After the trip to Thunderclap Pagoda, Lạc Trần spent over five days resting in the Village of Sickos.
Aside from the first two days, when he slept soundly without stirring, he spent the rest chatting with Tô Mạc Tà and the Little Tathāgata.
Since Tô Mạc Tà arrived at the Village of Sickos, the Silent Maiden came by every morning to drag Lam Tường Vi off to the fabric shop. There, she spent the entire day learning how to embroider and sew, only returning late at night. Because of that, Lạc Trần rarely saw her during this time.
The Little Tathāgata adjusted quickly to life in the village. Except for the times he passed by the mad physician's house, when he would shiver slightly, he showed no desire to leave the Dry Sea for the White Elephant kingdom.
On the sixth day after returning...
The deaf blacksmith summoned Lạc Trần to his forge and handed him a flintlock musket, along with ten round bullets.
After loading a bullet, Lạc Trần pulled the trigger. A jet of flame roared out with a thunderous crack, and a cloud of dust erupted in the courtyard. A brand-new crater had appeared in the ground.
Lạc Trần stared at the damage. It was... unimpressive. The force was barely stronger than a sneeze from the deaf blacksmith himself. He said nothing.
He understood the musket's main advantage was that it required no chi to operate. But even so, the disparity in power was disappointing. Not only did it pale in comparison to a real adept's strike, but it couldn't even match the army's standard-issue Chi Crossbows.
The deaf blacksmith shrugged and said:
"Kid, don't look so miserable. Sit down. I'll explain."
He placed a bullet and the musket on the table.
"I'm guessing the gun you dreamed about uses some method of propellant to launch a bullet down the barrel. We don't have anything like that in Linh Khư, so I had to improvise and use chi instead. I carved a formation into the grip that absorbs ambient chi and stores it in this crystal here. When you pull the trigger, the chi is released in a sudden burst to fire the bullet."
He paused, then added:
"Of course, since you don't have any chi of your own, you can only activate it through physical means. That's wildly inefficient. Most of the energy gets wasted. So naturally, it's far weaker than a Chi Crossbow. Not to mention the barrel takes a beating with every shot, which ruins its lifespan."
Lạc Trần asked, "How many times can it fire before breaking?"
The blacksmith replied, "Ten times max, if you fire once, then let it rest for at least half an hour. Fire too fast, and the barrel will warp after just two shots due to over-heating."
Lạc Trần took a breath. For someone like him, who had no chi and no meridians, even something like this was a rare treasure. He didn't complain.
"Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for?" the deaf man grunted. "It's just a toy. We'll improve it later. Better materials, more refined formations, formations aren't my strong suit anyway. Plus, there's a lot of room for upgrading the bullets too."
He started rambling about barrel alloys and projectile design. Lạc Trần couldn't keep up, partly because of the technical details, and partly because the man spoke too fast when excited.
Eventually, the deaf blacksmith said:
"In a few days, I'll take you and that saintess girl out of the Dry Sea, head toward the White Elephant kingdom. First, so you can see a bit more of the world. Second, we'll need better tools and materials to refine this little contraption of yours. It'll be a long trip, maybe a month or more, so pack accordingly."
Lạc Trần gave a small nod. "Thanks."
The deaf man grunted. "There it is again. One visit to Thunderclap Pagoda and now you're all manners? Get lost. You're messing with my focus."
Outside the forge, Tô Mạc Tà and the Little Tathāgata were already waiting.
The next morning…
Lạc Trần fastened the flintlock musket - fittingly dubbed "Version Zero" - to his belt, slung the bullet pouch on the opposite hip, and hoisted a travel pack over his shoulder.
Inside the pack were a few spare clothes and small parting gifts from the villagers.
The winemaker handed him a jug of Spring in Full Bloom, asking him to pour three cups atop the tallest building in the White Elephant kingdom's capital and let the wine run down the road.
The cripple pressed a single dried white flower petal into his hand, with instructions to deliver it to a tofu shop called Falling Snow, and offer the old shopkeeper an apology.
The Silent Maiden gave him an embroidery needle and told him to pass it directly to someone named Lý Bách Xuyên. She had no idea where this person lived, what they looked like, or even how old they were.
The requests were odd, but in the Village of Sickos, odd was normal. Lạc Trần didn't ask.
The deaf blacksmith took the lead. Tô Mạc Tà followed, and the Little Tathāgata tagged along without hesitation. The moment he heard they were leaving the Dry Sea, he volunteered himself. Clearly, he feared that if he went alone, the mad physician might drag him back into some new ordeal. The trauma was real.
They didn't take the ox-legs palanquin this time.
Instead, the deaf man carried Lạc Trần on his back, striding ahead. Tô Mạc Tà and the Little Tathāgata followed behind, three trails of footprints dotting the Dry Sea, each step spanning hundreds of meters.
By dusk, after half a day's journey, they reached an abandoned temple.
The deaf blacksmith stopped and suggested they rest here for the night, then continue at first light.
Tô Mạc Tà hesitated, eyeing the derelict temple and the gaping hole in its roof. When she saw the lame man start pitching camp, she finally asked:
"There's... really nowhere else to rest?"
The Little Tathāgata chuckled. "Blame us for dragging our feet. But really now, saintess of the Floral Valley, scared of a haunted temple?"
"Bald cockroach," Tô Mạc Tà snapped. "You wouldn't understand. I'm not lowering myself to argue."
"Come on, Saintess," the monk grinned. "You've been calling me 'bald cockroach' since Godfell Ridge. At least try a new insult."
He nudged Lạc Trần with an elbow.
"Brother Lạc, I saw the winemaker give you something special. Care to share a drink?"
"You're a monk. Isn't drinking forbidden?"
"Ah, to be young!" the monk declared, arms wide like an actor on stage. "Reuniting with a missing friend in a cursed land - how could I not drink? Rules and precepts? Save those for when I'm old and boring."
Tô Mạc Tà muttered, "Friendly reminder, bald cockroach. You're already in your forties. That's middle-aged."
The monk choked. "Unfair! One minute you say I look too young to be taken seriously, now I'm too old to enjoy life? Make up your mind! And stop calling me bald cockroach!"
Her eyes narrowed. With a sharp kick off the ground, she said, "Want a rematch, cockroach? We haven't sparred since Godfell Ridge."
"I'd be ashamed to lose to you. Let's go, you overstuffed battle doll!"
"BALD COCKROACH!"
"BRAINLESS BOOB MONSTER!"
…
Lạc Trần sighed and sat beside the deaf blacksmith.
"Sorry," he said. "They're always like this. One insults like a cabbage with a dictionary. The other uses fists to hide her nerves."
The blacksmith grunted. "What about you, sick boy?"
"Me?" Lạc Trần shrugged. "No idea. Maybe when I get scared, I'll do something stupid, like blow myself up just to take the enemy with me. All guts, no sense."
He gave a faint, lopsided smile.
Humans are strange.
We recognize our flaws... and still walk straight into them.
The blacksmith stared off toward the horizon.
"Why suffer so much? Some people freeze to death while carrying firewood for the village. Others starve while hauling rice for the needy. Wouldn't it be better to just... live for yourself, once in a while?"
"I don't follow," Lạc Trần said, playing dumb.
He knew the people of the Village of Sickos all carried burdens from the past, haunted by long-gone nightmares. He didn't want to ask, because once you know someone's pain, you can't go back to pretending it isn't there.
He just wanted things to stay the way they were.
The blacksmith snorted.
"You're a nosy brat. But if you don't want to dig, I won't hand you the shovel."
Lạc Trần nodded. No forced thanks. No surface politeness.
He knew exactly what kind of person he was.
The kind who stuck his nose where it didn't belong.
The kind who didn't value his own life, but would throw it away for someone else.
Who ignored his own pain, but couldn't stand to see injustice.
Put simply, he had a bad case of hero syndrome.
A little too much of a saint.