Chapter 14: Did You Really Repair This Blade?

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Duan Chengliang felt the same four small panels appear again. At first, he was somewhat disappointed, thinking the effect would be the same as when he had repaired the shovel blade. But after taking a closer look, he noticed that the images inside the panels had changed.

The first panel contained an image of a human body.

The second depicted the furnace in a blacksmith’s shop.

The third contained a stack of books.

The fourth could be identified as representing objects.

There was another difference as well. Of the four panels, only the one depicting the human body and the one representing objects were glowing. The panels representing the blacksmith’s shop and the stack of books were dim and gray.

What did this mean?

Duan Chengliang thought for a moment and quickly understood. Repairing a cleaver handle probably was not worth enough to unlock those two dimmed panels. The price was insufficient.

So, which of the other two should he choose?

The fourth panel clearly represented objects. After considering it, Duan Chengliang decided that he had already received half a pound of refined flour before, which counted as an attempt to obtain something from the space.

This time, he chose the first panel, the one depicting a human body, to see what different effect it would produce.

Duan Chengliang no longer hesitated. He focused his mind on the panel showing the human body.

A flash of light passed before his eyes, and all four panels vanished. Then he felt two streams of heat sweep across his lower back. The sensation was so comfortable that he could not help groaning. Unfortunately, they came and went just as quickly. Before he had time to savor the feeling, it was already gone.

It was so brief that he almost wondered whether he had imagined it. The sensation had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Had he not suddenly felt the soreness in his waist disappear, replaced by warmth and vitality—as though a small motor had been installed inside him—he would have thought that today’s choice had been a complete waste.

Could the human-body symbol represent bodily recovery or physical enhancement?

Yes, that was very likely.

Duan Chengliang was tremendously excited.

No matter how well one ate or how much money one had, was not the ultimate goal to remain healthy and live to a ripe old age?

Only with a strong, healthy body could one truly enjoy life. Ah, this blacksmith’s-shop space was simply too considerate.

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Duan Chengliang took one last look at the glowing red furnace and waved vigorously. Then, with a thought, he left the space.

Back in his room, he felt the warmth in his lower back and twisted his waist forcefully from side to side.

He felt wonderfully refreshed.

He wondered whether he should ask Qin Huairu to come over later and make him some hand-pulled noodles.

With the corners of his mouth unconsciously curling into a broad smile, Duan Chengliang glanced at the cleaver in his hand.

“Never mind the rest for now. I’ll collect my twenty cents first.”

At that moment, across the way in Yan Bugui’s home, Yan Bugui was expounding his principles of calculation to his entire family.

They were having dinner.

Each person had a steamed corn bun that was visibly half the size of their usual one, along with a small bowl of thin cornmeal gruel.

There was not even a shred of pickled vegetable or cabbage on the table that evening.

“Even if we’re eating corn buns, we ought to have some pickled vegetables with them,” Yan Jiefang complained.

Yan Bugui narrowed his eyes. He sniffed as he chewed the bun in his mouth, then said softly, “We’re not eating pickled vegetables tonight. We’re eating meat.”

Joy appeared on Yan Jiefang’s face. He hurriedly asked, “Where’s the meat? I don’t see any.”

Yan Bugui pointed around the room and whispered, “Smell carefully. The meat is everywhere.”

Yan Jiefang froze for a moment. Then he looked at his father and instantly understood. His father intended for them to eat their corn buns while inhaling the aroma of boiled pork bones, thereby muddling through dinner.

Yan Jiefang tore off a large piece of bun and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering unhappily, “Dad, you really are something. You even managed to scheme your way into this. I’m impressed.”

Yan Bugui closed his eyes again and gently rocked his head, speaking smugly.

“After saving fifty cents to buy a set of pork bones, we can enjoy more than just the smell and one dinner. First, we eat the meat on the bones. Before chopping them, I carefully scraped every bit of meat off. That is the most tempting delicacy, and next time we can fry it with some vegetables.

“Second, the bones, once stripped of meat, can be simmered in a pot like this to make broth. This batch is mainly for your mother’s health. After that, we can add some cabbage leaves. If we boil some thin white rice porridge as well, it becomes bone porridge.

“Finally, once we have finished the porridge and broth, we take the bones out of the pot and think of every possible way to extract the marrow inside. Crack open both ends of the marrow bones, put your mouth to the holes, and suck hard. The marrow slides straight into your mouth. It is so delicious you will never forget it!”

No wonder people called him an educated man and a teacher. He could turn even eating bones into an elaborate lecture. Truly impressive.

At that moment, the family’s three sons and one daughter sat around the little table with miserable expressions, chewing dry, hard corn buns. They could not experience the delicacy their father had described at all.

Only Yang Ruihua had a small bowl of bone broth before her, with a thin sheen of oil floating on top. She occasionally took a sip with an expression of bliss, then bit into her bun while gazing at Yan Bugui with open admiration.

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A loud knock sounded at the door.

“Uncle Three, open up! It’s Duan Chengliang. I’ve repaired your knife.”

Yan Bugui, who had been lost in the aroma of meat, opened his eyes at once and stared at the door in disbelief.

“I didn’t hear any commotion from across the way. It’s only been a short while. How could he already have repaired the broken handle?”

Yan Bugui exchanged a glance with Yang Ruihua, placed his corn bun in the basket, and stood up. He walked to the door and opened it.

Duan Chengliang held up a cleaver and waved it at him with a smile.

“Here you are, Uncle Three. Mission accomplished. The knife is repaired. Bring me my twenty cents.”

Duan Chengliang held out his hand, waiting for the money.

Yan Bugui looked suspiciously at the knife and examined it carefully.

It was indeed his family’s knife. Apart from the unfamiliar-looking handle, everything else was exactly the same.

“You may have repaired it, but I still need to test it before accepting it,” he said.

Duan Chengliang smiled and nodded, then handed him the knife.

Yan Bugui took it, gripped the handle, and shook and swung it vigorously. To his surprise, it was remarkably sturdy.

“Let me cut something with it,” he said to Duan Chengliang. “Otherwise, how do I know you didn’t just glue it together with some random material?”

Duan Chengliang ignored him. His gaze drifted toward the people eating in the Yan household and the items on the small wooden table around which they were gathered. He could not help curling his lip.

Yan Bugui took the cleaver to the empty chopping board in his home. He hacked and chopped with it for quite some time, then held the handle up and examined it carefully from every angle.

“Uncle Three, that’s your family’s knife, so treat it with some care. You’re chopping far too hard. If you chip the blade, don’t blame me. I only repaired the handle, not the blade. Of course, I can repair the blade too, but that won’t cost twenty cents. It’ll be at least one yuan.”

Yan Bugui shook the cleaver hard in his hand, turned to Duan Chengliang, and asked suspiciously, “You really repaired this knife yourself?”