I Cultivate to Become an Immortal by Myself

There was drizzle in Qingshi Town at dusk. Li Hai squatted beside the firewood pile in the backyard of the blacksmith shop, and the rusty hatchet made a rhythmic rustling sound on the whetstone. With a steady wrist, the seventeen-year-old boy poured a ladle of well water onto the blade every seven pushes. The splashing water droplets reflected fine golden light in the setting sun. Ding—Blacksmith Zhang Laizi came out of the back room on crutches, and the wine gourd on his waist hit the door frame: These farm tools will be delivered to the Wang Yuan's residence before Xu hour today. He glanced at the three hatchets that the young man had sharpened, and a trace of surprise flashed through his cloudy eyes. He was getting better at sharpening his knives. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.