Chapter 3: Seok Ji-seung
The next morning, Dang Mu-jin left his house as soon as he woke up.
Just as the Dang family was responsible for the medical duties of the Cheongseong Sect’s Seongdo Bunta, the Seok family handled the blacksmithing. Leading the Seok family was Seok Yajang, the master blacksmith.
Seok Yajang was nearing seventy, small in stature and unremarkable in appearance.
Yet, among those who relied on the Cheongseong Sect’s Seongdo Bunta, none were more renowned than Seok Yajang. The reason was simple: his unparalleled skill.
His metalworking expertise was the best in Sichuan Province, and his reputation extended beyond its borders.
His fame was so great that even Dang Mu-jin trusted Seok Yajang’s reputation over his own instincts.
“Come to think of it, there’s no way Master Seok would have made a mistake with the tools. I must have been mistaken.”
Dang Mu-jin considered turning back but changed his mind.
Visiting Seok Yajang after such a long time was meaningful in itself.
Inside the forge, Seok Yajang was a gruff blacksmith, but outside, he was a gentle old man who would hand out snacks to children.
Dang Mu-jin had received treats from him many times as a child. Since he was already on his way, he thought it would be nice to check on the old man.
Before long, Dang Mu-jin arrived at the forge. Numerous weapons were displayed outside.
Ordinary blacksmiths worried about thieves and wouldn’t dare display their goods outside. But Seok Yajang’s forge was within the Cheongseong Sect’s grounds, so there was no need to worry about petty theft.
Dang Mu-jin peered inside the forge, intending to greet Seok Yajang.
To his surprise, instead of the white-haired master, a man who looked to be in his thirties was hammering away at a glowing piece of metal.
“Who is that?”
The man inside the forge seemed to sense Dang Mu-jin’s presence and turned to look at him.
“Looking for something?”
“No, I just came to pay my respects to Master Seok.”
“My father? He’s been unwell and hasn’t been to the forge since last winter.”
It seemed this man was Seok Yajang’s son.
If Seok Yajang hadn’t been to the forge since last winter, then it must have been his son who made the needles. The timing was suspicious. Could there really have been an issue with the needles?
“Then I’ll just browse around for a bit.”
“Take your time.”
The man resumed his hammering. Dang Mu-jin watched him for a moment before turning his attention to the items on display outside.
Among the various weapons, some seemed well-crafted, while others had noticeable flaws.
It was clear at a glance that they weren’t all made by the same person.
“The well-made ones must be Master Seok’s, and the rough ones are probably his son’s.”
On second thought, calling them “rough” seemed a bit unfair. Even the flawed ones were decent enough to be considered mid-range or high-quality among the weapons carried by ordinary martial artists.
“Looks like I’ve developed a discerning eye without ever having swung a hammer.”
Dang Mu-jin continued to examine the weapons, occasionally glancing back at the blacksmith’s silhouette.
The sight of the man sweating and working hard was oddly familiar.
Originally, Dang Mu-jin knew next to nothing about blacksmithing.
He didn’t know the order of tasks, nor was he familiar with the tools used. But now, things were different.
“It wasn’t just any dream. I can see exactly how the forge operates, and I can even predict the next steps.”
Dang Mu-jin was now certain. That dream must have been some kind of fortuitous encounter. It might not help him much in becoming a physician, but still.
His business here was more or less concluded.
Yet, Dang Mu-jin lingered, taking in the atmosphere of the forge.
The clanging of metal, the sight of the glowing iron—all of it was strangely soothing.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the blacksmith finished forging a short sword.
The man plunged the hot blade into a basin of water. With a hiss, steam rose from the basin. Now, all that was left was to let the blade cool, reheat it once more, and finish it off.
The blacksmith wiped his sweat and looked at Dang Mu-jin.
“You’ve been here a while. Is there something else you need? What brings you here?”
Dang Mu-jin considered making up an excuse but decided to be honest.
Anywhere else, he might have spun a tale, but in the forge, he didn’t want to say anything he didn’t mean.
“My father bought some needles from you about two weeks ago.”
“Needles, you say. You must be the son of the Dang family physician. Your name is… Dang Mu-jin, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Seok Ji-seung. Did your father lose the needles or something?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what’s the matter? You wouldn’t have stayed here so long without a reason.”
He didn’t really have a reason. He just found the forge’s atmosphere calming and had been enjoying the view.
But since the conversation had started, he figured he might as well be a bit more open.
“Actually, I came because I wasn’t satisfied with the condition of the needles my father received.”
“What?”
Seok Ji-seung interrupted before Dang Mu-jin could say more.
The way his eyebrow arched seemed to say, “What does a mere physician know about metal?”
Seok Ji-seung didn’t seem interested in hearing more from Dang Mu-jin and retorted sharply.
“I admit I’m not as skilled as my father. But I’m not so incompetent as to be called a hack. I’ve been helping in the forge for twenty years and have been wielding tongs and a hammer for twelve.”
It was a statement that could easily offend. But Dang Mu-jin had no intention of getting into a spat with Seok Ji-seung, so he apologized without hesitation.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re an unskilled blacksmith, Seok. If I offended you, I apologize.”
However, the irritation on Seok Ji-seung’s face didn’t fade. Dang Mu-jin’s words had touched a nerve.
“Does he think anyone wants to be less skilled than their father?”
When Seok Ji-seung first took over the forge, he was confident.
He thought he could immediately follow in his father’s footsteps and make a name for himself. He imagined martial arts masters bowing their heads, begging him to craft a sword.
But over the past six months, no one had praised Seok Ji-seung’s work.
Those with some influence in the Cheongseong Sect openly compared him to his father.
Even the newcomers to the sect weren’t much different. They pretended otherwise but would rummage through the forge, searching for his father’s creations.
What infuriated Seok Ji-seung even more was the lack of discernment among those rummaging through the weapons.
Ninety-nine out of a hundred couldn’t tell a good sword from a bad one.
If he claimed a sword his father made was his, they’d frown. But if he said a sword he made was his father’s, they’d be overjoyed.
To them, the quality of the sword didn’t matter. They just wanted something made by a famous, skilled craftsman to boast about.
Every time he dealt with such people, Seok Ji-seung’s frustration grew.
He looked Dang Mu-jin up and down. A clean-cut appearance and soft hands.
Yes, soft hands. Unlike Seok Ji-seung’s, they weren’t calloused, nor were his nails stained with rust. It was clear this young man had never worked in a forge or held a hammer.
Suddenly, a thought crossed Seok Ji-seung’s mind.
“He’s not even a martial artist.”
No matter how skilled a craftsman, if a martial artist frowned, they had to bow their head. Who knew what might happen if they drew their sword after a single honest remark?
But Dang Mu-jin was different. The Seok and Dang families were in similar positions, and Seok Ji-seung was slightly older.
Of course, Dang Mu-jin had apologized sincerely, but a wrong was still a wrong. Seok Ji-seung wasn’t obliged to accept the apology.
A small smile appeared on Seok Ji-seung’s lips. It seemed benevolent at first glance, but there was a hint of mischief in it.
“No need to say that. It’s true I’m not as good as my father.”
“You’re still young, Seok. With time, you’ll surpass Master Seok. As they say, the student surpasses the master.”
“That’s kind of you to say. But lately, I’ve been feeling a bit lost. I can’t quite figure out where I’m lacking.”
“Is that so?”
“But just in time, a discerning guest has arrived. It’s a great opportunity for me, don’t you think?”
Dang Mu-jin sensed something was off. But Seok Ji-seung continued without giving him a chance to speak.
“With such a keen-eyed guest, you can surely point out where I’m lacking, can’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s nothing complicated. I just want you to use your keen eye to tell me where I fall short. But I need to be sure of your discerning eye first. Just wait a moment.”
Seok Ji-seung stepped outside and returned with an armful of weapons. Then he went out again and brought back another load.
He spread the weapons out on the floor and spoke.
“Most of the items in the forge were made by me. It’s only natural since my father stopped working six months ago. But not all of his creations have been sold. Not everyone has an eye as sharp as yours.”
Seok Ji-seung gestured to the weapons laid out before them.
“Let’s see just how sharp our dear Tang Mujin’s eye really is. This will show whether he came here with any real knowledge or if he’s just here to complain without a clue.”
“And what exactly do you want from me?”
“Among these swords, find the one my father crafted. My father was renowned far beyond Sichuan, but I’m just a novice barely scraping by, so the difference in skill should be obvious. Shouldn’t it?”
Tang Mujin glanced at Seok Jiseung, who was smirking back at him. Clearly, Seok Jiseung was convinced that Tang Mujin wouldn’t be able to identify the right sword. Tang Mujin sighed and replied internally.
“Right, you think I’m an easy target.”
Truth be told, Tang Mujin was just as annoyed. He knew he’d misspoken earlier, but he’d quickly admitted his mistake and apologized. It didn’t seem fair for Seok Jiseung to be so confrontational over it.
When Tang Mujin didn’t respond immediately, Seok Jiseung taunted him further.
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you just say my needlework was sloppy?”
With that level of mockery, any thought of backing down vanished. Tang Mujin sighed again.
”…Alright, I’ll take a look.”
He turned his attention to the swords laid out on the floor. There were about twenty of them. They were all similar in design, likely made for the training of the sect’s disciples, and none had been sharpened to a fine edge. It seemed Seok Jiseung had deliberately chosen similar-looking swords.
But as Tang Mujin examined them, he frowned. Seok Jiseung’s little trick was all too transparent.