Poor Craftsman

The fire in the blacksmith shop has not been burning so brightly for a long time. When Lin Bei came here from another world, he only had a debt of three hundred taels of silver, a seriously ill junior sister, and a shop that was about to collapse. No one thought he could turn over. Until that pot came out. That's no ordinary pot. It is a piece of iron. After being forged thousands of times, its impurities have faded away, revealing its true color. Just like the person he is. From a small shop in Qingxi County to the high hall of the Ordnance Supervisor in the capital; from one person swinging a hammer to thousands of craftsmen lifting the hammer with him. Some say he is a master craftsman, some say he is a national scholar. He just brought the fire from another world to a place that needed light. In this life, he never made a prince or became a prime minister, and he never had power over the government and the public. But every sword he struck guarded the country's borders. The greatness of a craftsman lies not in his tools but in his heart.