Chapter 117: Gongshu in Peril

The winter snow swirled incessantly. Inside a blacksmith’s workshop in the East Market of Chang'an, the rhythmic clanging of hammers echoed, punctuated by fragments of conversation.

"Father, do you think we can find any craftsmen in Chang'an with skills superior to ours?" Gongshu Zhan was well into middle age. His body, sculpted by years of forging, was lean and muscular, though perhaps lacking in aesthetic grace. His bare upper body was wreathed in white steam, indifferent to the biting cold; beside him, the bellows wheezed, sending plumes of hot air rising from the furnace.

Opposite him, an elderly man wielded his hammer with equal vigor. Despite his advanced age—his hair and beard were white, his brow a stark contrast of black, and his skin as wrinkled as tree bark—his muscles remained full and potent, like armor tempered over decades of labor. "Heh, the craftsmen of Chang'an are mostly stuck in their old ways. They know nothing of refining fine iron; they only understand archaic methods!"

"Hahaha, indeed, the Gongshu family stands alone. Ah, this trip to Chang'an has been just so-so. It’s just that Jixuan has no love for the art of metallurgy; he is obsessed with poetry and famous figures. He admires the 'Eight Immortals' even more. During meals, he constantly prattles on about them, even fantasizing that he is some Sun Wukong. This morning, he asked me for a few copper coins, saying he was off to the Journey to the West Teahouse to hear the finale of the story!"

Gongshu Zhan stopped his hammer, picked up a kettle, and poured boiling water into a tea bowl filled with a blend of herbs. Steam billowed up as he handed the bowl to his father.

"Well, the path of the craftsman is truly arduous. Ever since our Gongshu ancestor served as the royal blacksmith to Emperor Gaozu of Han, our lineage has been in decline. That is why I came to Chang'an, hoping to gain favor. Furthermore, the Sage is fond of military campaigns; weapons and armor are indispensable!"

Gongshu Yuntu drank the hot tea and exhaled, his heart filled with complex emotions. He grew solemn. "Lingyun is a girl, so I have no other requirements for her. But Jixuan is the sole heir to the Gongshu line; he must not forget his roots. I shall lecture him in a few days. The craft of the Gongshu family cannot wither away like this. If necessary, I will forge our ancestral black iron into a divine weapon and present it to the powerful Right Chancellor of Chang'an. It would be a way forward, a way to serve the Imperial Court!"

Gongshu Zhan nodded, looking out at the pale, snow-covered landscape. He understood that this might be the path to the Gongshu family’s resurgence, and the responsibility of restoring his ancestors' glory rested squarely on his shoulders.

Outside, in snow deep enough to cover their boots, Gongshu Jixuan walked with his younger sister, Gongshu Lingyun, toward the Journey to the West Teahouse. From afar, they saw a canopy erected; the ground beneath was clean and free of snow. Inside, many people waited—fans of *Journey to the West*. Some wore monkey masks; they were fans of Sun Wukong.

As for the term "fan," they had learned it from Big Brother Yao Zi'ang, who claimed the Princess had invented it. It simply meant those who loved the story.

Reaching the wooden stage, where the pillars were beginning to fade, they found their reserved spot. Jixuan held his sister’s hand as they arrived. A young monk wearing a hood was waiting for them—Jingxu from the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda.

"Little Monk Jingxu, you’re here early again!" Gongshu Lingyun, her hair tied in two small braids, still possessed a childish charm. Her dimples flashed when she smiled, much like Jingxu’s.

"Amitabha, little benefactors, this humble monk has missed you both deeply..."

Seeing his friend suddenly adopt such a world-weary tone, Jixuan found it hard to stomach. He slapped Jingxu hard on the shoulder. "We are brothers, aren't we? Bajie, your Senior Brother here will treat you to a jujube-filled pastry!"

"Huh? I want one too! Those pastries are delicious!" Lingyun’s eyes sparkled at the mention of food.

Jixuan and Jingxu stared at her in surprise. Their meetings were always filled with such neurotic, role-playing dialogue; this was the first time Lingyun had ever chimed in.

Jingxu, who had been about to retort with a line about "Old Pig's rake," blushed and lowered his head, feeling awkward. Though a Buddhist should remain detached from worldly beauty, he found himself harboring an inexplicable fondness for Lingyun, who was a year his junior. He suppressed the foolish thought, whispered a prayer for his sins, and recited the Heart-Cleansing Sutra to cast away his distracting thoughts.

Before long, Yao Zi'ang ascended the stage on time. He finished recounting the finale of *Journey to the West* and introduced the beginning of *The Romance of the Three Kingdoms*, drawing cheers and generous tips from the audience. He smiled, thanked them, and continued his tale.

The three children stepped through the snow on the quiet streets after the show. They did not notice that dozens of thugs had been tracking them.

As they reached a quieter part of the ward gate, their path was blocked by more than a dozen ruffians. These men blocked the children’s way with open impunity, showing no sign of fear. The leader sneered, curled his fists, and threatened, "Leave your money behind, then follow us to a place. Or we’ll start beating you!"

"Who are you people?!" Jixuan felt a surge of dread. Though he hadn't been in Chang'an long, he understood the order here. "If you come any closer, I’ll call the City Guard!"

"Call them?" The leader grew more vicious. He was a follower of Manichaeism. He heard his companions whispering urgently, noting that the boy’s accent was not local. Upon hearing they were outsiders, the thugs became even more emboldened. They surrounded the three children; outsiders were perfect—exactly the kind of "merchandise" they wanted!

When the leader reached for the little monk, he was sent flying by a tiny fist. Landing in the snow, he roared for the others to attack. None of them expected such strength from the little monk; it took four men working together to subdue him.

The group of men bound the three children and vanished into a secluded alley, spiriting them away to a cellar in the East Market.

Several days later, Sikong Ming gave specific orders to Tu Shen: apart from the women they had purchased, who could be toyed with, the girl named Gongshu Lingyun must not be harmed. He felt a throbbing headache. While he had disposed of the troublemaker, the mess he had left behind was difficult to manage.

The little monk, Jingxu, was a disciple of the Abbot of Daci'en Temple. Dealing with this "hot potato" was a problem; the Manichaean sect could not afford a conflict with the Abbot. Even though he had warned his followers not to act rashly before their plan was fully implemented, some still relied on their current influence to stir up trouble everywhere. Busy and secretly annoyed, he entered the cell where Qingyu was held.

He approached the wretched figure of Qingyu, who was hung from a wooden frame. Picking up a dagger stained with dried blood from a table, he asked coldly under the dim candlelight, "Will you speak or not? If you don't, I will follow through on my promise and sever your tendons!"

Qingyu lifted her head. Her disheveled, filthy hair could not hide the bruising around her eyes or her gaunt face. She smiled miserably, spat out a mouthful of blood, and showed no fear.

Sikong Ming wiped the blood from his face without expression and began his work. Heart-wrenching screams echoed through the cellar as Qingyu’s hands and feet were cruelly mangled.