice spring for quenching—just a rusty bucket of water, with a tank for refills.

Ordinary furnace, ordinary fire, ordinary water.

Su Qing’s trust wavered.

Cheap, sure, but what if she got a mundane sword? @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Circling it, she saw a “mortal” hunched over, hammering a red-hot iron block with a small hammer, sparks flying. His goggles saved his eyes.

The goggles’ leather strap was frayed, hanging by a thread.

Poverty seeped from every detail.

His slim, youthful frame—sixteen or seventeen—marked him as a first-year like her.

His finances likely made him open to her commission. But could a first-year deliver?

He was engrossed, so Su Qing waited until he turned for materials and noticed her.

Pausing, he stepped closer, lifting his goggles with a smile. “Hi, here for me?”

The smile was warm, tinged with an odd innocence.

Su Qing didn’t mind. “Yes. I want to discuss a sword commission.”

Removing his goggles, she saw his face clearly.

How to put it—she rarely thought this rudely, but he was *utterly average*. Lost-in-a-crowd average.

She knew she wasn’t striking either, blending into crowds.

But he was different. His features were refined, skin clear, build good, hair thick—no flaws, yet together, they screamed: *normal face*.

No beauty, no ugliness—just ordinary.

He looked reliable, though.

Reliable and normal, he smiled. “Great. Any specific requirements?”

That was the hard part. Su Qing was puzzled. “I don’t know what sword I want. I just want it to make me stronger.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “Can I ask some questions?”

“Of course.”

“Which hand do you favor?”

“Right.”

He nodded, smiling. “Got it. Which element are you closest to?”

“Wood and metal. Wood more so.”

He smiled again. “Ignoring wrist strain, heavy or light sword?”

Su Qing pondered. “Heavy. It doubles as weight training for body cultivation.”

He smiled, pointing to two swords. “Long or short sword? Reference these.”

“Long!” Su Qing paused, unable to hold back. “Can I ask—sorry if this offends, you don’t have to answer—but is there something on my face? Why do you keep smiling?”

It sounded odd, but his constant smiling was odder.

From the moment they met, he’d grinned nonstop. She wasn’t a spirit stone or treasure—smiling wouldn’t make money. His programmed smile on that plain face was just… weirdly off.

He studied her face. “Just sweat, nothing else. I smile because… can’t I?”

“It’s not that. Doesn’t your face get tired?”

“I checked. Not tired.”

Su Qing gave up. “Fine, smile away. Forget I said anything.”

He watched her expression cautiously. “Did I upset you? Am I not friendly enough?”

“No, you’re very friendly,” she shook her head. “Forget it. Keep asking.”

“Alright.” He paused, then smiled again. “Any materials on hand? Anything at all, think carefully.”

“Well, I have a thunderstruck wooden sword I like, but it’s not lethal enough and feels too primitive. I want something more tailored.”

“Is it here? Can I see it?”

“Of course.”

Su Qing handed over the sword.

Since it became thunderstruck wood, she’d guarded it carefully, knowing not to flaunt wealth. She’d wrapped it in cloth and bound it with hemp rope.

He unwrapped it, revealing the dark blade, fingers tracing its surface. “Thunderstruck wood, fully reinforced.”

Probing with spiritual energy, he froze.

Su Qing, seeing him silent, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His smile turned genuinely bright for the first time. “I just didn’t expect this. It’s from Sword Tomb’s plum branches, right?”

He could tell.

Su Qing no longer found him strange but a hidden master, like a temple’s sweeping monk—though his age made it unlikely.

Their detailed talk followed, and she overlooked his smile, impressed by his professionalism. He was reliable in refining.

He measured her arm span and height, noting every detail on a form. “I’ll draft a detailed plan later, okay?”

“How long will it take?”

“Um…” He looked troubled, opening a drawer stuffed with 121 forms and 89 refining plans. “First-come, first-served. Maybe six months.”

Three months into the term, and he’d taken *that* many jobs? Su Qing inhaled: *That desperate for money?*

She understood the feeling.

“I’m in a hurry. Can I pay extra to jump the queue?”

“Pay extra? What money?” He looked confused, his smile fading.

“What money?” Su Qing was baffled. “Whatever they paid, I’ll pay more to move up.”

“But I’m free,” he said, scratching his head with a sincere smile. “I don’t charge.”