Chapter Forty-Nine: The Coiling Dragon Spear (Third Update)

After returning to the restaurant, Mr. Li learned that Wang Ling had failed to buy an iron rod. He frowned, pondered for a moment, and said, "That's understandable. Items like iron rods aren't easy to come by... Well, I do know a blacksmith, also Chinese. He used to forge tools for fishermen, such as harpoons and steel knives. But the old man is quite advanced in age and stopped working as a blacksmith long ago. He has a rather eccentric temper. If you’re willing, you can go there and try your luck."

Once again, Wang Ling received an address from Mr. Li, this time for the old blacksmith. The place was far from the city center, and Wang Ling took a cab, riding for half an hour before arriving at his destination—a grimy, dilapidated enclave of Chinese immigrants.

New York's Chinatown, at least, harbors Chinese people of some standing; but here, it seemed, were those at the very bottom of the social ladder. The houses on both sides were low and shabby, the narrow streets empty and desolate, with sewage trickling through gutters. Some doorways had laundry hung out to dry, some garments patched with large swathes of mismatched fabric.

Seeing such poverty, Wang Ling couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh, his heart heavy. He walked along the street to its deepest recesses, where he spotted a house with a doorframe carved with the image of a fierce lion. He knew this must be the blacksmith’s workshop listed in the address, so he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He found himself in a large courtyard. There was a bellows, apparently abandoned, and scattered about were axes, sickles, hoes, steel forks—tools for farming.

It gave Wang Ling the impression of a rural blacksmith’s shop in a poor region of western China.

The sound of the door opening startled someone inside. Out came a hunched, stern-faced Chinese old man, his clothes tattered, at least seventy or eighty years old, holding a purple teapot. He glared at Wang Ling and barked, “What do you want!”

“I was sent here by someone. I’ve come to buy weapons.”

“There are no weapons here! I don’t even sell farm tools anymore! Go!” The old man brusquely dismissed him, waving his hand to drive Wang Ling away.

Wang Ling hurriedly pulled out some dollar bills from his waist. “Wait, I’m willing to pay handsomely!”

“I’m an old man, no children, no family, and not many days left. What do I need money for? Get out!” The old man’s temper was fierce. Seeing Wang Ling unmoved, he grabbed a big broom and chased him out. Although Wang Ling was far stronger than an ordinary person, he couldn’t very well fight an elderly man. He was swept out with the broom, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Wang Ling stood silently before the door for a while. Suddenly, a thought struck him: when the cranky old man emerged, he was carrying a purple teapot. Its surface was a deep purplish-red with tiny grains, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was a Yixing clay teapot.

An old man living in a shabby alley, clad in dirty, worn clothes, yet holding a precious Yixing teapot—this was intriguing. Wang Ling remembered that he had a packet of high-grade tea in his spatial pouch.

He had obtained the tea after killing Hei Zi, drawn from a treasure chest, exchanged in Dream Space for currency points. Since the best green tea in the world comes from China, even though Hei Zi was Indonesian, the tea he exchanged was top-quality West Lake Pre-Qingming Dragon Well.

Wang Ling didn’t drink tea, but he knew this was an extremely rare commodity—especially in America, where the old blacksmith would never have the chance to taste such fine tea.

He took out the packet of tea from his spatial pouch and knocked on the door. An angry shout came from inside, “What do you want now!”

“Sir, I have some fine tea here. I wonder if you’d like it?”

There was a silence within, then the voice sounded again, “What kind of tea?”

Upon hearing this, Wang Ling knew he had hope. He answered loudly, “West Lake Pre-Qingming Dragon Well!”

This time he heard a sharp inhalation from within, as if from a toothache, then the door swung open. The old man’s stern face was filled with suspicion as he scrutinized Wang Ling. “You say you have Pre-Qingming Dragon Well from West Lake?”

Pre-Qingming tea is harvested and processed before the Qingming Festival. The buds are tender, the color lush and fragrant, the taste mellow and shape beautiful—the finest tea of the year. West Lake Dragon Well is the crown jewel among green teas, known as “as precious as gold.” For a tea lover, its allure is beyond words.

Wang Ling smiled faintly, opened the packet, and placed several tea leaves in the old man’s hand.

The old man examined them closely: the leaves were upright and pointed, flat and elegant, smooth and even, their green hue tinged with yellow, exuding a strong tea fragrance. His face instantly revealed shock. He tossed the leaves into his mouth, chewed, and savored them, then declared, “Not bad, this is indeed West Lake Pre-Qingming Dragon Well!”

Having said this, the old man reached out, claw-like, to seize the tea packet from Wang Ling. Wang Ling quickly held the packet high above his head, out of reach, and smiled, “Sir, I’d like to buy a weapon.”

The old man, seeing the tea raised out of reach, his eyes nearly blazing, jumped and tried to snatch it. But he was small and hunched, and could not succeed. He grumbled, “Come in!”

“As expected, this old man must have been a blacksmith for most of his life—how could he not have made weapons!”

As he walked, the old man muttered under his breath, still savoring the lingering flavor of those few tea leaves. Wang Ling followed him across the courtyard, into the dilapidated house. On the wall hung broad knives and long swords, several red-tasseled spears leaned against the wall, and even a black iron hammer stood by.

“I can’t forge weapons anymore. These are all from years past. Take whatever you want, leave the tea, and be quick about it!”

Wang Ling didn’t so much as touch any of the weapons. Instead, he took out the refined iron battle axe he purchased from the freedom market for 1,000 currency points. “I want an iron rod. If you can’t match the quality of this axe, then there’s no need to try.”

The old man’s cloudy eyes flashed with a glimmer of light as he took the twenty-pound axe, holding it with effort, his hands thin as tree bark caressing the blade. “Good axe. The steel is refined iron, clearly forged with care. None of the weapons on the wall can compare.”

The refined iron battle axe, though only a common grade white weapon, boasted an initial attack of 3–17, making it a fine weapon for its class.

The old man handed the axe back to Wang Ling. “I haven’t made many weapons. In over fifty years as a blacksmith, I only put my heart into two. One was when I was young, still in Southeast Asia, entrusted by the Hongmen to forge a Spring and Autumn Broadsword for the statue of Lord Guan, weighing one hundred and twenty pounds, to guard the hall. After coming to America, I followed ancient methods and forged a coiling dragon spear from hundred-fold refined iron, with meteorite powder in the spearhead. Only that spear surpasses this axe.”

As he spoke, the old man’s face twitched, his gaze lingering on Wang Ling’s tea packet. He sighed, “That coiling dragon spear is in the back room, weighs sixty-two pounds, I can’t lift it. It’s useless to me now—might as well take it to the grave. You can take it yourself.”

“Wait, I want an iron rod!”

“No iron rod, only an iron spear!” the old man barked.

Wang Ling was silent for a moment, then placed the tea packet on the table. The old man snatched it up as if it were a treasure, trembling as he opened the packet, gazing at the leaves with a sigh, “Excellent tea, excellent tea! This is the second time in my life I’ve seen such fine tea. I never imagined I’d taste it again. I can go to the grave content!”

Hearing the old man’s lament, Wang Ling felt a pang of emotion. He entered the inner room, where he found, indeed, a massive steel spear resting on a wooden stand. It was nearly two meters long, taller than himself! The shaft was just a little narrower than a wine glass, with no tassels or embellishments, simple and clean.

The shaft was blue—a color achieved through repeated forging: iron refined into steel, steel rendered pure and then tempered to blue. Top-grade blue refined iron, its hue pure, forged to perfection, its texture like jade within steel. The spearhead, near its point, glowed with red amidst the blue—Wang Ling knew this was caused by the meteorite powder the old man mentioned.

As for why it was called the “Coiling Dragon Spear,” Wang Ling understood at a glance: the shaft was inlaid with countless fine granules of black iron powder, winding in a serpentine pattern as if a dark dragon twined around the spear, matching the blue shaft and the blue-red spearhead, exquisitely crafted and menacing.

Wang Ling picked up the sixty-two pound spear, noting that the black coiling dragon added friction between hand and shaft, allowing for a firmer grip than a smooth spear; moreover, when thrust into flesh, the iron powder would leave rust, making wounds slow to heal. From this alone, Wang Ling could tell the old man was a true master blacksmith.

He used his Dream Badge to examine the weapon’s stats:

“Coiling Dragon Spear: Type: Weapon; Rating: D; Quality: Blue equipment; Attack: 87–121; Effect: Strength +8, Damage +5%, wounds slow to heal. Requirements: Strength 25, Stamina 27, Base Endurance Level 4.”

“Description: A cold weapon forged from hundred-fold refined iron, meteorite powder, and black iron powder. The work of a blacksmith who poured his heart and soul into its creation.”

Holding the spear, Wang Ling was deeply shaken. This was a D-rated blue weapon, without any restriction on taking it out of the storyline world! He never expected its base attack value to be so high, far exceeding the white iron musket. It was no wonder, for such a thick iron spear, when thrust into the body, would naturally cause more damage than a musket ball ever could.