Reborn in 1985, starting from the mountains of Northwest China

Zhang the blacksmith placed the rough porcelain bowl on the anvil next to him, making a crisp "clang" sound.

He wiped the water droplets from his beard and stared at Chen Feng.

"A gunshot is a death sentence, and who knows what might happen next. I've watched you grow up... Are you really sure?"

Chen Feng met his gaze without flinching.

"Uncle, I've made up my mind."

"The three mu of land at home is meager; we barely make ends meet if we rely on it alone. There's plenty of food in the mountains; maybe we can get some extra income. I feel uneasy going in empty-handed."

Zhang Tiechui stared at him for a long time, then took another sip of cold tea.

He sighed, "Alright, I won't stop you. You do seem a bit more reliable than before, but make sure you come back safe and sound..."

Zhang Tiechui paused, then said, "But this gun... it's not easy to get right now. There aren't any readily available, so we'll have to rely on luck, and we'll need this one."

He rubbed his fingers together.

The meaning is clear: they want money.

A gun costs at least two or three hundred, and with his meager funds, he couldn't even afford half a gun.

Chen Feng leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "Uncle, what if... what if we made it ourselves?"

"Make it yourself?"

Zhang Tiechui raised an eyebrow and looked Chen Feng over again. "You can?"

"No," Chen Feng answered honestly.

"I want to learn from you. I have the strength, and I've also practiced my eyesight. You tell me, and I'll do it. I can sharpen a machete so fine it can cut a hair in an instant, and if the iron tip of a plowshare gets dull, I can forge it back for you."

Zhang Tiechui listened without responding.

He gazed out the window at the dry tree branches scattered by the wind.

In his early years, he and Chen Laogeng were sworn brothers when they went into the mountains together. Later, he became a blacksmith and gradually lost contact with the Chen family.

In fact, he watched Chen Feng grow up.

Zhang Tiechui had no children his whole life, and none of the younger generation in the clan were capable of learning his craft.

He can't let this craft die out with him, can he?

He actually thought highly of Chen Feng and had long wanted the boy to learn his craft from him.

However, Chen Feng's disgraceful behavior in the past few years had truly dampened his enthusiasm.

Blacksmithing is a job that requires patience. This kid got blinded by the outside world a few years ago.

But right now...

Fengwazi is indeed different now.

Want to try it?

Let this kid learn from us first. If he does well, we can ask him to become our apprentice later. At least we can ensure that our master's mantle is passed down.

Zhang Tiechui pondered for a moment, then turned his gaze from the withered branches outside the window to Chen Feng's face.

The light from the fire danced in his pupils, reflecting a complex mix of emotions.

He bent down and dragged out several rusty iron pipes, a dirty wooden tray, and a rusted iron lump firing device from the dusty pile of scrap in the corner, and threw them at Chen Feng's feet with a few clangs.

His voice was a little hoarse. He squatted down, picked up the slightly better piece of iron pipe, and vigorously rubbed his fingers across the rough, rusty surface.

"The materials are these ownerless junk. If you were to actually piece together something that makes a sound, it would be cheaper than buying a new one, but the effort involved..."

He tapped the rusty lump lightly with the iron pipe, producing a dull thud.

"You have to pick at it little by little, grind it bit by bit. The most important thing is to be calm, steady, and sharp-eyed. A few years ago, with your impetuous manner, you wouldn't have dared to hold a hammer steady, let alone pick at this rusty lump. Even if a red-hot iron blank were placed in front of you, you might not have dared to hold it steady."

Chen Feng's cheeks flushed slightly, but he remained silent.

He squatted down and reached out to touch the cold iron block.

It has a rough texture and is a bit prickly to the touch.

Zhang Tiechui asked him, "This rusty iron is a hundred times more tedious than sharpening a wood-chopping knife."

"You could spend ages here, and still not see a glimmer of hope."

"If you're not careful, you'll wear out this only old pipe. Then you'll have to pay for the materials and labor."

"You still want to try?"

Chen Feng withdrew his hand and wiped the rust powder off his old cotton-padded jacket.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the rubble on the ground, and looked at the furnace fire behind Zhang Tiechui, his eyes resolute.

"Uncle."

Chen Feng stood there straight: "If the machete is broken, we can replace it. It will only delay our work for half a day at most."

"But if this breaks, it's a matter of life and death! I know what's important and what's urgent."

Chen Feng understood that Uncle Zhang was about to relent, and he wanted to seize this opportunity.

He paused, his voice becoming more steadfast: "You asked me to try, so I will. I know you care about me, Uncle!"

"The wind used to be a jerk, but it's changing step by step. I want to follow you, starting with grinding this pipe."

Zhang Tiechui didn't say anything, he just looked at him.

He watched as he grew from a naked toddler into a young man.

After watching him wander around outside for several years, he now looks like a good person.

Inside the stove, the coal crackled softly.

Zhang Tiechui finally stood up, walked to the pile of messy tools by the wall, rummaged through them for a while, and took out a small bundle of sandpaper of varying coarseness, a few wooden sticks with rags wrapped around one end, and a small jar of sticky rust remover.

Zhang Tiechui walked back and stuffed all these things, along with the piece of iron pipe, into Chen Feng's arms.

"In the backyard, next to the water vat, there's a low stool."

Zhang Tiechui's tone returned to its usual calm, even somewhat stiff, manner.

"Go there to do it. The lighting is better, and it'll save the rust dust from flying into the shop and making it choking."

He didn't say how to do it, nor did he specify any standards; he simply pointed towards the backyard.

Chen Feng held the cold, heavy iron pipe and the odds and ends of his tools in his arms, but his heart suddenly warmed.

This is not just permission, but also a test, a beginning.

"Why!"

He agreed readily, picked up his things, and turned to walk towards the backyard.

Chen Feng walked steadily, his back appearing exceptionally sturdy in the flickering light of the furnace fire.

Zhang Tiechui walked back to the stove, picked up the bowl of water, and took another big gulp.

The herbal tea soothed my throat, suppressing the churning old memories and expectations in my heart.

He picked up the hammer again, grabbed a piece of red-hot iron, and swung it down.

"when--!"

A loud strike echoed through the blacksmith's shop.

Chen Feng sat on a low stool in the backyard, not in a hurry to make a move.

He picked up the rust remover, used a piece of wood to scoop out a sticky, pungent-smelling blob, and spread it evenly on the outside of the iron pipe.

The paste quickly seeped into the rust, and its color darkened.

After waiting for about half an incense stick's time, he picked up the coarsest sandpaper, wrapped it around the wooden pole covered with rags, and vigorously rubbed it against the thickest part of the rust.

"Snap—"

The sound was dry and harsh.

The first scrape only removed some loose rust powder, which fell in a flurry onto the stone slab at my feet.

The iron pipes have hardly changed.

Undeterred, Chen Feng adjusted his grip and applied even more force to his arm, grinding back and forth along the grooves of the tube.

"Snap... snap... snap..."