Chapter Thirty-Seven: Gan Jiang

Upon learning that Zhuang Yi had left the city to avoid attention, Meng Di finally understood why he cared so much about a mere cart of valuables, and promptly returned them to him. Supporting a large retinue was indeed a considerable expense.

The two grew ever closer, and Meng Di seized the opportunity to inquire about Gan Jiang.

"Gan Jiang and Ou Yezi studied under the same master. He is forging swords at Tiger Hill now."

"This bow was forged by Gan Jiang?" Meng Di toyed with the iron bow in his hands.

"It is said to have been made from the essence of meteoric iron, and Gan Jiang has always regretted using it for a bow. He believes that if it had been used to forge a sword, it would have become a peerless blade, no lesser than Zhanlu or Juque."

"And who forged Zhanlu and Juque?"

"Ou Yezi."

"Young Master Yi seems quite knowledgeable about sword forging. Would you mind sharing a bit?"

"Meng, you're too formal. Why not simply call me Boyu?" Zhuang Yi, quick-witted, recognized that Meng Di was no ordinary man and had long desired to befriend him.

"Very well, then I shall ask Boyu to enlighten me."

When it came to sword forging, Zhuang Yi’s eyes sparkled. His father had assassinated King Liao of Wu with the Fish Intestine Sword, a famed blade forged by Ou Yezi of Yue, made from tin from Chijin Mountain and copper from Ruoye Stream, tempered by rain and thunder, imbued with the essence of heaven and earth.

Among the three kingdoms of Wu, Chu, and Yue, Yue boasted the finest craftsmen, Chu the greatest numbers, yet the sharpest weapons belonged to Wu.

This was because the kings of Chu and Yue were obsessed with forging precious swords, taking great pride in owning peerless blades. To forge a single good sword took years and countless laborers; even Ou Yezi, with all his skill, left but a handful of blades to posterity. Wu, however, did not forge treasures but focused on improving the weapons of their soldiers, making their superiority clear.

"Do you know where Ou Yezi is now?"

"Ou Yezi has long since retreated from the world. The King sent men to seek him in the valleys of Longquan, but he was never found. In these times, only Gan Jiang may be called a master."

"Boyu, could you introduce me to Master Gan Jiang? First, I must thank him in person for this precious bow; second, I wish to commission a sword suited to my needs."

Zhuang Yi clapped his hands and laughed, "Meng, you’ve come at the perfect time. Usually the King treats Gan Jiang like a treasure, and Tiger Hill is guarded like an iron fortress, but when Fu Gai marched his troops, they were scattered. Now, with no one watching Tiger Hill, it’s the best time to ascend."

Meng Di was overjoyed at this unexpected ease.

"But Meng, to commission Gan Jiang for a sword may be difficult," Zhuang Yi added.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Gan Jiang resents Ou Yezi’s fame and has always wanted to forge a peerless sword to prove himself the greatest craftsman in the world. Yet the King only has him lead the smiths in making ordinary weapons, leaving him frustrated and withdrawn," Zhuang Yi said, somewhat embarrassed.

In truth, he was not just withdrawn but eccentric and peculiar. Zhuang Yi had met him several times alongside the King of Wu and was well acquainted with his temper.

"No matter, we’ll discuss it when we meet." Meng Di guessed that Gan Jiang’s famed swords, Gan Jiang and Mo Xie, had not yet been forged; at worst, he could marshal the resources of Han to help Gan Jiang create two legendary swords. Having seen the iron bow, Meng Di felt even more confident in his knowledge of metallurgy.

Laughing and chatting, the two left the tavern, heading side by side toward Tiger Hill. Their camaraderie stunned the onlookers, as the atmosphere had shifted so quickly.

Tiger Hill lay northwest of Gusu City, named for its shape, which resembled a crouching tiger.

Though the hill rose only a few dozen yards, its rugged cliffs and soaring crags gave it the grandeur of "the finest landscape east of the Yangtze." Gan Jiang forged his swords within this mountain.

They left their attendants at the foot of the hill and strolled up the stone steps. Turning past a ridge, they saw a wild-haired man sitting cross-legged on the ground, inspecting a grayish-black object in his hands.

"Master Gan Jiang, Boyu comes to pay his respects," Zhuang Yi called from behind, bowing deeply.

Gan Jiang did not look up, muttering, "So it's Young Master Yi. What brings you here?"

"Do you recall the precious bow?"

"The bow?" Gan Jiang’s eyes flashed coldly. "Why mention that worthless thing? Are you here to mock me?"

"Certainly not. I’m here to congratulate you, Master—the bow has found its true master," Zhuang Yi replied respectfully.

With a dull thud, Gan Jiang threw the object in his hands to the ground, then stood up, his limbs long and unusually proportioned.

"Young Master Yi, for your father’s sake, a hero of his age, I’ll overlook this. Quickly—" He stopped mid-sentence, frozen.

Meng Di held the iron bow, drawing the string to a full arc, then released it.

A resonant vibration filled the air, lingering on.

Gan Jiang stared in astonishment for a long while before finally saying, "So the bow was not worthless after all."

In his youth, Gan Jiang, full of pride, had wagered with others to create the world’s strongest bow. He gathered skilled bow craftsmen, used the hardest meteoric iron for the body and the toughest dragon sinews for the string.

Gan Jiang knew nothing of archery and assumed that the finest materials would yield the strongest bow.

The bow was presented to the King of Wu, who was delighted and passed it to his generals, but several were injured by it, and the bow earned the reputation of being useless.

Gan Jiang was not punished, but he felt deeply ashamed and grieved the waste of the rare meteoric iron he had worked so hard to obtain.

Zhuang Yi seized the moment, "Meng just used this bow to shoot down a flying eagle."

True craftsmen, like chefs, are happiest when their creations are praised, and most pained when ignored. Gan Jiang had regarded the bow as a lifelong disgrace, but now realized it was merely a pearl covered in dust, unrecognized by others.

He took the iron bow with trembling hands, gently stroking its body. His gaze grew bright and tender, as if speaking to himself, "So I did win after all."

Meng Di fully understood Gan Jiang’s feelings at that moment and said, "Since this bow was forged by you, Master, please grant it a name."

"Oh no, not at all. This bow is not solely my work," Gan Jiang replied modestly, waving his hand. "But as for a name, that warrants careful thought."

"Why not call it Eagle Shooter—Eagle Shooter Bow? That’s a fine name!" Zhuang Yi boasted.

Gan Jiang snorted heavily, but in light of today’s good news, he refrained from rebuke, only said coldly, "No matter how high an eagle flies, it is but a transformed worm—not worthy of my precious bow."

"Uh..." Zhuang Yi was speechless; moments ago it was called worthless, now it was a treasure.

Gan Jiang looked up at the sky, muttering to himself, then suddenly declared, "I have it. When this bow was forged, the sun and moon lost their brilliance—it shall be named Sun Shooter."

Sun Shooter Bow? Wasn’t that the bow used by Hou Yi? Legend tells of ten suns appearing in the ancient sky, scorching the earth, until Hou Yi shot down nine, restoring balance and allowing all life to flourish. Zhuang Yi, though not learned, loved such tales.

"Absurd—how can one believe such legends," Gan Jiang scoffed, then turned to Meng Di, "A precious bow chooses its master. Since you can wield it, you must have a special fate. But this bow is too powerful; use it with great caution, lest you disturb the harmony of heaven."

Gan Jiang knew nothing of archery, and seeing Meng Di’s slender build—unlike the strongmen who injured themselves trying to draw the bow—he couldn’t imagine that Meng Di possessed both strength and skill, attributing it instead to fate.

Meng Di did not explain, solemnly promising to heed Gan Jiang’s warning. With this bow, his prowess on the battlefield would be greatly enhanced, and he was indebted to Gan Jiang.

Zhuang Yi chuckled quietly, "Indeed, use it with care—there’s only one sun left in the sky, after all."