The Mysterious Heaven Treasure Record documented only six martial arts: the internal cultivation method known as the
The first five were foundational. Without a solid foundation, how could one possibly display the essence of the
Starting to cultivate the Mysterious Heaven Skill at just over one year old,
Tang San’s home was located on the western side of Sacred Soul Village, right at the edge. The three mud-brick houses were arguably the most dilapidated in the entire village. Centered on the roof of the main room was a wooden sign about a meter in diameter, painted with a crude image of a hammer. In this world, a hammer most commonly represented a blacksmith.
That was right. Tang San’s father,
In this world, blacksmiths were considered one of the lowliest professions. For certain specific reasons, the world’s top-tier weapons were not forged by blacksmiths.
However, as the only blacksmith in the village, Tang Hao’s family shouldn’t have been this poor. Yet that meager income was mostly…
The moment he entered the house, Tang San was greeted by the rich scent of food. It wasn’t breakfast Tang Hao had prepared for him, but rather what he had made for Tang Hao.
Since he was four, when his height still couldn’t reach the stove, the task of cooking had become a daily chore. He even had to stand on a stool to reach the stove top.
Tang Hao hadn’t demanded this. Tang San had done it because otherwise, he would almost never get a full meal.
Walking to the stove, he deftly stepped onto the wooden stool and lifted the heavy iron pot’s lid. The fragrant scent of rice porridge wafted out; the congee inside had long been boiled to a soft consistency.
Every day before heading up the mountain, Tang San would put the rice in the pot and set up the firewood. By the time he returned, the porridge was always ready.
Picking up two bowls from beside the stove—each chipped with more than ten notches—Tang San carefully ladled out two servings of porridge and placed them on the table behind him. The grains of rice in the porridge were sparse enough to count at a glance. For a boy like Tang San who was in the midst of growing, this bit of nutrition was clearly insufficient. It was the reason his body was so thin.
“Father, it’s time to eat,” Tang San called.
After a moment, the curtain to the inner room lifted, and a tall figure stumbled out.
It was a middle-aged man who appeared close to fifty, yet he was remarkably tall and broad. His attire, however, left much to be desired.
He wore a tattered robe, not even patched, revealing tawny skin beneath. His facial features, which were originally rather distinct, were covered by a sallow, waxy complexion. His eyes were clouded with sleep, his hair was a messy bird’s nest, and his face bore a beard of unkempt length. His gaze was dull and hazy. Although a night had passed, the strong smell of alcohol still lingered on him, making Tang San frown slightly.
This was Tang Hao, Tang San’s father in this world.
Growing up, Tang San had never known fatherly love. Tang Hao had always been neglectful. In the beginning, he would occasionally cook for him, but as time went on, once Tang San started cooking for himself, Tang Hao did even less. The family was so poor they didn’t even have proper furniture. Meals were a struggle, mainly because Tang Hao spent his meager blacksmith’s income on wine.
Children the same age as Tang San typically had fathers who were around thirty. Those who married early were even younger. Yet Tang Hao looked far older than them, more like Tang San’s grandfather.
Regarding Tang Hao’s attitude, Tang San held no resentment. In his previous life, he had been an orphan. In this life, although Tang Hao treated him poorly, he at least had a family member. For Tang San, this was already enough to make him content. At least here, he had someone he could call father.
Tang Hao grabbed a bowl from the table, seemingly unbothered by the heat, and gulped down the porridge in large swallows. The dull color of his face seemed to gain a little more luster.
“Father, drink slowly. There’s more.” Tang San took the bowl from his father’s hand and ladled out another serving of congee. He then picked up his own bowl and started eating.
During his time in the Tang Sect, he had never left it and had little contact with the outside world. He was already like a blank sheet of paper. Coming to this world and becoming a child again was something he could accept without issue.
Soon, seventy to eighty percent of the pot of porridge had vanished into Tang Hao’s stomach. He let out a breath, placed the bowl on the table, and his drooping eyelids lifted slightly as he looked at Tang San.
“If there’s work, you take it first. I’ll work on it this afternoon. I’m going to sleep a bit more.”
Tang Hao’s routine was quite regular: sleeping in the morning, forging some farm tools in the afternoon for income, and drinking at night.
“Alright, Father.” Tang San nodded.
Tang Hao stood up. After drinking so much porridge, his body was finally steady. He turned to walk back to the inner room.
“Father.” Tang San suddenly called out.
Tang Hao stopped, turning his head to look at him, a clear hint of impatience in his brows.
Tang San pointed to a piece of pig iron in the corner that had a faint, dark sheen. “Could I have this piece of iron to use?” In his past life, he had been the most outstanding outer disciple of the Tang Sect, intimately familiar with crafting all sorts of hidden weapons. Of course, back then, all the materials were supplied by the sect. After arriving in this world, although he had cultivated for a few years, his strength was still far from sufficient. At the same time, he had never considered giving up the hidden weapon crafting he was best at. He had already started trying to forge some hidden weapons, but materials had become a major problem.
The metal Tang Hao used to forge tools was brought by the villagers. It was all common iron with many impurities, making it very difficult to craft fine hidden weapons. The pig iron Tang San pointed to now had just been delivered yesterday. What surprised Tang San was that this piece of iron ore actually contained a certain amount of Iron Mother, making it perfectly suited for forging hidden weapons.
Tang Hao’s gaze shifted to the pig iron. “Huh? There’s Iron Essence in here?” He walked over, bent down to look, then turned back to Tang San. “Do you want to become a blacksmith in the future?”
(End of chapter)