The air in the forge was heavy, thick, and smelled strongly of hot iron, steam, and sulfur. And it also seems, then, fatigue and another processing. Yingxing, as usual, after receiving the order, devoted himself completely to the work.

He stood in a heavy blacksmith's apron, holding a piece of hot iron with tongs, dipping it into a solution that instantly hissed and bubbled. His hair was plastered to his face and neck, the veins on his arms and forehead were puffed up from the heat, and the muscles were moving under his skin from intense tension.

"Baobei, don't stand near the stove. If a coal pops out, it can burn you."

He said, putting down the tongs, turning to face the one with whom he shares one house for two, and one heart for two.

"Why are you here? It's too hot for you here."

He turned away, starting to carry out the order again, tempering the steel.