Ken took out two coins and held them between his fingers.
Several refugees on the street looked over, hesitated for a moment and chose to wait.
He suddenly had an interesting idea, put the money away, and asked Kuima to take out two pieces of [Military Ration Cake]. This kind of pasta mixed with meat tasted good and was found in the bandit warehouse.
Two waist-high children walked through the crowd.
They were brother and sister, wearing ragged and loose clothes, holding each other's dirty hands, staring at the food in the hands of the young man with wide eyes, not hiding their hunger.
"Who of you can take me to Mr. Malungu, he is a blacksmith."
The boy shook his head, his voice a little hoarse.
"He is not a blacksmith, he is the furnace owner. Those under Mr. Malungu are called blacksmiths. Under the blacksmith, there are apprentices, laborers, and adults who talk business."
Ken gestured to the other party to lead the way, and took a small bottle of fruit honey when handing over the food.
The boy was not hypocritical.
He tore open the package in public, tore the meatloaf into strips and handed it to his sister. He took a big bite, stuffed the rest into his clothes, and then ate while leading the way.
"Food is more useful than money."
Ken said casually, observing the surroundings with his peripheral vision.
The two little guys walked silently in the crowd, the girl holding the food in one hand and chewing it in her mouth, holding her brother's collar with the other hand, as if this was the direction of life.
They walked through two streets.
The work area seemed quieter than the market, and there were fewer refugees. Except for a small number of formal laborers and vendors who ordered goods, they were basically working craftsmen.
At this time, the boy suddenly spoke, as if answering the previous question.
"Money is better. But I have to protect Lili. Food can be eaten on the spot, but money can be robbed or even stolen."
His voice was hoarse, and he spoke in a flat tone about the cruelty of the world.
"Oh, will someone stare at you?"
Ken spoke in a smooth tone, different from his usual tone.
Kuima glanced at the war flag after hearing this, and seemed to understand something.
The boy turned around, looked around for a moment, raised his head and said: "People often come to search our pockets. I heard that several of my friends were taken away by adults running goods in southern Xinjiang."
[Rumor: Slave trade]
[Slave traders will buy prisoners on the battlefield and trade them to people in need, or transport them to the southern Xinjiang border. No one knows when orphans began to appear in this industry. ]
Ken raised his hand and gestured a few simple movements. This is what he taught the troops a long time ago.
Kuima straightened his longbow, left the team and hid in the market. He climbed up the stone wall in an empty place and soon found two sneaky guys following behind - they looked like hooligans, without any weapons. Judging from the tattoo patterns on their necks, their business was not glorious.
In the remote alley, fighting sounds were soon heard.
Ken expanded his gray vision, through the crowd and buildings, he could see the hazy outline and clear health bar.
The followers have made obvious progress, and the combat power of the hawk archers can crush civilians.
Through the shadow, he judged that Kuima was stepping on a guy and pinching the neck of another person with one hand, as if asking for some information.
"Very good, young people are gradually becoming more reliable in doing things."
But in fact, Kuima is much older than him.
Ken didn't say anything, quietly leaned down, put two gold coins into the little girl's pocket, and raised his fingers to make a silent gesture.
He walked around the work area several times.
The workshop of Malungu is located in the center of the village. From the perspective of status, apart from the three ancient furnaces, it should be a very prestigious shop.
The brother and sister can only lead the way here.
Ken asked the rider to take care of them and left, and he and the chanter who picked up the wooden box walked into the shop together.
The buildings in Duwa Village are gray, mainly in dark black and brown tones, and mostly decorated with metal and stone bricks. But no matter where you go, there is thick dust, as if everything is burning. The crooked plaques are engraved with complex and ancient words: Focus on the flame, focus on the soul.
After entering the store, the first thing you see is the scratched lobby and the piles of weapons - both semi-finished and finished products.
The air is filled with the smell of molten iron.
He saw many unknown tools, apprentices and laborers walking between the empty and huge workbenches. Coarse cloth short coats are the standard here, and sweat and dark muscles are the main scenery.
The administrator is a short and strong local who is carving the pattern of a war hammer. Everyone in the store is focused on their work, and no one is free to take care of the customers.
He put down the tools helplessly and walked over quickly.
"Orders should be placed at the front. If you need to pick up goods, you have to go to the back alley. Let's go, let's get out of here."
[The overwhelmed administrator]
[Attitude: impatient]
"I'm looking for Mr. Malengu. An old friend of his asked us to bring some gifts and a request."
The craftsmen around who heard this name raised their heads.
The administrator put down the pottery pot for drinking water, wiped the sweat with a cloth whose original color could not be seen, then took the order from the other party, looked up at the young man, called the apprentice, and walked into the gate deeper together.
Ken waited for a moment.
Soon, someone came to lead the way, stepped over the messy but orderly workbench, walked along the red furnace to the doorway built against the mountain.
The smell of molten iron became stronger.
Ken heard the loud sound of the bellows and felt the oncoming heat wave.
This is a gap in the mountains, and the furnace is embedded on the cliff. Those who can work here are experienced craftsmen. If they are placed outside, they are also old guys with excellent craftsmanship.
Walk all the way to the depths.
The floor tiles are very solid, dark and deep, covered with darker gray.
Ken walked a long way in the canyon, and the chanters could hardly hold the wooden box. The scenery was only the unchanging "black" and "bright yellow", and the display racks on both sides were filled with various [excellent] quality weapons.
"The furnace owner is waiting for you in front."
Ken walked up the spiral steps, and heavier knocking sounds came. The rhythm of the hammering was soul-stirring, as if forging the soul.
He came to an open area.
It was more like an altar than a blacksmith shop. The regular floor tiles were engraved with complicated patterns, and four huge furnaces spewing flames flashed yellow light.
Plop.
The chanter fell to the ground, and the wooden box was caught by Zhan Jing, who was quick-eyed and quick-handed.
Ken lifted it with one hand, turned his head, and saw a bunch of curled white hair standing up: it was covered with large and small rings, and countless hastily tied knots, covered with thick ash, like a blanket taken out of an abandoned warehouse.
But this is hair.
Its owner slowly straightened his back, his body rose to twice the height of a human, with arms like giant pine trees, thighs as strong as beams, and a roaring voice like a bell:
"Be careful, child, that thing is more precious than your life."