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"The Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps departed from Jiyang City fifteen days ago, heading east along the river and arriving straight at the Sea of No Regrets. Word is, Old Man Smoke Pot will soon lead his crew out to sea, hunting for peculiar slaves in the Realm of Ten Thousand Islands." There's also a note: "For decades, the Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps has roamed the Four Wildernesses in no particular order. Since its founding, they've hunted peculiar slaves in the Realm of Ten Thousand Islands at least forty times. Their movements at sea are impossible to track—once they're out, no one knows where they'll show up next."
Jack Young felt a bit regretful—he kinda wanted to catch up with that mercenary group. To be fair, they did pull him out of the desert, which set off a whole chain of events and fateful encounters. But on the flip side—those jerks actually tried to sell the protagonist like cargo! The last base that tried to auction him off got completely wiped out, so maybe the Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps should consider a 'double whammy,' eh, you scoundrels?
So, thanks to this twisted fate, Jack still kinda wants to meet Old Man Smoke Pot in person. But now the mercenary group has set sail, so for now, he'll just have to let it go.
Then there's a bunch more stuff, mostly bios and stories about various martial artists and their signature moves—mainly focused on the Goldblade and Silverblade Kings, who are both pretty young and have plenty of tales floating around the martial world, so they're easy to dig up info on. As for Lady Three Marvels, her profession is... uh, special, so her romantic escapades are even easier to find.
But their backgrounds are all pretty mysterious. The ones Jack cares about most are the Withered and Flourishing Grannies, but sadly, he couldn't dig up anything useful on them either. These two haven't shown up in the martial world for decades—enough time for a regular person to be born, live, and die—so info is super scarce. For now, nothing helpful.
"Guess I'll just ask Yan Taixu directly."
Rumors about innate-level masters are always hush-hush in the martial world, hard to track down. But Yan Taixu, as the Phantom Sword Saint, is recognized everywhere for his extraordinary skills—he must know way more about the details of other top-tier masters. But it's late now, so there's no rush; Jack decides to visit tomorrow.
"Time's almost up—better head to Ouyezi's place."
Jack stepped out the door and made his way, like clockwork, to the big compound at Sword Casting Cliff. He'd been coming here every day lately, soaking up knowledge and learning by watching, plus his freakish memory meant his forging skills were improving by leaps and bounds. He always showed up at night, and every time, the whole compound was pitch dark and dead quiet, so he hadn't met many of the Sword Casting Cliff folks. But Ouyezi's little courtyard was always blazing with fire, and the progress on the forging core just kept moving forward.
Jack walked right into the little workshop—Ouyezi was by the furnace, hammering away at a chunk of iron. He didn't even look up when Jack came in, just kept pounding until he was done, then finally let out a breath and nodded: "You're here." This old guy was like a block of pig iron lately, bursting with endless passion and focus. He was devoted to forging, and just as dedicated to teaching. He showed off every trick he had, holding nothing back. And Jack? He didn't let him down—he even outperformed Ouyezi's wildest hopes.
Originally, Ouyezi thought the forging core would be done in three days, but working together with Jack, bouncing ideas off each other, gave him all sorts of inspiration. So it took longer, but the result was way better. He even said that, thanks to meeting Jack, this yet-to-be-revealed Xuan Divine Weapon was going to be a whole level higher in quality.
"It's fate—heaven's blessing," Ouyezi would sometimes say, breaking into a rare smile as he watched the flames dance in the furnace, or gazed at the glowing iron. His eyes held something deep, like a father hoping his kid will make it big, mixed with a touch of religious devotion.
Jack grabbed the Hundred Refinement Hammer, limbered up at the anvil, and asked, "So, are we finishing up tonight?"
"The literary spirit and heart are done. Now it's up to you to add the martial spirit and heart." Ouyezi had barely slept these past few days, working nonstop day and night. Even a guy made of iron would be tired, but he was still going strong, totally focused on the most important project of his life. "Once the martial spirit and heart are forged, we'll melt the gold and iron, pour it into the mold, and form the core. Tomorrow, you'll get to see the moment the forging core is born."
"Perfect, just in time—I can't stick around much longer." Jack picked up an iron billet. "By the way, what are you gonna name this Xuan Divine Weapon?"
Ouyezi stared into the furnace, paused for a moment, then said two words: "Nirvana."
"All suffering ends, rebirth begins—Nirvana's a great name!" Jack couldn't help but laugh. "This Nirvana is bound to go down in history. My first time forging a weapon and it's already this legendary—man, I'm actually kinda excited!"
"Yep." Ouyezi nodded, then grinned too. "Nirvana's got both literary and martial spirit, a clash of dragon and tiger—it's sure to break through all bitterness and shine bright. It'll be famous for generations!" Ouyezi spoke with fierce conviction, an unshakeable faith that rubbed off on Jack, who got even more focused as he started hammering the iron billet.
When it comes to forging iron, folks always say 'a thousand strikes, ten thousand strikes.' But honestly, if your technique's good enough, you don't need that many—just a dozen or so will get rid of all the impurities. Still, every billet gets hammered at least a hundred times, just to drive your spirit and will deep into the metal. Sounds mystical, sure, but that's exactly what makes a Xuan Divine Weapon so special and alive—the whole process is key.
To Jack, forging a Xuan Divine Weapon felt like a budget version of crafting a spiritual treasure in a xianxia novel. Shape and weight, hard or soft—totally at your command. All these wild, out-of-this-world features turn a regular blade into a dream weapon.
Jack hammered away all night, forging billet after billet of iron. These billets were the basic ingredients for forming the core. It was like prepping all the nutrients, so that in the final moment, everything would melt together in the spirit fire, transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary. That moment would be when the forging core was born.
Time slipped by quietly—Jack and Ouyezi didn't say another word, just focused on forging.
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The night watchman came and went, and came again. "Ding ding ding—dry weather, beware of fire!" His slow, steady calls drifted by, and before they knew it, it was already the fifth watch of the night. Jack brought down the final hammer blow, and after both of them inspected the iron billet, they finally broke into satisfied smiles: "Done! The last martial billet is finished!"
"Phew, that was exhausting." Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ouyezi at the doorway. Dawn was approaching, the darkest hour of the night, but Jack could finally breathe easy—everything they could do was done. Now, it was up to fate and fortune.
"You've been burning through your energy lately—take a day off." Jack could see Ouyezi's hidden exhaustion and gently advised, "Rest up, then fire up the furnace and melt the core. When the weapon's done, if you collapse, it'll all be for nothing."
Ouyezi grunted, then said slowly, "If I hadn't met you, the billets wouldn't be nearly this full of spiritual resonance. I was ready to sacrifice myself for the sword, so I don't really care about collapsing or not. But," he clapped Jack on the shoulder and smiled, "maybe it's not my time yet. Looks like I'll live to see Nirvana come out of the furnace."
"Hey, listen to yourself—talk about bad luck!" Jack chuckled and shook his head. "Quit jinxing it, get some rest, and get ready for your masterpiece. The day Nirvana comes out of the furnace is the day you hit the peak!"
"Alright." Ouyezi nodded, then grabbed a stick from the workshop. "Here, take this. Found it just the way you like—make do with it for now."
"Whoa, you actually found one?" Jack perked up and grabbed the staff. It was just the right thickness and length, perfectly balanced—not metal, not wood. Thanks to his training, he could judge quality, so after poking and prodding it a bit, he nodded with satisfaction. This stick was sturdy, tough, and flexible—a pretty solid weapon.
Jack stood in the courtyard, gripping the staff with both hands—left sweep, whoosh; right strike, wham; swing down, boom! The deep, resonant whoosh of the staff cutting through the air felt great, and Jack couldn't help but grin: "Yep, this is the one!"
Watching Jack try out the staff, landing clean, crisp strikes in the courtyard, Ouyezi nodded and then shook his head. "Most folks want a weapon with clear channels, so a little push sends out blade light or sword energy—can't get better than that. But you? You go against the grain and pick a dead staff."
"Everyone else fears tigers and can't get off once they're riding one, but I turn the tiger into a horse and keep riding. This dead staff is exactly what suits me right now." For the record, 'dead staff' doesn't mean it's bad. It's handy, but its main feature—no true qi conduction! It's like rubber and electricity: basically insulated. Internal energy masters hate this kind of staff, since they can't use their real skills. But for Jack, it's perfect.
By the way, after testing, the short spear's special metal conducts true qi almost too well—even Ouyezi was amazed.
"Next time I run into someone trying to crush me with internal power, or using some weird qi-rebound technique, I can just jab them with this staff, no worries." The more Jack tested it, the happier he got. 'A gentleman uses tools, not the other way around'—turning junk into treasure is all about mindset.
With all the side business done, Jack was about to leave when he suddenly remembered something he could ask Ouyezi: "Senior, mind if I ask you something?"
"Go ahead." Ouyezi replied casually, pulling a jade sword from the Hundred Arms Pool and examining it.
"Senior, you're a descendant of the ancient dynasty, so I wondered if you've ever heard of a martial art called the Wedding Dress Divine Skill?"
Ouyezi seemed to shudder, then looked up at Jack. He stared for a full two seconds before nodding slightly: "I've heard of it. 'Martial Dao unites the heavens, Wedding Dress Divine Skill'—not many know that phrase, but I happen to. That skill was passed down through the royal family, once the highest divine art of the Hua clan—fierce, domineering, blazing hot, and unbelievably powerful."
"So you really do know!" Finally, someone with info—so Jack pressed for details: "To be honest, I'm planning to head to the Southern Wasteland to look for the Wedding Dress Divine Skill, but all the leads are a mess and I have no clue where to start. Do you know any hints about its location? Uh, do you folks from the Southern Wasteland have a leader? If I find the skill, I'm happy to share it." Gotta be polite when it's someone else's stuff, after all.
"No need. The old country is gone, the divine skill has no owner—if you want to search for it, just go ahead, don't worry about anyone else's permission." Ouyezi let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "Sadly, I don't know where it's hidden either. The Southern Wasteland is all endless sand now—maybe it's already buried under the dunes."
"Alright, got it." Makes sense—the old country was wiped out over a century ago. Back then, China was still under the Qing dynasty! Too much has changed, so tracking down old secrets is nearly impossible. Jack said goodbye and turned to leave, but just as he reached the gate, Ouyezi suddenly called out: "Mr. Yang, do you like fireworks?"
Jack turned back, surprised, and saw Ouyezi sitting tall and straight in the middle of the courtyard. There was something hidden deep in his eyes—too much to explain, impossible to grasp. Jack couldn't figure out what he meant, so he just answered honestly: "I do. Fireworks fade fast, but they're brilliant while they last. Short-lived, but dazzling—worth it even when they burn out."
"Good. Very good." Ouyezi rarely said 'very good'—the last time was when Jack made a breakthrough. He lowered his head, carefully studying the jade sword in his hands. "Go on, then. I won't see you off."
Jack felt a little uneasy—something seemed off, but he couldn't put his finger on it, so he just left. The street was silent, the night pitch black, and Jack headed back to the Grand Brothel. Suddenly, a spark shot up from Ouyezi's courtyard, whistling into the sky, then burst into thousands of fiery stars. The fireworks came from Ouyezi's place.
Sparks flew everywhere, painting Eight Directions City bright red. Jack smiled: "He looks so serious, but turns out he's still got a kid's heart—nice!" He returned to the Grand Brothel and promptly fell asleep. After forging martial billets all night, he was wiped out.
Jack slept deeply, losing track of time. But suddenly, his brow furrowed and he snapped awake—a vague, shadowy feeling was coiling in his chest. Next thing he knew, Fiona Fang burst through the door, flustered: "Master, bad news—something terrible's happened!"
"What happened?" The sense of dread kept growing, but Jack stayed calm.
Fiona Fang opened her mouth twice, trying to steady herself, then finally stammered: "Senior Ouyezi—he's been assassinated!"