The year the entire Wen family was slaughtered, Wen Chujiu took an eighty-jin iron hammer and went into hiding as a blacksmith on the border.
She meant to lie low for the rest of her life, until one stormy night a breathtakingly handsome man, coughing up blood, stumbled into her forge.
The man weakly tugged at her sleeve. “Miss, please save me. I'm Ji An, a helpless bookkeeper who can't even hurt a chicken... I'll repay you with my service.”
Wen Chujiu took one look at his face and reluctantly agreed to shelter him.
From then on, the forge had a new apprentice who couldn't carry a shoulder pole or lift a hand, and coughed up blood at the slightest touch.
To protect this helpless, fragile man, Wen Chujiu swung her great hammer and smashed her way from a border town to the halls of the capital.
Then one day, her enemies surrounded her with a vast army.
Wen Chujiu was ready to fight to the death when Dali Temple's hidden guards descended amid a storm of arrows.
Her “fragile” bookkeeper had cast off his plain clothes and donned the imposing crimson robes of an official.
With a foe's head beneath his foot, he swept his fiercest gaze across the scene. But when he turned to her, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, looking aggrieved.
“Chujiu, there are so many of them. I'm scared. Could I borrow that repeating heavy crossbow of yours?”
Wen Chujiu: “...Zheng Xuan, try pretending one more time. I dare you!”
