Episode 261: The Flying Disc

“Do you think it should be made like this?”

Dang Mujin held up a rounded piece of wood for Dan Seolyeong to inspect. She shook her head.

“No, try to shave the edges as thin as possible.”

“This is wood, not metal. If I make it any thinner, it’ll just break along the grain.”

“It just needs to hold up for a few throws so we can get a feel for it. We’ll make it out of metal later anyway. While you’re at it, try making it a bit smaller.”

Dang Mujin questioned her suggestion.

“Smaller? Bigger ones fly more smoothly.”

“If you were making a toy for Young, then sure, smooth flight would be key. But you’re thinking of making a weapon, right? A smaller size might be more practical, even if it’s a bit harder to throw.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

Dang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong were holed up in the workshop, crafting discs. Dan Seolyeong had the knack for predicting how things would move, while Dang Mujin had the skill to bring those ideas to life. Naturally, their roles were clear. Dan Seolyeong would describe the shape and suggest improvements, and Dang Mujin would incorporate her feedback into the next version.

Sometimes, Dang Mujin would get lost in the details, but Dan Seolyeong would guide him back on track. A thought crossed Dang Mujin’s mind. Wasn’t it customary for expectant mothers to avoid stress and focus on pleasant things? He wasn’t sure if it was right for Dan Seolyeong, so close to her due date, to be cooped up in a workshop carving discs. But her face was so full of joy that he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. If he suggested she rest in the annex, she would surely give him a disapproving look.

As he carved the wood, Dang Mujin mused, “Is this the first time we’ve made something together since Mok Inhang?” The celestial needle and the rain flower needle were things Dan Seolyeong had designed and he had recreated, so they didn’t quite count as joint projects. “It’s been longer than I thought.”

They continued to work, filling in each other’s gaps, and reminiscing about their time at the Shaolin Temple. They lost track of time, chatting and carving away in the workshop.

The most excited person in this scenario wasn’t Dang Mujin or Dan Seolyeong, but their child, Dang Young. Being around the workshop meant his father was always making interesting things. These were far more fascinating and precious than the usual stones and sticks he found in the yard or the toys the household staff would sneak to him.

Dang Young didn’t even have to bother retrieving the discs. Whenever he threw one with all his might, someone from the household would pick it up and bring it back to him. The person who did this the most was Jang Il-nam, the Blood Rain Guest. Unlike other martial artists, he didn’t practice martial arts, so he had plenty of time to play with Dang Young.

A few days later, when Dang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong had nearly perfected the size and shape of the disc, Sam Anbul, who had been observing, spoke up.

“Why not try making it in the shape of a ring? Leave the center open.”

“A ring?”

“Yes. Dang Mujin, do you remember the Ghost King?”

“Yes, he was the one who fled when he saw Elder Hwa Yeon-shin while we were escaping the Demon Sect. He used to be called the Turtle King because of his… indiscretions, right?”

Sam Anbul gave Dang Mujin a meaningful look but didn’t elaborate further.

“Anyway, back when I was with the Demon Sect, he once mentioned a weapon called the Golden Wheel.”

“What’s that?”

“He said it was a peculiar weapon used by some monks in the Potala Palace of Tibet. It’s a ring with blades on the edge and an open center.”

“Is it a throwing weapon?”

“Primarily, it’s held by the unsharpened part, but it can be thrown if needed.”

“Then we should try making one.”

Intrigued by the idea of an open center, Dang Mujin crafted another disc similar to the ones they had been making and hollowed out the middle. It was only palm-sized, so it wouldn’t be easy to wield like the Golden Wheel Sam Anbul described, but it was much lighter.

Dang Mujin relaxed his wrist and gently tossed the ring. The discs they had made so far had a slight curve in their trajectory, but the ring curved much more dramatically. It would be difficult to handle, but its unpredictable path would be a nightmare for opponents. Dang Mujin saw potential in the ring.

“This could turn out to be something extraordinary if we’re lucky.”

He immediately headed to the forge with Dan Seolyeong. The forge, once part of the Qingcheng Sect’s branch, had naturally become part of the household, now run by Seok Ji-seung. It had expanded to accommodate several blacksmiths working simultaneously.

The forge was alive with the clanging of metal and the heat of the furnace, making it feel like summer despite the winter chill. The blacksmiths, sweating profusely, were focused solely on their anvils. But as Dang Mujin approached, three blacksmiths cooling off outside fixed their eyes on him, their gazes almost pleading.

“Please, come this way.”

Dang Mujin considered himself more of a healer and martial artist than a blacksmith. Yet, the people who welcomed him most eagerly were the blacksmiths. Healers could learn from Tang Jeseon, Chu Sam, or Mok Wana. There were countless martial artists, many more skilled than Dang Mujin, with better teachers among them. But the blacksmiths were different.

No one could replace Dang Mujin. Not just in the household, but across the world. He was a blacksmith of unparalleled skill. Yet, he rarely interacted with the blacksmiths. So it was no surprise they watched him with burning eyes whenever he passed by the forge.

Usually, Dang Mujin seldom entered the forge, but today was different. His steps were clearly directed toward it. As he got within twenty paces, one blacksmith, unable to contain his excitement, stood up and approached him.

“Master Dang, do you have business in the forge?”

“Yes.”

That single word was enough. The other two blacksmiths, who had been watching from the doorway, jumped up and shouted into the forge.

“Clear the central furnace immediately!”

“But it’s almost ready—”

A grumbling voice from inside trailed off as the blacksmiths inside noticed Dang Mujin. The one who had been complaining quickly moved the red-hot metal to a corner.

He wasn’t the only one who stopped working. All the blacksmiths, who had been hammering away, set down their tools. It’s rare for a blacksmith to stop mid-work on heated metal. At best, they’d have to start over, and at worst, the metal could be ruined. But this wasn’t the time to worry about that. Dang Mujin entering the forge was a once-in-a-year event.

Dang Mujin glanced around the forge and pointed to a promising-looking ingot. It was unshaped, with impurities removed.

“This ingot looks good. May I use it?”

“Of course, use it as you wish!”

The blacksmith who had made the ingot beamed with pride. All the sweat and burns from working the furnace had paid off.

Dang Mujin picked up the small ingot with tongs and placed it in the furnace. The blacksmiths gathered around him, buzzing with curiosity.

“Who’s the lucky one getting a new sword today?”

“Sam Anbul? No, he doesn’t use swords… Is it Elder Jang?”

“He said he quit the martial world.”

“Then maybe Master Dang is making it for himself.”

“No, the ingot’s too small for a sword. Since Miss Dan is here, maybe he’s making her a decorative knife.”

As they speculated, Dang Mujin shook his head.

“Nothing like that. I’m making this.”

”…?”

Their eyes turned to the wooden ring in his hand. A thin ring with an unclear purpose. The blacksmiths couldn’t grasp his intent.

One young blacksmith voiced his disappointment.

“After all this time, you’re just making a ring?”

“I intend to.”

“But I’ve heard that in the martial world, the sword is considered the king of all weapons.”

I tried to be subtle, but what I really meant was that I wanted to see him forge a sword instead of some mysterious ring.

The blacksmiths gathered here weren’t just any blacksmiths hammering out crude farming tools from scrap metal. They were master swordsmiths, dedicating their lives to the craft. Even Tang Mujin could understand the desire to witness the creation of a sword. If circumstances were different, he might have felt the same.

An older blacksmith chided a younger one.

“Enough. Master Tang didn’t come here to put on a show for you.”

The young blacksmith looked crestfallen, and Tang Mujin chuckled softly.

“This is a weapon too, in its own way. I’ll sharpen the edges.”

“You’re going to sharpen the edges of that ring?”

“Yes.”

The seasoned blacksmiths showed even more interest. They had seen Tang Mujin forge swords many times and learned much from his process. In fact, the more unusual the item he crafted, the more they learned, so this was a fortunate opportunity for them.

What intrigued them now was how Tang Mujin would create this ring. A curved blade wasn’t unusual—scythes and some swords had curves. But a perfectly circular, small blade like this? None of them had ever made such a thing.

Tang Mujin explained, “This isn’t something you wield in your hand. It’s meant to be thrown. It’s unfamiliar to me too, so I’ll need to pay extra attention.”

“Can you make it in one go? Though, if it’s you, I’m sure you can…”

“I can make it, but I can’t guarantee this is the best form. I’ll need to experiment with different shapes.”

“So, you’ll be visiting us often?”

“Yes, I will.”

The blacksmiths cheered at the prospect of Tang Mujin’s frequent visits. As they peppered him with questions and sought his advice, the metal in the forge glowed red-hot.

“Step back, please.”

Tang Mujin reached into the forge with tongs, gripping the glowing metal tightly. Though it could be shaped with hammer blows, it was far from soft. Yet, his keen sense of touch through the tongs allowed him to gauge the metal’s state.

‘Just right.’

He placed the metal on the anvil, and Seok Jiseung stepped forward to hold the tongs. Tang Mujin found this unexpected, as usually the most skilled and experienced person took that role.

‘Seok Jiseung must have improved significantly.’

Tang Mujin picked up a hammer, swung it high, and brought it down with force.

This was the most spectacular moment.

Clang—

As the hammer struck the heated metal, a thunderous noise erupted, sending hundreds, thousands of sparks flying. Impurities from the forge scattered with each blow.

Tang Mujin glanced around. Reactions varied. The least experienced were mesmerized by the dazzling sparks. Those who had hammered metal for years focused on the shape the hammer was creating. But the most seasoned listened to the sound of metal meeting hammer.

Seok Jiseung, eyes closed, was listening intently. Tang Mujin smiled with satisfaction.

Once a somewhat clumsy blacksmith, Seok Jiseung now led the Tang family’s group of blacksmiths. His skills must have matched those of the older blacksmiths, allowing him to take the lead in front of Tang Mujin.

Seok Jiseung adjusted the metal’s position with the tongs, allowing Tang Mujin to swing the hammer without pause. Thanks to Seok Jiseung’s intuitive assistance, the work proceeded smoothly.

The metal was repeatedly heated and hammered, flattening, elongating, and returning to its original shape. The blacksmiths watched in rapt silence, their faces glowing like children gathered around a winter hearth.

After several rounds, the metal took on a small, flat form. Tang Mujin used a chisel and small hammer to carve out the inside, then heated it one last time to shape it before plunging it into a water trough.

Steam rose as the metal hit the cold water, droplets scattering. Tang Mujin gestured to the blacksmiths.

“Alright, the show’s over. Back to work, everyone.”

But they didn’t disperse. They wanted to see the final polishing. Their dreams were unfolding before their eyes, and they couldn’t look away from Tang Mujin’s hands.

Tang Mujin sat comfortably in a corner, chatting with the blacksmiths as he leisurely polished the ring. They waited eagerly for the small result he would reveal.

The small forges in the corner went cold, unnoticed, but the older blacksmiths didn’t scold the younger ones.

After much grinding, the ring was complete. A perfect circular blade, without a single flaw or dent. Even the blacksmith who had pestered for a sword was entranced by the ring.

“What do you call this?”

“I hadn’t thought of a name… Let’s call it a ‘Flying Wheel.’”

One final step remained. Throughout the forging and polishing, Tang Mujin had focused not on the shape but on the balance and center of gravity.

He set a small awl upright and carefully balanced the Flying Wheel on top, then slowly withdrew his hand.

Even a smaller, thicker coin like the ancient five-zhu coin was hard to balance, but the Flying Wheel stood steady on the awl.

This was no easy feat for Tang Mujin, and the blacksmiths could hardly believe their eyes.

“Incredible…”

As swordsmiths, they understood the importance of balance in a blade. But the precision Tang Mujin demonstrated was beyond their comprehension.

What Tang Mujin showed was akin to balancing one blade on the tip of another. For an ordinary sword, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths. But the Flying Wheel was meant to be thrown, where even a slight imbalance could alter its trajectory and lead to unintended results.

Tang Mujin slipped his finger through the ring’s hole, spinning it as he walked outside. The sun had set, and the forge’s surroundings were cloaked in darkness.

When a new sword is made, blacksmiths often take a swing, even if they don’t practice swordsmanship. They followed Tang Mujin outside, curious to see how he would use the Flying Wheel.

As soon as he stepped out, Tang Mujin infused his hand with inner strength and hurled the Flying Wheel with all his might.

It flew silently and swiftly, disappearing into the night sky.

The blacksmiths stood dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

‘He just threw away something he crafted with such care?’

‘If he was going to throw it, why not closer?’

In the dark, there was no way to tell where it landed. They knew the direction, but the small size of the Flying Wheel made it nearly impossible to find.

“What just…?”

“Shh! He wouldn’t have thrown it without a plan.”

Despite their murmurs, Tang Mujin focused intently, sensing the Flying Wheel. When he first learned the art of controlling objects in the air, even handling a light needle was challenging. But now, he could subtly manipulate the Flying Wheel he had thrown far away, thanks to years of honing his martial skills.

After a moment, Tang Mujin raised his right index finger, and the Flying Wheel returned from the darkness, landing on his finger.

The blacksmiths couldn’t fathom what they had witnessed. Unfamiliar with the technique, they couldn’t understand it, nor could they replicate the Flying Wheel.

But one thing was certain: it was a sight they might never see again.

Tang Mujin spun the Flying Wheel on his finger and turned to Dan Seol-young.

“It’s quite useful, don’t you think?”