Chapter 005: The Humble Trade

The era in which Wei Ba once lived was one where “mastering science and technology meant you could walk the world without fear,” an age that believed “science is the primary productive force.” Yet, in that time, graduate students struggled like dogs, undergraduates flooded the streets, and as a student from an ordinary university, he was hardly special. So, when job opportunities arose, he had no influential father to rely on and was left with no competitive edge. He could only watch as others feasted, while he could not even taste the soup.

Now, things were different. In terms of technical skill, even the most outstanding craftsmen of this era could not compare to him. As for his father, Wei Yan, though it was uncertain how long his fortunes would last, for now, a single stomp of his foot could shake the ground.

The prospects seemed promising—not just mildly so, but exceedingly bright.

If only his father’s life could last a bit longer, it would be perfect.

Wei Ba set aside the matter of the iron spade—there was no need to test it, he already knew it would be far more useful than a wooden spade—and began to consider how to avoid the tragic extermination of the Wei family. Technical problems, though seemingly complex, were actually simple once the surface was pierced; all that was required then was patience and care. Human affairs, on the other hand, appeared simple but were truly complex, with no shortcuts—more often than not, they depended on innate talent. In this, he had no particular advantage. The enmity between his father Wei Yan and Yang Yi had long been irreconcilable; whether he alone could repair the rift was highly uncertain.

If he went to warn his father now—telling him to beware of Yang Yi and Ma Dai, to guard against their betrayal—would his father not think him mad?

Almost certainly so.

Wei Ba scratched his head in frustration.

…

Returning to his own room, Wei Ba found it not overly spacious. A large bed stood inside, which he shared with Wei Wu. Wei Yan was strict in military discipline and had high expectations for his sons, refusing to provide them with maids. Even knowing Wei Ba’s frail health, he insisted on bringing him along to inspect Mianyang, determined that his sons become familiar with Hanzhong’s geography to prepare them for future command. Only when Wei Ba fell ill upon arrival did Wei Yan leave him to be cared for by Wei Wu, taking his eldest son Wei Feng with him to attend to matters.

Having been here for several days, this was the first time Wei Ba had a moment to tidy the room. After searching for a while, he found nothing with writing on it except for daily necessities. However, there was a clothes rack beside the bed, from which hung two sets of exquisitely crafted armor—the larger for himself, the smaller for Wei Wu.

Gazing at the armor, Wei Ba was seized by a sudden urge and called out to Wei Wu, who was practicing swordplay in the courtyard. “Ah Wu, come help me put on my battle armor.”

Wei Wu entered, wiping the sweat from his brow, and shot Wei Ba a look as though he were a fool, curling his lips almost to his ears. “Brother, let’s not try that. Even though you’re a bit better these days, once you put on the armor, you’ll barely be able to walk, and in no time, you’ll need my help to take it off. I’m in the middle of sword practice and don’t have time to play along.”

Wei Ba, half mortified, half annoyed, retorted, “Today I’m going to wear it and I won’t take it off.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Even if I get tired, I’d rather lie here and rest than call you before you’re done practicing.”

Seeing his brother so insistent, Wei Wu shrugged. “Fine, but don’t blame me if you can’t manage. Father wants me to cut a thousand strokes a day, and I’ve only done three hundred or so.”

“Enough chatter, help me put it on,” Wei Ba said, excitement bubbling within him. “It’s a shame there’s no mirror, otherwise I could see how imposing I look.”

“Mirror? What’s a mirror?” Wei Wu casually took down the armor and placed it on Wei Ba’s shoulder, causing Wei Ba to instantly feel its weight. But Wei Wu was more curious than concerned. “Brother, you’ve been acting strange lately—not only have you become learned, you also say the oddest things. What’s a mirror? And what did you mean yesterday by ‘rear-ending’?”

Wei Ba’s knees buckled and, with a thud, he sat down in his armor. He always treated Wei Wu as a child, letting his guard down around him, unlike with Wei Yan or Wei Feng, where he was more cautious. Yet, despite Wei Wu’s careless appearance, he had noticed quite a few oddities.

“Brother, what’s wrong?” Wei Wu hurried to help him up, forgetting to ask about the mirror, and reached to remove the armor, but Wei Ba stopped him. “Don’t—I can handle it.”

Wei Wu eyed his brother’s flushed face uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

The phrase “I’m absolutely sure” rose to Wei Ba’s lips, but he swallowed it and gritted out, “I’m sure.”

Wei Wu blinked. Seeing that Wei Ba, though red-faced, was managing, he carefully finished helping him into the armor. Finally, he picked up the helmet. “And this—do you want it?”

Donning the black armor, Wei Ba was already short of breath. He estimated the armor weighed at least fifteen kilograms. While an ordinary man could probably walk in it, to march all day and fight with a sword would require real stamina. For someone as frail as himself, it was a burden not to be underestimated.

Steadying himself, Wei Ba took the helmet, placed it on his head, and instantly felt the weight press on his slender neck, making him worry whether his weak vertebrae could bear it. He fastened the chin strap, winked at Wei Wu, flexed his arm, and struck a bodybuilder’s pose. “Ah Wu, how do I look—imposing, right?”

Wei Wu looked him up and down, then nodded earnestly. “Of course you look imposing. This armor was made for us by Father himself.”

“Get out of here,” Wei Ba said, unable to suppress a laugh, giving Wei Wu a push. “Go practice your sword. I’ll get used to this myself. Actually, it feels pretty good.” Speaking, he picked up a saber over a meter long from the rack, slid it into his belt, and, twisting his body, struck a pose, glaring fiercely in an effort to look intimidating.

Wei Wu jumped, hurrying over to steady him. “Brother, be careful—don’t fall.”

That one sentence instantly returned Wei Ba to reality. He waved his hand helplessly. “Off you go—go practice.”

Wei Wu agreed and returned to the courtyard. Alone, Wei Ba paced the room in his heavy armor, practiced drawing his sword a few times, and struck a few poses he thought looked imposing, but soon his legs began to ache. He sighed inwardly—being a general truly wasn’t for ordinary men. He wanted to sit and rest but didn’t want Wei Wu to mock him, so he shuffled to the door, peeked out, and, seeing Wei Wu engrossed in his practice, finally slipped over to the bed and sat, sticking out his tongue to catch his breath.

He hadn’t recovered when a set of heavy, rapid footsteps approached. The room dimmed as his father’s tall figure appeared in the doorway. Wei Ba instinctively rose to salute but, encased in armor, couldn’t bend at the waist. The plates creaked and groaned, his face flushing red with effort.

Wei Yan, seeing his son encased head to toe in armor and struggling to bow, allowed a fleeting smile to cross his eyes. He stepped in and tapped Wei Ba’s shoulder plate. “Enough. Since you’re in armor, the military salute will do. A soldier’s back does not bend.”

Flustered, Wei Ba replied, glancing at his father. “Father, do you… need something?”

Wei Yan grunted and brought forward his hand, revealing the newly forged iron spade from that morning. Wei Ba was surprised—hadn’t Wei Feng taken it to let the farmers try it? How had it ended up with his father? Could it be that he found it useful and was here to praise him?

Wei Yan fixed Wei Ba with a penetrating gaze. “Did you make this?”

Hearing his father’s tone, Wei Ba’s heart tightened and his smile vanished. After a moment’s hesitation, he answered, “It was made by the master smith in the foundry.”

“I know that,” Wei Yan interrupted impatiently. “But was it your idea?”

Wei Ba nodded helplessly. “Yes.”

“When did you learn blacksmithing?” Wei Yan’s face darkened. “You’re weak, so I let you read instead of serve in the army, but you haven’t excelled in your studies and now you’re learning smithing? Do you plan to become a blacksmith and disgrace the Wei family?”

Wei Ba was momentarily bewildered, then realized why his father was so angry—he thought Wei Ba had turned to a lowly profession, shaming the family. Wei Ba coughed awkwardly, forcing a wry smile. “Father, I haven’t learned smithing.”

“Then how did you create this iron spade, and earn the foundry master’s praise?”

“Well…” Wei Ba was speechless. He rolled his eyes and said, “Look at how frail I am—could I swing a hammer?”

Wei Yan was taken aback, stroking his beard, his expression softening, though he was still not entirely convinced. “Then how do you know about ironworking?”

“I read about it in a book.”

“A book? Which one?”

“It didn’t have a name—it was just a fragment, and it fell apart soon after I got it,” Wei Ba answered cautiously, watching his father’s reaction, afraid he would press further and brand him a monster.

“There are books on ironworking?” Wei Yan hesitated, tapping the shiny iron spade thoughtfully. Wei Ba hardly dared to breathe for fear of giving himself away and being burned as a heretic. But Wei Yan didn’t notice his son’s anxiety. After a moment, he looked at Wei Ba, hope glimmering in his eyes. “Did that book… mention methods for forging weapons or armor?”

Wei Ba considered and shook his head. While steelmaking could certainly be applied to weapon forging, he didn’t fully understand the technical requirements for weapons, and sometimes, the smallest difference in parameters could yield completely different results.

Seeing Wei Ba shake his head, Wei Yan looked disappointed and gave a self-mocking laugh. “Never mind. Even if you can’t forge divine weapons, at least you’ve made an iron spade and helped bring in a few extra bushels. It wasn’t a waste, then. You’re weak—better not wear armor or you’ll harm your health again.”

With that, he turned to leave. Wei Ba hesitated, then mustered his courage, stepped forward to block his father’s path, and saluted. “Father, perhaps… I could try, if you don’t object. With the help of the master smiths, maybe I could forge finer weapons for you.”

Wei Yan looked at him in surprise. After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Good.”