Douluo Continent III Haotian Wulin

"Wu Lin, you're here!"

As soon as he entered Mangtian Studio, Brother Long, who was arranging parts in the front hall, looked up and greeted him.

Three years have passed, and Brother Long has gone from a young man who looked at him like a child to someone who can't help but shake his head and sigh when he sees him. The reason is simple—this kid grows up quickly, learns quickly, and works quickly, especially when he's in front of the forging table, he's like a completely different person.

"Brother Long," Tang Wulin replied with a smile, "What task did the teacher assign today?"

Brother Long gestured with his lips towards the inside, his face showing a mixture of genuine and feigned envy.

"There's plenty of work to do, go in and see for yourself. To be honest, I'm almost jealous of you. How old are you? The teacher is giving you almost as much work as I am."

Tang Wulin chuckled.

"That can't compare to you. My teacher still won't let me touch any large parts."

Brother Long snorted, "That's because the teacher was worried your foundation wasn't solid enough. Don't be ungrateful. Alright, hurry up and go in. If you dawdle any longer, two hours won't be enough for you to get any work done today."

There are still only three people in Mangtian Studio.

Mang Tian, ​​Brother Long, and Tang Wulin.

In these three years, Tang Wulin had long since transformed from a "kid who came to try his luck" into a student truly accepted by Mang Tian. Mang Tian remained as cold and unyielding as ever, still demanding of extremely high standards, and showed no mercy when scolding people. But Tang Wulin knew in his heart that he had learned far more here than at the academy.

Moreover, what he was taught here was not just forging.

And how to exert effort, how to endure hardship, how to stand firm, how to carve out a path little by little on your own.

Tang Wulin walked through the front hall with practiced ease and entered his own forging room.

Unlike the front hall outside, which was piled high with parts, his place was always very tidy. The forging table, slots, blueprint racks, and metal shelves were all neatly arranged, and one glance showed that the owner was a methodical person.

Sure enough, today's task was already laid out on the forging table.

The ten mecha joints weren't large in size, but the requirements were extremely high. Next to the blueprints was a note left by Mang Tian: "The spherical error must not exceed half a grid of the standard line."

Tang Wulin picked up the blueprints and looked at them; his expression immediately turned serious.

This is the ankle joint of the Soul Guidance Mech.

These kinds of parts can be cast using molds and formed in two stamping processes; however, making them by hand forging is far more complex. Every curve and every transition must be hammered out bit by bit. Hundreds of forgings are the foundation, and truly good finished products can even approach the effect of a thousand forgings in certain key areas.

Forging is never as simple as just manual labor.

This was something Mangtian told him in the first year.

To become a true blacksmith, one must first be able to endure hardship; but if one can only endure hardship, but cannot listen to the sound of metal, cannot see the texture of metal, and cannot adapt to its nature to change its structure, then one will forever only be a rough worker.

Tang Wulin put the blueprint back and skillfully pressed the button next to the forging table.

The slot slid open, and a metal billet was sent into the furnace. Flames ignited and quickly heated the billet until it was glowing red-hot.

Three years ago, when he first came here, Mangtian made him hammer iron blocks for three whole months.

They don't teach anything else, only the most basic techniques: striking, power, endurance, and rhythm.

Those three months were truly the most difficult period he had ever endured. Two hours a day, his palms would be worn raw and scabbed over, then worn raw again, his arms aching so much he couldn't even lift a bowl of rice. But it was also during those three months that he truly learned to live with his hammer for the first time.

It's not considered a martial spirit.

Instead, it was used as a "hammer".

A year later, Mang Tian stood by the forging table, watching him strike the hammer blow after blow, and suddenly said:

"You can't keep calling it 'Little Black Hammer' forever."

Tang Wulin, who was sweating profusely while hammering a piece of blue titanium, was stunned by the question, then looked up blankly and asked, "What should it be called?"

Mang Tian remained silent for a moment, looking at the thick, blunt, black hammer in his hand, each strike like a falling star, and said calmly:

"It fell like a falling star."

"From now on, it will be called the Sinking Star Hammer."

From then on, the martial soul that accompanied Tang Wulin through his awakening, suffering, and growth finally had its own name.

Sinking Star Hammer.

Tang Wulin still likes this name very much.

Because he felt that, compared to the casual nickname "Little Black Hammer," the name "Shenxing" seemed to have truly awakened him a little.

At this moment, Tang Wulin, standing in front of the forge, took a deep breath, raised his right hand, and with a flash of dark light, the Sinking Star Hammer quietly appeared in his palm.

Compared to three years ago, it hasn't become much more exaggerated.

It remained entirely black, short, heavy, and devoid of any flamboyance. However, upon closer inspection, one would notice that the hammer was no longer as blunt and rough as it had been initially. Its black surface, honed and refined through countless forgings, had become increasingly solid, and its edges were now more defined. Occasionally, in the firelight, even extremely faint dark gold patterns would flash briefly deep within the hammer's body.

The real change is not in its appearance.

And the compatibility between it and Tang Wulin.

Others use a forging hammer by holding the tool.

When Tang Wulin grasped the Sinking Star Hammer, it felt more like he was holding a part of his own bones back in his hand.

He reached into the slot and, taking advantage of the moment when the metal blank was heated to its perfect temperature, lifted it out of the forge. Sparks flew, and the next instant, the Heavy Star Hammer was silently swung in his hand.

"Ding!"

The first hammer blow fell.

The sound was deeper and more solid than that of a regular forging hammer striking metal. It was as if it wasn't striking a piece of metal, but rather striking directly into the deepest grooves of the metal.

Then came the second, third, and fourth hammer blows—

"Ding ding ding ding ding—"

The knocking sounds suddenly became continuous.

Tang Wulin's movements were devoid of any frills; they were clean, direct, and astonishingly stable. Each strike landed precisely where it was most needed, each strike carrying a control far beyond what one would expect for someone his age. It wasn't simply brute strength, but an instinctive interplay of power, feel, rhythm, and the ability to judge the recoil of metal.

This is precisely what Mang Tian values ​​most about him.

Some people can swing a hammer very high, very hard, and very loudly.

But some people are born knowing which parts of a metal should be light and which should be heavy, which parts only need one tap and which require three taps to force out the finest impurities.

Tang Wulin is the latter.

Moreover, he was the kind of child whose talent was so exceptional that even Mang Tian had to admit, "This child is a gift from God."

In the first year, Mang Tian also let him try ordinary forging hammers.

The result was that no matter how good the forging hammer was, it always felt like there was a layer between it and his hands. It wasn't that it was hard to use, but rather that it wasn't smooth enough, not "obedient" enough.

Later, Mang Tian simply removed all the ordinary hammers and only allowed him to use his own martial spirit when he was formally forging them.

As it turned out, this decision was correct.

Because in his hands, the Sinking Star Hammer was not a tool, but his true "destiny hammer".

Once Tang Wulin gets into the zone, his striking becomes faster and more steady.

Inside the forging room, flames leaped, and sweat slid down the boy's forehead, only to be quickly evaporated by the intense heat. His breathing grew heavier, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. With each fall of the heavy hammer, the red-hot metal deformed, tightened, and solidified, its originally rough surface gradually revealing a rounded framework.

Time passed little by little.

He forged each of the ten joints one by one.

As the final hammer fell, Tang Wulin let out a long sigh of relief, grabbed a towel, and vigorously wiped the sweat from his face.

In front of the forging table, ten metal joints are neatly arranged, their surfaces gleaming with a cold light, their lines rounded and firm. At first glance, they possess a refinement that is no less than that of machine-pressed joints.

Only those who truly understand forging know why they are superior to machine-pressed parts.

Their bones are alive.

Tang Wulin looked at the row of finished products he had made, and a satisfied smile appeared in his eyes.

He has now genuinely come to love this job.

Every day, he would enter the forging room, grasp the Heavy Star Hammer, and strike it down, as if venting his frustrations and cultivating his skills. Occasionally, when he entered a particularly smooth state, he would even clearly feel that he, the hammer, and the metal were briefly standing in the same breath.

That feeling is very mysterious.

It was as if the Sinking Star Hammer was no longer just in his hand, but was listening to him, seeing him, and finding out the finest veins in his metal body bit by bit.

At times like these, the things he forges are always exceptionally good.

It was so good that even someone like Mang Tian couldn't help but take a few more glances.

"Are you done?"

A deep voice suddenly sounded at the doorway.

Tang Wulin looked up and immediately stood up straight.

"teacher."

Mang Tian was already standing at the entrance of the forging room at some point.

He walked straight to the forging table, picked up one of the joints to look at, then put it down, and then looked at the second, the third... After he had looked at all ten finished products one by one, he finally nodded.

"This batch is more stable than last month's."

This is already considered a very high compliment.

Tang Wulin's eyes lit up immediately.

Mang Tian took out a stack of banknotes from his pocket and handed them to him.

"This month's wages."

Tang Wulin was taken aback at first, then immediately took it and quickly counted it.

Then, he froze for a moment.

The next instant, those bright black eyes suddenly lit up, and even his breathing became noticeably more rapid.

Mang Tian raised an eyebrow as he looked at him.

"What's wrong? I've never seen you this happy when you got your wages every month before."

Tang Wulin raised his head, his face slightly flushed with excitement, and his voice trembled.

"Teacher, I've saved up enough."

"Have you saved up what?" Mang Tian asked knowingly.

"The money for buying the soul spirit." Tang Wulin gripped the banknotes tightly in his hand, as if afraid they would fly away. "It's not the cheapest random soul spirit, but the kind of ordinary ten-year soul spirit that you can choose yourself."

As he said this, the light in his eyes shone even brighter.

Over the past three years, he had thought about the soul more than once.

If it were just about breaking through as quickly as possible, he could have used the money he had saved up, plus some scraps from his family, to buy the lowest-tier random soul spirit a year ago, and crossed the threshold of becoming a first-ring soul master first.

But he never did.

Because the teacher said that the first soul spirit is the starting point for a soul master.

Because my father said that if you want to go far, you can't compromise on everything.

More importantly, because he had been holding back a grudge in his heart—

Over the past three years, I have been studying, training, and cultivating myself. I have endured so much hardship, and I shouldn't only get a "whatever you give me" start in return.

So he kept waiting.

He saved up month by month and endured little by little. Even though he had already reached the level ten threshold, he was not in a hurry to fuse with the lowest level soul spirit.

Today, he has finally waited for it.

Looking at this child who was usually so composed, like a little adult, but whose face was now filled with barely suppressed excitement, Mang Tian's expression softened.

"Has your soul power stabilized too?" he asked.

"I've stabilized." Tang Wulin nodded immediately. "Teacher, I can feel that I've truly reached level ten. Now all I need is a suitable soul spirit."

Mang Tian remained silent for a moment before slowly saying:

"Remember, you earned this money yourself, hammer by hammer. So this time when you go to the Spirit Pagoda, don't just pick the worst one because you're reluctant to spend the money. Now that you have the right to choose your first spirit, you should carefully select one that truly suits you."

Tang Wulin nodded vigorously.

"Um!"

Mang Tian looked at him, and a faint smile finally appeared in his eyes.

"Go," he said. "These past three years haven't been wasted."

Tang Wulin felt a surge of warmth in his chest upon hearing this, and solemnly bowed to his teacher.

"Thank you, teacher!"

Tang Wulin almost instinctively straightened his back and solemnly bowed to him.

Then, he quickly put the money away close to his body and carefully put the ten finished parts into the box, his movements so fast that it was as if he was afraid they would fly away at any moment.

Once everything was in order, he hugged the box and couldn't help but laugh.

This was the first time in three years that he had so clearly shown his childlike side in front of Mang Tian.

Mang Tian stood there, watching the child who was usually so composed, like a little adult, finally showing some of the excitement that was appropriate for his age. A warmer look appeared in his eyes.

"Go on," he said. "Don't just stand here grinning like an idiot."

"Teacher, I'm going home now!"

"Um."

Tang Wulin responded and ran out with the box in his arms.

The boy's footsteps quickly passed through the front hall, down the familiar corridor, and finally disappeared into the evening breeze of Aolai City.

Mang Tian stood at the door of the now-empty forge, his gaze lingering on the remaining embers and hammer marks on the forging table, remaining motionless for a long time.

After a moment, he said in a low voice:

"Finally, he's starting to act like a child again."

Then, he looked at the door, and a complex emotion slowly rose in his eyes.

"What a pity..." he murmured. "If you only look at the appearance of the martial spirit, anyone would think that this kid's hammer is not prominent enough, not bright enough, and not like a top-level weapon martial spirit that should be famous in the region. But the longer you get to know it, the more you can feel that it is not simple."

"Fortunately."

He exhaled softly, and the complex emotions in his eyes eventually transformed into a very faint smile.

"This talent has finally fallen into my hands."

In the forging industry, one relies on hands, heart, the bones hammered out one by one, and keen eyesight.

In Mang Tian's view, Tang Wulin's most terrifying quality was never just his strength, which far surpassed that of his peers.

Rather, when he held the Sinking Star Hammer, it was as if he was born knowing how to communicate with metal.