004 The Proper Way to Communicate

Page 1/3

The first impression upon entering the room was the dim, yellowish light.

To the right of the door stood the heart of the house: a small round table surrounded by three or four stools scattered around the wooden surface. On the table rested an oil lamp and a basket holding several fruits. The fruits, roughly the size of apples, bore colorful, scattered streaks on their surfaces, giving no hint of being edible. The flame of the oil lamp emitted tiny wisps of black smoke that slowly vanished above the table—there, a lantern hung from the ceiling. The old stone walls were bathed in the warm yellow glow from these lights. Opposite the table was a fireplace, crackling with the sound of burning logs. Sparks danced briefly across the heavily cracked floorboards before fading from sight. Following the cracks with his gaze, Duan Qing noticed a wooden counter and railing that enclosed part of the space, forming a sort of bar. Behind the counter, the wall was adorned with objects resembling weapons: common swords and shields, as well as tools Duan Qing did not recognize.

Behind the counter, a door led to another room. Clinking sounds came from the crack beneath it but ceased just as heavy footsteps approached and the door swung open.

A man stepped out. His skin was dark, sweat glistened on his body, and under the light, his shaved head shone faintly. He appeared young and of modest height but solidly built. Bare-chested, he had a towel draped over his shoulder, its white fabric dulled and stained with dark gray. The man roughly wiped his face with one end of the towel, then casually wiped his shaved head, grinning broadly at Steelheart.

“Here,” he said, tilting his head. “This is...”

“A friend,” Steelheart stepped forward, untying a small package from his waist and handing it over. “Here’s what you asked for. Please have a look.”

The bald man took the package, loosening the ropes as he held a large cup from the table and drank, glancing sideways at the contents. Steelheart stood nearby, visibly nervous—or perhaps excited. “We encountered some trouble along the way. I hope nothing’s damaged.”

The man set down his cup and pulled out several pieces of oiled cloth. Unwrapping them revealed several herbs. He picked up one, holding it up to the light for inspection. His stern expression eased, and he nodded slowly. “This is it…”

Steelheart’s shoulders relaxed. “I hope it’s not too late.”

“Of course,” the blacksmith’s deep voice was terse but confident. “Faster than expected.”

The man turned, fetched a sword from the wall’s base, and handed it to Steelheart.

Steelheart took it, raising the blade. It was a broad sword, nearly a meter long, its silver blade about four fingers wide with a blood groove etched along the center. The handle measured over ten centimeters, wrapped in black tape resembling rubber. Steelheart examined the blade carefully, then brought it closer to inspect the handle’s end, where some characters were engraved. Their meaning was unclear, but he paid no mind.

“Length: 0.9 Bery, width: 0.8 Fari. Though not quite standard-issue military equipment, it’s still sharp enough,” the bald man said with a proud smile, clearly pleased with his work.

“Thank you very much.” Steelheart sheathed the sword at his waist and offered a peculiar bow. “This is the finest sword I have ever seen.”

The blacksmith smiled widely, his white teeth striking against dark skin. “I should be the one thanking you.” He pointed at the herbs on the counter. “You did me a great favor.”

“I hope your wife recovers safely,” Steelheart said. “If there’s nothing else…”

The blacksmith said nothing but raised his right arm in a gesture.

Steelheart understood and bid farewell. As the man turned to return to the other room, he called Duan Qing to leave. At that moment, Duan Qing glanced back.

He then stepped forward, placing a hand firmly on the counter before the dark figure disappeared.

“Uncle, I want a weapon too!”

The atmosphere seemed to drop several degrees. The man paused in his door-opening, slowly turning to look at the young man with short black hair. He raised a hand, pointing to a price list posted on the wall behind the counter.

“So it’s self-service, huh?” Duan Qing thought, inwardly shouting.

But it wouldn’t be that easy to brush him off.

“Uncle,” Duan Qing tapped the table lightly. “I want one with the same inscription as that one.”

The air grew colder.

The bald man released the door handle, turning fully toward Duan Qing. With a lazy swipe, he walked back. “You said... what?”

Page 2/3

“Uh, cough, cough...” Duan Qing quickly coughed twice to ease the tension, since the sturdy man was holding some iron tool in his hand and Duan Qing had clearly seen it. “I mean... Uncle, your skill is superb, your craftsmanship excellent. You must have trained under a famous master, right?”

The blacksmith said nothing, his eyes fixed like a predator’s gaze.

“Um...” Duan Qing waved his hand. “Let me think... is it Fischer? Gerard? Or Campashew? Ah, or maybe...”

The blacksmith stared at him, and Steelheart did too. Steelheart was puzzled—how did this newcomer know so many renowned names? Perhaps, like himself, he was a veteran player of the Free World. Only Duan Qing was sweating coldly, for he didn’t recognize any of those names himself.

Then, the blacksmith’s expression finally shifted.

“Are you... military industry personnel?” he asked.

Seeing the man’s narrowed eyes, Duan Qing knew he had guessed correctly.

Military industry personnel were those who provided technical services to certain military factions. Given the blacksmith’s trade, his services likely involved weapon and equipment crafting.

“I remember you mentioned ‘standard-issue weapons’ earlier, so you must be quite familiar with this field. If I could be lucky enough to acquire your craftsmanship, it would greatly enhance my future adventures...” Duan Qing’s speech faltered as the man raised a hand.

“I understand,” the blacksmith replied. “I am... well, I was.”

Duan Qing squinted.

“You don’t mind, do you?” the bald man asked.

“Of course not. I’m an unknown adventurer, with many areas in which I need help. To have the work of a master like you would be an honor.” Duan Qing bowed slightly, hiding the sharp glint in his eyes. “However, you might not yet know me. For mutual benefit, I think we should introduce ourselves first.”

“You say so, but I don’t even know your name, blacksmith uncle.”

“Varal,” the blacksmith said, fixing him with a steady gaze. “Varal? Narco.”

“Mo Shang Qingshan,” Duan Qing smiled softly, the tension finally dissipating as if it had never existed. “See, we have a good start.”

“Call me Val,” the blacksmith said, then turned and went inside, slamming the door.

Duan Qing shrugged, then pushed Steelheart, who still looked stunned, out of the room to stand in the shadows of the alley. Steelheart spoke nervously: “Brother Mo, that was risky. What if you offended him...?”

“I didn’t say anything bad about him, so why would I offend him?” Duan Qing smiled. “Though it’s my first time playing this game, I do have some experience.”

“What kind of experience? None of this looks like normal NPC interaction!” Steelheart said helplessly. “Do you know how hard I worked to build relations with the village’s only blacksmith?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘relationship.’” Duan Qing replied. “If you define relationships in virtual worlds as just ‘having a good rapport,’ then sure, you’re right. But...”

Duan Qing’s expression grew serious. “Making friends with NPCs is a relationship. Making enemies of them is a relationship too. From this perspective, calling them NPCs is inaccurate.”

“The virtual-real world has evolved for so many years now; we are used to treating virtual characters as equals. So... if relationships exist in the real world, they exist here too.”

“They are no longer just sources of information, tools for gain, or conditions for completing tasks, but people who can be praised or scolded, respected or admired. They are human. If we can help them, they can help us. They can deceive us...” Duan Qing’s eyes darkened. “We can deceive them too.”

“Our lives involve love, hatred, deception, and trust. Naturally, these elements exist in virtual relationships as well.”

The warm sunlight remained as several children ran up from afar—perhaps those same ones who had just threatened to trouble the old man earlier. Duan Qing’s voice softened, shedding his stern tone for casual indifference. “So, in my eyes, that uncle is just a blacksmith. No matter what benefits or dangers he brings me, he’s an ordinary man. With that mindset, I can notice and do what needs to be done.”

Steelheart seemed absorbed by these words. At that moment, a child parted from the group, called out to the others, and ran over without looking back. Duan Qing recognized him as the boy who had made faces on the way here.

“Brother Steel, what are you doing?”

Page 3/3

Steelheart snapped out of his thoughts and recognized the boy. “Haha, little Kose, where did you go causing trouble just now?”

“Of course to find the old man with the wild hair! He sings terribly, and every day too...” The boy spoke indignantly, as if he had done a great deed. Then, his face brightened. “Oh, and I want a gift! The stone you gave me last time was so pretty, but John took it away...”

“That’s okay. Next time, I’ll bring you something nicer. Your mother’s illness isn’t healed yet; go back and take care of her. A child who doesn’t care for their mother isn’t a good child.”

“I brought bread for Mom today. Dad agreed I could go out to play, so here I am...”

Duan Qing stepped aside and watched Steelheart chat and laugh with the boy. After patting the child’s head, Steelheart pushed him back into the blacksmith’s house. Duan Qing waited until the boy entered, then turned and walked away.

“Seems you get along well with that family,” Duan Qing said with a smile.

“Well, I’ve been around a while and often receive their care,” Steelheart rubbed his nose and glanced at the new weapon at his waist. “But what you said earlier, I hadn’t really thought about.”

“No need to overthink it. Just follow your heart,” Duan Qing said. “Your good relationship with that boy probably means you’ve learned some of the tricks.”

Steelheart turned to look at the worn house. “Yeah, I’m beginning to sense that too.”

“I have a question.” Duan Qing suddenly interrupted. “I don’t know what mission you took or what your goal is. From what I saw, you carried that package, which seems to be what the family needed. You helped them find the urgently needed herbs, and the blacksmith gave you the weapon you wanted, right?”

“Uh, that sums it up pretty well,” Steelheart admitted.

“Then, in your heart, do you feel more like giving the herbs or receiving the weapon?”

Steelheart fell silent, then nodded as if understanding something. He laughed heartily. “Lesson learned, Brother Mo, you really are no ordinary man!”

“Good.” Duan Qing smiled, his expression lightening, though the smile held some hidden meaning.

Their laughter grew louder, drawing the curious glances of passersby. They paid no mind to the puzzled looks, laughing and exchanging knowing looks, as if an unspoken bond was forming and building between them. The laughter slowly faded, and they casually strolled away, the ordinary figure and the sturdy silhouette merging into the crowd.

A warm breeze blew, carrying their trailing words.

“What you said earlier probably wasn’t nonsense. Your goal is...”

“That blacksmith wasn’t telling the truth.”

“Oh? How so?”

“When he turned back, I saw several scars on his back... Those kinds of scars? No one would get them from forging iron. I was the first to hit him...”

“Really? Then what about what he said earlier...”

“Simply put, I want to use what he’s hiding as leverage. Tch, better not mention it. That negotiation was a failure. That blacksmith’s got a lot of stories...”

“Hey, don’t be discouraged. That old croaky-voiced man definitely has even more stories. Want to go check him out?”

Their shadows stretched behind them as the sun dipped below the horizon.