Si Long flinched, his face pale. Without daring to argue, he bowed and hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing with frustration and confusion.
Only after the door shut did Lou Gao turn back to Wu Meng. He cupped his hands respectfully, his tone heavy with formality.
"Distinguished guest, I must apologize for any disrespectful behaviour from Si Long. His vision is shallow, and his mind still green. Please, do not take offense."
In his mind, he was certain: Wu Meng must hail from a great and hidden power. How else could she casually hand him such a notebook, containing techniques that surpassed even the legacy of his own Blacksmith Association?
Wu Meng merely smiled faintly, her expression unreadable.
"Don't mind it," she replied with calm simplicity.
Her tone revealed nothing, neither the origin of the notebook nor the true weight of her presence. Yet, the casualness with which she dismissed the matter only deepened Lou Gao's conviction—this was no ordinary messenger.
Lou Gao then wiped the sweat from his brow, tucked the notebook carefully under his arm as though it were a priceless treasure, and gestured toward the guest seat.
"Miss Wu Meng, please—sit. Let us have a good talk."
The two sat facing one another, the air between them heavy with unspoken weight. Wu Meng, calm as ever, was the first to break the silence.
"I believe that notebook was very helpful to you?"
Lou Gao's small eyes glistened with a feverish light. He leaned forward, clutching the thin book with trembling hands.
"Helpful?" he repeated, almost laughing.
"This is not merely helpful—it is the most groundbreaking thing I have ever read in my life! If… if even half of the content here is true, then blacksmithing will no longer remain the humble craft people dismiss. It will change—no, it will revolutionize the very foundation of the Douluo Continent."
He spoke in one breath, almost panting by the end. His stubby fingers pressed into the leather of the notebook as if he feared it might vanish at any moment.
Then, his eyes, filled with a mix of awe and disbelief, turned to Wu Meng.
"Excuse me, Miss… may I ask? Who wrote this?"
He hesitated, unwilling to offend, but his doubt was plain. The woman before him was too young, far too young. Even the most gifted of blacksmiths required decades of hammering, failure, and bitter sweat before gaining insight. How could such profound, far-reaching knowledge—techniques that generations of smiths had failed to unearth—come from one so youthful?
Wu Meng, as though expecting the question, gave a serene smile and shook her head.
"No. It was not written by me. It was written by my Young Master."
Lou Gao's eyes widened, a storm of possibilities flashing through them. His mind painted the figure of this "Young Master" as perhaps a hidden prodigy nurtured in secret by some great clan. Someone who had devoted decades of life and soul to hammer and forge, transcending the limits of ordinary craftsmanship.
In his heart, awe turned into near reverence.
'To write such things at all… this person must stand above all blacksmiths of this era.'
(Author's note: At this time, Tang Hao, at age forty-four, could still be considered the Young Master of the Clear Sky Clan despite already having reached the peak of Titled Douluo. Lou Gao would be in for an enormous surprise when he met the true writer of the notebook.)
"Who…" his voice cracked, dry with awe, "…who is your Young Master?"
Wu Meng's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
"That," she said softly, "is not something you are ready to know. For now, it is enough to know that your craft is valuable and so, you were chosen."
Her words sank into Lou Gao like molten steel into cold iron, forging shackles of curiosity and desire around his heart.For the first time in decades, Lou Gao felt like an apprentice again—standing at the door of a path he had never dreamed possible.
Wu Meng's calm voice drew him back.
"Young Master instructed me to inform you that meeting personally will not be possible now. However… you can test the feasibility of the words written within until that time comes."
"Absolutely!" Lou Gao blurted out, eyes shining like molten iron. "If—if these words are true, if the techniques can be achieved…" He trailed off, his throat tightening. Even imagining such a peak made his heart pound like a hammer on steel.
For a moment, silence reigned. Lou Gao's stubby fingers caressed the notebook as if it were a lover, his mind already wandering through the possibilities of experiments, trials, and failures ahead.
Wu Meng rose gracefully, her calm composure never faltering.
"My mission was only to deliver this notebook to you. Young Master will come and meet you at the right time."
She turned to leave, her steps light. But just before the door, she paused. Her lips curved in a faint, almost playful smile as she glanced over her shoulder.
"Ah… how forgetful of me. I nearly omitted one last message from Young Master."
Lou Gao straightened unconsciously, as though receiving an oracle.
"There is no free lunch in this world."
With that, Wu Meng left, her figure fading into the hallway.
The room fell silent. Lou Gao sat frozen, clutching the thin notebook as though it were the core of his very soul. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Heh… no free lunch?" he muttered.
"So be it. If all of this is true—if even a fraction can be realized—then I would gladly sell myself even to the devil."
His laughter, low and almost manic, echoed within the chamber as the dim evening light spilled across his broad, sweat-streaked face.