The Blacksmith from the Cold

The forge fire in the blacksmith shop had not burned so brightly for a long time. When Lin Bei came from another world, he carried only a debt of three hundred taels of silver, a critically ill junior sister, and a shop on the verge of collapse. No one thought he could turn things around. Until that pot was made. It was not an ordinary pot. It was a piece of iron, after thousands of hammerings, stripped of impurities, revealing its true nature. Just like the man himself. From a small shop in Qingxi County to the grand halls of the Imperial Armory in the capital; from swinging a hammer alone to thousands of craftsmen raising their hammers with him. Some called him a divine smith, others called him a national scholar. He simply brought the fire from another world to a place in need of light. In this life, he was never enfeoffed as a marquis or prime minister, nor did he hold sway over the court. But every blade he forged guarded the borders of this nation. The greatness of a craftsman lies not in his tools, but in his heart.