The Lotus Hammer

“But what kind of weapon truly suits me?” Luan Yi was utterly perplexed. He realized that simply pondering would get him nowhere; perhaps it would be better to gather every type of weapon and try them each in turn.

Yet, in the Han dynasty, iron tools were strictly regulated. Ordinary folk had to register even a simple hatchet for chopping wood, let alone secretly own axes, halberds, hooks, or forks. Scholars, once their courtesy name was officially recognized and their identity confirmed, were permitted to carry a weapon—but only a sword. According to Han law, no other weapons were allowed in a scholar’s home aside from the cherished sword; any violation would be treated as conspiracy and punished accordingly.

This explained why, in the history of the Three Kingdoms, Wang Yun gifted the Seven-Star Sword to Cao Cao before the assassination of Dong Zhuo. At that time, weapons were exceedingly rare; even someone as esteemed as Cao Cao found it difficult to acquire a short, sharp dagger. He had no choice but to use the famed Seven-Star Sword.

“Is it possible that all of Yingchuan lacks a full set of the eighteen classic weapons?” Luan Yi was frustrated. Suddenly, he recalled that the arsenal at the Yingchuan garrison should be well-stocked. He was acquainted with a junior officer there and decided to ask him for help in trying out the weapons.

So, Luan Yi hurried back to Yangzhai that night. Early the next morning, he went to the barracks, found the junior officer, and was led to the training ground where the legendary eighteen weapons were displayed.

Luan Yi approached, inspecting, touching, and swinging each one. The spear was too light—unsuitable. He had practiced with the halberd before, but it was even less suited to him. The broadsword—still too light, lacking heft and power… Blade, spear, sword, halberd, axe, battle-mace, hook, fork… He tried them all, and shook his head.

Finally, his gaze settled on the last weapon on the rack: a pitch-black spiked club.

At first glance, it was ugly—like a moldy ear of corn left in a field. Yet upon closer examination, a fierce wildness emanated from it; even without being swung, it exuded an icy sense of danger and raw, majestic energy. Imagine, he thought, a man wielding such a weapon—how terrifying he would be! Charging into battle, the club would become a meat grinder, leaving blood and broken limbs in its wake…

What stirred Luan Yi most was this: unlike swords or halberds, which had only one sharp edge, or spears, which had only a pointed tip, the spiked club had barbs all around—no matter which side struck the enemy, it would inflict deadly harm. This solved the greatest problem he’d faced with halberds: his attacks were too unrestrained, often inadvertently striking with the flat or back of the weapon, which in real combat would hardly injure an opponent.

But the spiked club was different; wielding it was far more liberating—one could swing, smash, chop, sweep, without worrying about the angle or orientation. Any side would deliver fatal force.

Luan Yi took the heavy club in his hands and tried a couple of swings. “Yes, this is the feeling!” he thought. “But… it’s so ugly!” He frowned. Lü Bu, after all, wore a gold-trimmed crown, a robe of red brocade, and beast-faced armor, wielding the elegant halberd—how dashing! Guan Yu, dressed in green, with the Green Dragon Crescent Blade—how heroic! Zhang Fei grasped his eight-foot spear… And he himself, with a black, brutish club—what kind of image was that? The thought alone was embarrassing!

“Wait… the halberd, Green Dragon Blade, eight-foot spear…” Luan Yi’s eyes lit up. He realized these weapons had been artistically modeled from the crescent halberd, crescent blade, and serpent spear. If they could be artistically refined, why couldn’t he do the same?

At the mention of art, Luan Yi immediately thought of Mao Jie. He sped back to Wuyang County and found Mao Jie at the Rising Phoenix Pavilion, requesting him to sketch a beautified design for the spiked club.

However, while Mao Jie had painted many flowers and landscapes, he had never designed a weapon. He was at a loss, unsure where to begin, and asked Luan Yi what style of club he wanted.

“What kind of style?” Luan Yi had no idea what forms a spiked club could take. He was equally puzzled, pacing anxiously around the courtyard. By chance, he saw the small canal and the lotus flowers within it, and inspiration struck: “How about designing the tip of the club in the shape of a lotus blossom?”

“Lotus? How did you think of lotus?” Mao Jie asked, brush in hand.

Luan Yi paused, then spoke solemnly: “Among the flowers of land and water, many are lovely. Chrysanthemums are the reclusive ones; peonies are the flowers of wealth. But I love the lotus most, for it emerges unstained from the mud, bathes in clear water without being seductive, is straight within and without, neither sprawling nor branching, its fragrance pure and distant, standing upright and clean—just like a gentleman in this world. So I wish to carve the club’s head in the shape of a lotus.”

“What a splendid ‘emerges unstained from the mud, bathes in clear water without being seductive’!” Mao Jie exclaimed, clapping his hands. He immediately set brush to silk, and a club shaft adorned with lotus leaves quickly took shape. Clearly, Mao Jie had put much thought into this, not only making it beautiful but also ensuring the grip was textured for anti-slip. Next, five lotus blossoms bloomed at the top, artfully clustered into an oval. The tips of the petals were sharp and cold, forming the barbs of the club.

Mao Jie finished the design in one breath, leaving Luan Yi awed and thoroughly satisfied.

He took the sketch straight to the blacksmith, paying a hefty sum to have two clubs forged: one smaller, weighing sixty pounds for daily practice; one larger, a hundred pounds—twenty pounds heavier than the Green Dragon Blade—for use in future battles.

The blacksmith looked at the design and shook his head.

Luan Yi was surprised, asking if the craftsmanship was too complex.

The blacksmith replied: it wasn’t that he couldn’t make it, but he needed an official permit from the county office to forge weapons.

Luan Yi understood, berating himself for forgetting this detail. He rode straight to the county office.

The county magistrate, Old Ding, was an old friend. When he heard the “Little Divine Talent” wanted a weapon made, he approved and stamped the permit without hesitation.

Luan Yi only needed to show his face at the county office, then returned to the blacksmith.

With the permit in hand, the blacksmith lit the forge and began work. As he hammered, he asked Luan Yi, “A weapon this heavy must be for someone very robust!”

Luan Yi replied that the weapon was for himself.

The blacksmith didn’t believe him. Laughing, he said, “Young lad, don’t joke. Can you even lift such a heavy thing?”

Luan Yi didn’t explain. He casually picked up a large iron ingot from the corner, weighing it—just over fifty pounds, not quite sixty. It took some effort, but he managed.

The blacksmith was astounded. “Good heavens, how old are you?”

“Almost ten years old!” Luan Yi had estimated: at ten, he could handle a sixty-pound weapon; after eighteen, a hundred pounds should pose no problem.

“Ten years old!” The blacksmiths nearly dropped their hammers in shock. “May I ask your honorable name, young hero?”

“I am Luan Yi, courtesy name Ziqi,” Luan Yi replied, bowing respectfully.

“What? You’re the ‘Divine Official of Five Senses,’ Luan Immortal?” No sooner had Luan Yi introduced himself than the blacksmiths all knelt and bowed fervently. He suddenly recalled the rumor about him transforming into a celestial being and battling the black bear demon, realizing they took him for a deity. He hurried forward to help the lead craftsman up, explaining repeatedly, “I am no immortal, merely an ordinary person!”

The blacksmiths were unconvinced. “How could a normal person lift such heavy iron?”

Luan Yi didn’t know how to answer. He simply said he was born with extraordinary strength. Even after this explanation, the blacksmiths continued to gaze at him in awe, leaving him embarrassed. This was a stain he wouldn’t wash away even in the Yellow River.

Seeing that explanations were futile, he left a deposit and fled in haste. Even the task of collecting the clubs a month later was delegated to Luan Fu.

…

Spring passed and returned, cold gave way to heat. Time always quickened without notice, carrying the bodies of those journeying through life.

At the foot of Qifeng Mountain, ten fine horses thundered through dense woods, their hooves tapping incessantly.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting mottled shadows on the grass and illuminating the handsome riders. Among the nine knights, all but one—whose face was oddly large-eyed and large-nosed, quite unattractive—were strikingly handsome.

The leader, with red lips and white teeth, thick brows and large eyes, had a resolute face and deep, bright gaze. Dressed in fitted riding clothes, he looked both dashing and spirited. He was none other than Luan Yi.

After that day’s battle with the bear, Luan Yi’s body had transformed dramatically. He ate astonishing quantities daily and grew rapidly. Just after his thirteenth birthday, he was nearly seven feet tall; after three years of diligent training, his physique was robust and powerful—he could be called imposing.

Unfortunately, his strong body and handsome face were somewhat mismatched.

Following Luan Yi was eleven-year-old Guo Jia. With legs pressed to his horse’s sides, he drew a longbow and nocked an arrow in one smooth motion, aiming at a plum deer thirty paces away and shouting, “Strike!”

The arrow shot through the air like a meteor, but at the critical moment, the deer summoned a burst of strength and leapt over four meters, narrowly avoiding Guo Jia’s shot. “Hey! That beast!”

Xun Yu followed with his own arrow, also missing, and cried out in regret.

Seeing this, Luan Yi laughed, saying, “Let me show you how it’s done!” He reached into the pouch by his saddle, took out a solid iron discus, weighed it in his hand, gripped it tightly, and hurled it at the fleeing deer.

The iron discus traced a graceful arc in the air and struck the deer. The speed was so great, the deer couldn’t dodge; with a thud, it took the blow squarely on the forehead, its skull shattered, blood and brains spilling everywhere, collapsing to the ground with its eyes bursting out.