By the time Ning Zhen turned three, the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan had accepted that their youngest member was, to put it delicately, peculiar.
He didn't cry when his milk was too warm — he just stared into the cup until it boiled again. He didn't babble nonsense like other toddlers — he corrected Bone Douluo's metallurgy terms with alarming accuracy. And he absolutely refused to play with any toy that didn't involve stacking, shaping, or hammering something.
On his third birthday, the clan's inner courtyard had been decorated with floating lotus lanterns, jade paper streamers, and a life-sized cake shaped like a pagoda. Bone Douluo had insisted on personally carving the frosting designs, while Sword Douluo stood nearby making sure he didn't add tiny hammers to each tier.
"I'm just saying," Gu Rong muttered, licking frosting off his finger, "if the boy's a forger, he deserves forge-themed cake art."
"You're just saying that because you like sugar sculptures," Chen Xin replied dryly.
Lady Yanxi was seated under a spirit-silk canopy, gently rocking a cradle that had been purely symbolic for over a year now. Zhen no longer needed cradles.
He was out in the courtyard, crouched among the decorative ore piles near the fountain, quietly tapping two harmless stones together like he was coaxing them to reveal secrets.
"Leave him be," Yanxi said when Fengzhi glanced over nervously. "He always plays there. He says it 'talks better than people.'"
"That's the part that worries me," Fengzhi muttered.
---
It started as a flicker.
Just a tiny flash of pale gold light between Zhen's palms.
Then, as if guided by an unseen will, the ore fragments began to fuse — not melt, not break — but meld. A clear humming sound vibrated through the stone path.
Sword Douluo leaned forward. "What is he—?"
Then, with a soft ping, a marble-sized crystal emerged from between Zhen's fingers. It pulsed with inner fire, swirling patterns of metallic and flame aura dancing within it.
Zhen stared at it curiously, then held it up toward the adults.
"I made a shiny!"
Silence fell.
Then chaos.
"Is that a spirit crystal?" Fengzhi asked, already halfway across the courtyard.
Yanxi's fan dropped.
Bone Douluo squinted. "Did he just birth a gem?"
Chen Xin deadpanned, "He's leaking treasure."
Gu Rong clapped. "Congratulations! Your son is officially a walking bank vault!"
Yanxi reached the boy first, kneeling beside him and gently taking the crystal. Her spirit flared involuntarily.
"It's... alive," she murmured. "It's made from spiritual essence, but it's fused with elemental fire and a hint of spatial resonance."
"Zhen'er," Fengzhi asked carefully, "how did you make this?"
Zhen shrugged. "I said sorry to the ore for being cracked. Then it sang. So I hugged it."
Gu Rong blinked. "That's the most adorable threat to metallurgy I've ever heard."
Yanxi's hand trembled slightly. "Fengzhi, this isn't just a spirit crystal. It's a seed. A forging-origin crystal. Something I've only ever seen in theory scrolls. It can be used while forging to create something unique. I don't know what until I learn how to mend it."
Chen Xin, to his credit, didn't panic. He did, however, quietly walk toward the clan's private vault and reinforce the seal. Twice.
---
That evening, Zhen sat on the edge of the pond, bare feet dangling above the water. Gu Rong sat beside him, roasting a marshmallow on a fire-conductive spirit twig.
"So, shiny-maker," he said, "how long have you been producing valuables like this?"
"Today," Zhen replied cheerfully. "But I see shapes in my dreams. They glow."
"Do the shapes talk?"
"No. They hum."
Gu Rong nodded. "Totally normal."
"Am I weird, Grandpa Bone?"
"Yes," Gu Rong said without hesitation. "But the good kind."
Sword Douluo arrived a moment later, holding a fresh robe. "He got ore dust all over his ceremonial clothes."
"He was crafting a reality-breaking artifact," Gu Rong replied. "Let the boy breathe."
---
That night, after Zhen fell asleep curled up beside his fire-imbued pillow, Fengzhi called a meeting in the ancestral hall.
"This is a Heavenforge Crystal Seed," Yanxi declared. "I've confirmed it. It's a crafting origin that doesn't rely on beast spirit fusion. It's born from spiritual will and forging intent and the resonance of his unformed martial spirit."
Fengzhi exhaled slowly. "We need secrecy. And a way to nurture this ability."
Gu Rong leaned back. "Should we call in the old Grandmaster forger from Gengxin?"
"No, we have to keep this airtight. No one should know the seed is coming from him," Yanxi said, eyes gleaming. "We'll build an armory — around him."
Sword Douluo added quietly, "With the right direction — he'll be more than a support. More than a smith — even if he's still in toddler shoes."
---
Flashback — Age 1:
Fengzhi had brought Zhen, barely walking then, into Lady Yanxi's personal forge for the first time. The moment the child smelled heated spirit iron, his eyes went wide.
While Yanxi focused on her craft, Zhen sat quietly for a full hour — not sleeping, not playing. Just watching. His eyes followed every hammer rise and fall, every stroke, every hiss of steam.
That night, he tried to recreate the rhythm with two sticks on a melon.
It exploded. Everyone clapped.
---
And so, before he could even hold a proper hammer, Ning Zhen took his first true step toward the divine path of forging.
Not through study. Not through battle.
But with wonder. And warmth. And a shiny.