Douluo Continent III Haotian Wulin

"Bang, bang, bang—"

Inside the studio, the dull thumping continued.

Mang Tian did not call a halt.

He simply stood aside, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Tang Wulin, watching the six-year-old boy continue to strike with the hammer.

Compared to the previous round, this round of hammering was significantly more difficult.

Tang Wulin's movements remained direct, clumsy, and utterly devoid of any skill. He couldn't deflect force, borrow momentum, or even understand the concept of rhythmic force application. After the small black hammer struck the metal block, all the recoil solidly slammed back onto his arm along the handle, which he had to bear alone.

Fifty strokes.

Eighty strokes.

One hundred times.

Sweat quickly poured out again, trickling down his forehead, wetting his eyelashes and the collar of his school uniform. Tang Wulin felt as if his arms had been burned, aching and numb, numb and spicy, his shoulders and elbows were swollen and tight, and even his scalp began to tingle slightly.

But he still didn't stop.

He just gritted his teeth and kept swinging the hammer, kept bringing it down.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

Each note was neither perfectly synchronized nor particularly beautiful, yet they were exceptionally solid.

After 120 strokes, Tang Wulin's breathing became erratic.

After one hundred and fifty strikes, his body began to sway slightly, and his vision blurred. The little black hammer seemed to grow heavier and heavier, as if it would tear his arm off. But it was precisely because of this that his indomitable spirit was forced out even more.

I can persevere.

I can pass the test.

My father said that if you want to rely on yourself, you can't back down when you encounter something difficult.

He kept repeating this to himself.

From then on, each movement felt like a struggle against one's own body.

His palms burned, his tiger's mouth was numb, and his wrists ached so much they were almost numb. But Tang Wulin still didn't let go. Even though his movements had obviously slowed down, even though the sweat stung his eyes, he just gritted his teeth and kept hammering forward.

Mang Tian had been standing to the side with his arms crossed, watching expressionlessly. But as he watched, his expression gradually changed.

He could see, of course, that the child had no skill in forging.

But it is precisely because we don't know how that we can see some more fundamental things.

Strength can be trained.

Skills can be learned.

But this kind of tenacity—gritting your teeth and refusing to let go even when you're almost at your limit—is something not everyone possesses. Moreover, such tenacity is all the more precious when it comes from a six-year-old child.

Looking at those little hands that were starting to swell and turn red, and then at Tang Wulin's face that was pale from straining, Mang Tian was finally touched for the first time.

This child is not just strong.

His bones are hard.

After a while, Tang Wulin lost count of how many more swings he had made. The scenery before him began to sway slightly, and all he could hear was the resounding boom of metal clashing. Just as he was about to fall with the blow, a large hand suddenly reached out from the side and caught his shoulder.

That's enough.

Mang Tian finally spoke.

Tang Wulin loosened his grip, and the small black hammer vanished instantly. He almost collapsed to the side, slumped over. If Mang Tian hadn't caught him, he probably would have fallen to the ground.

"Stand firm," Mang Tian said in a deep voice.

Tang Wulin gasped for breath, struggling to stay upright. Only then did he truly feel the pain in his hands and arms.

It wasn't just sour anymore; it was a mixture of swelling, bloating, numbness, and spiciness all at once, making it hurt like it wasn't even mine.

Mang Tian glanced down at his hand, and his brows furrowed even more deeply.

Tang Wulin's palms were scraped raw, his hands were bright red, and blood was even seeping from the base of his thumbs. His forearms were also more swollen than when he arrived, clearly from being slammed by the recoil.

Mang Tian slowly exhaled.

At this point, he could no longer treat the child as just an ordinary apprentice who was "giving it a try."

Both in terms of strength and willpower, this child has far exceeded his expectations.

"Sit over there and rest." Mang Tian pointed to a low stool by the wall. "Don't move your arms around."

Tang Wulin nodded obediently, dragging his weak legs as he slowly walked over and sat down. He looked as if he had just been pulled out of the water, his school uniform almost completely soaked with sweat.

Mang Tian didn't leave immediately, but stood there, looked at him for a while, and then slowly spoke:

"Do you know why I let you use your own martial spirit to strike?"

Tang Wulin raised his head and shook his head.

"Because forging requires understanding one thing first," Mang Tian said calmly, "a hammer is not just a tool. A true blacksmith doesn't use a hammer to smash a piece of iron, but rather uses his hands, his strength, and his rhythm to make a piece of metal willing to change according to his will."

He paused, then said:

"You have a weapon spirit, and a hammer spirit at that. If you can't even hold your own hammer properly, then you're not suited for this path. But if your hammer can endure hardship and exert force with you, then it's not just a weapon spirit, but also the most suitable forging hammer for you."

Tang Wulin only half understood what was being said, but there was one sentence he understood perfectly.

One's own hammer is not just a martial spirit.

It can also become a skill that you can truly hold in your own hands.

Thinking of this, a hint of brightness appeared on his face, which had been contorted with pain.

"Uncle Mangtian," he asked softly, "so...did I pass?"

Mang Tian looked at him and finally nodded slowly.

"Calculate."

With just one word, Tang Wulin's eyes lit up instantly.

"However," Mang Tian added immediately, "don't get too excited. Today was just to see if you were worth my teaching. Once you really start learning, you'll be even more tired than you are today."

Tang Wulin immediately straightened his back and nodded seriously.

"I'm not afraid of being tired."

Mang Tian looked at him, and for the first time, a faint gentleness appeared in his eyes.

"Your father didn't send you here for nothing," he said. "I'll take this child in. Come at this time every day from now on and learn the basics from me."

After saying that, he turned around and took out a small bottle of ointment from the cabinet next to him, and put it on the table.

"When you get home, have your family wipe your hands and arms. Come back tomorrow."

Tang Wulin stared at the bottle of ointment for a moment, then nodded vigorously.

"Thank you, Uncle Mangtian!"

For the next hour, Mang Tian didn't let him touch the hammer again. Instead, he let him rest while explaining many of the most basic things about forging to him.

What is forging?

Why are forging and casting different?

Why can't even the most sophisticated machine replace the hands of the most skilled blacksmith?

Tang Wulin listened intently, even temporarily forgetting much of the pain in his arm.

In Mang Tian's narration, forging is no longer just "hammering iron," but rather a craft with a true soul. The most skilled blacksmiths are no less than powerful Soul Masters. Excellent mechs, precious metals, and powerful weapons all require the hands of true artisans.

Soul Master.

Mech pilot.

Blacksmith.

These things, which originally existed only in Tang Wulin's imagination, are gradually connecting to form a more complete world.

When Lang Yue came to pick them up, she saw her son sitting on a low stool, his face pale but his eyes bright, and Mang Tian, ​​whose expression was noticeably gentler than usual.

"Sister-in-law," Mang Tian handed over the bottle of ointment, "go back and apply it to his palms and arms. I'll take this child in; he can come every day from now on."

When Lang Yue heard that he had "accepted it," she should have been happy, but when her gaze fell on her son's hand, she froze.

"Oh my god—"

She almost immediately squatted down, grabbed Tang Wulin's hand, and her voice changed.

"What...what did you do?"

Tang Wulin's palms were already worn raw, and his arms were badly swollen and red. Those once fair and tender little hands now looked as if they had been severely abused.

Lang Yue's eyes instantly reddened, and tears welled up almost immediately.

She never expected that her son would suffer so much in just two hours.

Tang Wulin was still basking in the sense of accomplishment of "I passed the test," but when he saw that his mother was about to cry, he panicked and quickly shook his head.

"Mom, I'm fine, really," he said quickly. "It just hurts a little, but I passed the test! Uncle Mangtian said I can learn forging from him now."

Looking at her son's sweaty face, Lang Yue felt so heartbroken she could barely speak.

"I'm happy, of course I'm happy..." she said, but tears still fell down her cheeks.

Seeing this, Tang Wulin quickly raised his uninjured hand and clumsily wiped away his mother's tears.

"Mom, don't cry," he said earnestly. "Didn't Dad say that enduring hardship is a skill? I think I did pretty well today, really."

This statement sounds childish, yet it carries a kind of childlike pride.

Lang Yue felt even more aches and pains. She could only nod and gently protect her son's hand, afraid of hurting him again.

On the way home, Tang Wulin initially walked quietly because his hand was too sore. But as he walked, he started talking more.

"Mom, do you know what? Uncle Mangtian said that my hammer is not only a martial spirit, but also a forging hammer."

He also said that forging is not about randomly hammering; you have to make the metal listen to you.

"Also, he said the blacksmith is also very skilled, no less so than a Soul Master."

He became more and more excited as he spoke, as if the test that had almost knocked him down had completely transformed into a kind of glory worth reliving again and again.

As Lang Yue listened, she felt both heartache and a sense of indescribable relief.

At least, the child genuinely likes it.

I wasn't forced to come, nor was I enduring grievances and forcing myself to stay.

This was the greatest comfort to her.

Upon returning home, Tang Wulin saw Na'er sitting at the table as soon as he pushed open the courtyard gate.

"Na'er!"

His eyes lit up, and he immediately ran over, seemingly forgetting even the hand that had been hurting terribly just moments before.

Na'er looked up and saw him; her large purple eyes lit up noticeably.

"I passed the test!" Tang Wulin stood in front of her, lowering his voice but unable to hide his excitement to share. "Uncle Mangtian has accepted me. From now on, I can officially learn forging from him."

Na'er listened quietly, her eyes showing a hint of confusion, yet she was also very attentive.

Once Tang Wulin starts talking about himself, he never stops.

"You know what? I used my Martial Soul Hammer today, not any other hammer. Uncle Mangtian said my hammer is perfect for forging. Once I learn forging, I'll be able to earn money on my own. Then I'll save up to buy Soul Spirits, then buy some good food for my family, and I'll buy some for you too."

He spoke with great enthusiasm, as if he could already see things far into the future.

Na'er listened, blinked gently, and finally asked in a low voice:

"Does it hurt a lot?"

Tang Wulin was taken aback at first, and then subconsciously wanted to say "It doesn't hurt," but when he saw her eyes looking at him quietly, he obediently changed his words.

"A little," he said, scratching his head, "but it was worth it if it passed."

Na'er looked at him but didn't say anything more.

After a while, Tang Wulin suddenly remembered something and asked again:

"By the way, you still don't remember anything today? Your home, your parents, you really don't remember anything at all?"

Na'er gently shook her head.

"I only remember that my name is Na'er," she whispered. "Everything else is vague, like it will disappear if I try to remember it. Brother Lin, am I really stupid?"

Tang Wulin immediately shook his head vigorously.

"I'm not stupid! You're not stupid at all," he said matter-of-factly. "If you don't remember, you don't remember. Anyway, this is your home. My mom and dad are yours too, and you're my sister."

Na'er stared at him blankly.

After a moment, a very light, faint, yet extremely beautiful smile slowly appeared on her face.

That was the first time she had truly laughed since coming to the Tang family.

Tang Wulin was completely stunned.

"Wow..." he exclaimed subconsciously, "Na'er, you look so beautiful when you smile."

Na'er's smile became even more pronounced, but the tips of her ears also turned slightly red.

At this moment, Lang Yue had already placed the food on the table.

She did more than usual today, clearly starting to prepare for her two "little gluttons" at home.

Here comes the problem.

When Tang Wulin finally sat down at the table, he suddenly realized that his arm was still in great pain. Especially when he raised his arm, the soreness and stinging pain surged up at once, making him wince in pain.

He stared longingly at the food on the table, his stomach already growling, but he couldn't lift his hand.

Na'er quickly noticed his unusual behavior.

"What's wrong with my brother?" she asked softly.

"My arm hurts," Tang Wulin said with a pained expression. "I can barely lift it."

Na'er blinked, thought for a moment, and suddenly said:

"Then... I'll feed you."

Tang Wulin was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up.

"OK!"

And so, this scene unfolded at the dinner table—

The five-and-a-half-year-old girl carefully held the spoon, feeding her brother a spoonful of rice and a spoonful of vegetables. Her movements were still a little clumsy, but she earnestly fed him. The six-year-old boy sat obediently, opening his mouth to wait to be fed, his eyes crinkling, and he couldn't help but smile at her as he ate.

The warm yellow light shone down, making this small home appear exceptionally soft.

"Na'er, you're so kind." Tang Wulin swallowed a mouthful of rice with satisfaction and said earnestly.

Na'er didn't say anything, but continued to feed him with her head down, though the corners of her mouth subtly curved into a smile.

Not long after, Tang Ziran also returned.

As soon as he entered the door, Lang Yue pulled him into the house.

As soon as the door closed, Lang Yue's suppressed emotions surged up immediately.

"Look at Wu Lin's hands!" Her voice trembled, and her eyes reddened again. "Only two hours, and they've become like this. How can you expect me to bear it?"

Tang Ziran was startled and immediately looked outside.

Through the half-open door, he saw his son sitting at the table, being fed by Na'er. His little hands were indeed badly swollen and red, making it difficult for him to even lift them.

His heart suddenly tightened.

It would be a lie to say I don't feel sorry for you.

But the next moment, he remembered Mang Tian's personality. If he hadn't really taken a liking to something, he would never have kept the person.

"What did Mang Tian say?" Tang Ziran asked in a low voice.

"They said they accepted it," Lang Yue said, biting her lip. "They even gave me some ointment."

Tang Ziran remained silent for a moment before finally letting out a slow breath.

"That proves that Wu Lin didn't suffer for nothing," he said.

Langyue looked at her husband, and tears fell again.

"I know. But he's only six years old..."

Tang Ziran reached out and gently grasped his wife's shoulder, his voice lowering.

"I know he's young, and it pains me to see him like this," he said. "But if Mang Tian really sees potential in him, then this suffering will be worthwhile. We can't give him a path, but maybe he can carve it out himself, little by little."

The room was quiet for a while.

In the end, Lang Yue simply turned her head away and quietly wiped away her tears.

When the two returned to the dining table, Tang Wulin had been fed enough and was sitting there with a satisfied look on his face, his eyes shining, as if the injury on his hand was nothing at all.

Upon seeing his father, he immediately exclaimed with delight:

"Dad, I really passed today!"

Looking at her son's appearance, Tang Ziran felt both sad and warm inside, and in the end, she simply raised her hand and rubbed his head.

"Yes, Dad knows."

Tang Wulin immediately turned to look at Na'er, as if he had suddenly remembered something very important. He lowered his voice and said mysteriously:

"Na'er, I'll tell you a secret."

"What?"

"I will work hard to cultivate and learn forging." Tang Wulin looked at her, his eyes bright and clear. "When I become stronger, I will protect you. That way, no one can bully you."

Na'er looked at him, and a very faint light seemed to flicker in her purple eyes.

She nodded slightly.

"it is good."

Sitting under the lamp, Tang Wulin had no idea how significant his naive words would become in the future.