A few days later, in the early morning.

Before the Mao hour arrived, the sound of clanging hammers could be heard in the fire workshop.

Inside a casting house, hot air filled the air as Yuan Ming, shirtless, held a casting hammer in his hand, continuously striking the iron on the anvil. Bright red sparks scattered in all directions.

His expression was focused, his eyes fixed on the iron, as if there was nothing else in his sight.