“Dong, dong-dong!”
In the vast Buddha hall, a towering vajra statue — holding a diamond sword and standing atop a thunder-lion, more than ten zhang tall — looked majestic and imposing, looming above and staring down at Lu Qian, who sat cross-legged in the middle of the hall.
Lu Qian tapped his wooden fish lightly.
A small vajra Mount Sumeru hovered above his head, casting a faint golden radiance.
A ball of golden Buddhist flame licked hungrily at several weapons and a heap of rare materials floating before him.
The Gui Xu Treasure Vase hovered overhead, pouring out thread after thread of the most refined Xuan Yuan spirit-water, constantly splashing down onto the weapons now blackened to a pale bluish-white, already liquefied yet still holding their original shapes.
On one side, he burned and reforged; on the other, he quenched and condensed.
This was a method Lu Qian had worked out himself for forging — highly effective, but wildly expensive.
Of course, whether it was expensive or not didn’t matter to him at all.
Behind him stood the Wu family; three days ago they had, at Lu Qian’s lion-sized demand, handed over one hundred and eight thousand jinlian kai-jue in compensation and sent the needed diagnostic gold.