Mo Xuan told One Stripe to wait outside the stone building. Lifting the heavy cloth curtain, he stepped inside—and was immediately hit by a wave of scorching heat. The temperature had to be at least fifty degrees Celsius.
A three-meter-tall iron furnace stood in the center of the workshop. A hollow iron pipe connected it to the towering chimney outside.
More than twenty Mo family men worked bare-chested, drenched in sweat, hauling charcoal and iron ore back and forth.
"The temperature's dropping—add more charcoal! Pull the bellows faster! Sort the iron ore properly—Third Uncle, that's the wrong bin! Move it! Eighth Uncle, stop hammering, it's enough—into the water trough for cooling!"
Mo Que'er directed everything crisply, perspiration glistening on her flushed cheeks.
Little Que'er?
Mo Xuan blinked in surprise and called out to her.
"Great-Granduncle, you're back? Just wait a moment—this batch of steel is almost ready!"
She nodded in greeting but continued bustling about.
Mo Xuan circled the workshop curiously. Everything ran in orderly sequence—a full assembly line. Not bad at all.
He stopped at the finished ironware: kitchen knives, wood-chopping axes, hoes, rakes. Not many varieties.
"Great-Granduncle, look at the knives we forged!" Mo Ming wiped his face with a soot-black towel and proudly handed over a kitchen knife. "Careful—this blade is sharp enough to split a marble cutting board with a little force!"
Mo Xuan accepted it skeptically. The knife felt balanced in his hand; the blade surface was thick and polished enough to reflect like a mirror. He made a gentle slicing motion.
The edge seemed to cut through the air itself.
His expression changed.
He plucked a strand of Mo Ming's hair and blew it toward the blade.
It split cleanly in two.
Mo Xuan felt dizzy.
This was a kitchen knife?
Even a Dragon-Slaying Saber wouldn't be much sharper!
Fortunately, Qingyuan Minor Immortal Realm had no wars, no bandits or marauders. Otherwise, this would be a weapon capable of harvesting lives.
Mo Que'er finished overseeing the cooling process and ran over, cheeks rosy.
"Great-Granduncle, how are the blades I forged? The materials are somewhat limited—otherwise they wouldn't be this… blunt."
Mo Xuan gave her a long look.
"Little Que'er, remember—excess is as bad as deficiency. A kitchen knife should look like a kitchen knife. Yours would treat a cutting board like tofu."
She blinked. She had been waiting eagerly for praise.
"Isn't sharper always better?" she muttered, lips pursed.
"You silly girl," Mo Xuan said gently. "If it's this sharp and someone cuts their hand accidentally—what then?"
She stiffened.
A finger would likely be gone.
"And what if a child picks it up and swings it around?"
Her face went pale. She lowered her proud little head.
"I'm not scolding you," Mo Xuan said. "Everything needs moderation. A knife only needs to perform its intended function well. If it goes beyond that, it ceases to be a good knife."
She nodded obediently.
"Have any been sold?"
"Half a month ago we sold twelve wood-chopping axes and six kitchen knives to a butcher shop. The rest are for family use."
Mo Xuan nodded.
"Collect the family knives and dull them slightly. Same with this batch. Everyday kitchen knives should be safer; meat cleavers can remain sharper. Also—engrave the character 'Mo' onto every wooden handle. Build a brand."
They blinked in confusion.
"What brand effect?"
"You'll understand."
Outside, a child was wailing.
Mo Xuan rushed out. One Stripe stood arrogantly nearby while a small boy sat on the ground, a red claw mark across his chest.
Mo Xuan helped the child up and checked him—no serious injury.
He was beginning to realize One Stripe had quite a temper, very different from gentle Little Eight.
To distract the boy, Mo Xuan placed him atop the crane's back. The tears stopped instantly.
Other children approached eagerly.
One Stripe shook himself and tossed the boy down.
Mo Xuan caught him and shot the crane a warning glance.
One Stripe merely lifted its head higher.
I am a proud and majestic immortal crane. Mortals keep your distance.
With a frown, Mo Xuan stored One Stripe in the beast-taming pouch to let it "bond" with Little Eight.
Inside the pouch…
Little Eight was happily building sand mounds in the activity zone.
One Stripe observed for a long time, then strutted forward arrogantly.
Move.
Remembering the master's instruction to get along, Little Eight scooted aside.
Move.
Little Eight moved again.
Soon it was squeezed into a corner.
One Stripe drew a line in the sand with its long leg.
Inside the line is your territory. Outside is mine. Cross it and you'll regret it.
Little Eight stared weakly.
Why are you doing this? Master said we should get along…
Not convinced? Come at me.
One Stripe flared its wings.
Little Eight, soft and small by comparison, shrank back and endured the humiliation.
Satisfied, One Stripe inspected its new home proudly.
Spacious, bright—far superior to its former cramped nest. Clearly, this new master was wealthy.
It bathed luxuriously, then sprawled on the warm bed Little Eight had carefully prepared—only to discover two jars of hidden wine.
With delight, it pierced a jar and drank deeply.
Little Eight watched miserably from afar.
That was my snack…
At feeding time, Mo Xuan absentmindedly tossed two low-grade meteor cores and a bag of spirit grain into the pouch.
One Stripe staggered out drunkenly, spotted the offerings—and lunged at Little Eight before it could approach.
With wings like steel clubs, legs like iron rods, and a beak like a spear, it beat Little Eight mercilessly.
Little Eight curled up, shielding itself with its tentacles.
I just wanted to eat…
Even a clay figurine has some temper. And Little Eight was a Void Devouring Beast.
But remembering the master's order, it endured.
One Stripe shoved it back into the corner, venting its drunken fury like a boxer pounding a sandbag.
Finally satisfied, it grabbed the spirit grain and dragged the meteor cores into its bedroom, using them as pillows while munching happily.
Little Eight lay battered and bruised in the corner.
Its eyes brimmed with tears.
For the first time since following Mo Xuan, it felt both wronged—and deeply, deeply lonely.