Upon entering the foundry, Zhu Minglang saw the old master who wore only a soft leather vest even in the deep winter. His skin was like cured meat, and his muscles were like those of a fierce bear. If he were to charge with a shield, he would probably cripple an entire troop of soldiers.
"Master Zhao Long, good morning," Zhu Minglang greeted.
"Ah, Zhu, you're also here so early today. Sigh, you are a fine apprentice, determined and perseverant, unlike those lazy dogs I've been teaching. Heaven knows how long they'll have to muck about here before they can graduate," Zhao Long said as he threaded a needle, mending a piece of torn armor.
To be honest, every time Zhu Minglang thought that Master Zhao Long should go to the adjacent foundry workshop, where forging, hammering, and sharpening would suit his image better. He couldn't comprehend how those rough large palms of his handled such tiny needles and threads, and yet his craftsmanship was exceptionally good.
