Chapter 60: Sacrificing to the Blade Spirit

Contrary to popular belief, a kitchen knife is a remarkably sophisticated tool. It is no exaggeration to say that in the past, the use, sharpening, transportation, and sealing of a kitchen knife were governed by strict regulations and even elaborate rituals. The complexity of its craftsmanship and the severity of its etiquette were fully on par with the legendary blades of the Japanese.

A glimpse of the profound lore surrounding kitchen knives could be seen in the imperial cleaver resting before me.

To the untrained eye, the fine linen wrapping concealed nothing more than a lump of mud. Yet, to a chef of the Temple of the Five Organs, it was immediately apparent that this clay mold was a specialized and highly professional method of blade preservation known as "mud-wrapped slumber."

The precious blade was sealed securely within this layer of stained earth.

"Mud-wrapped slumber" is easily understood from its literal meaning: the blade is enveloped in mud to go to sleep.

Do knives sleep? Of course they do!

Ancient chefs were deeply superstitious, believing that knives possessed a soul. Naturally, a soul-possessing entity would sleep. Furthermore, as long as the "blade spirit" remained present, it would bless the user's culinary creations with delicious flavors, free of any metallic, fishy aftertaste. If the "blade spirit" departed, the cleaver would be rendered utterly useless, no different from an ordinary piece of scrap iron.

Consequently, in ancient times, when a good chef purchased a new kitchen knife, they were never in a hurry to sharpen it. First, they had to affix yellow paper, rub the blade body with lard, and perform a ritual to "invite the blade spirit" into the metal before it could be sharpened and put to safe use.

Conversely, if a kitchen knife was retired from service for any reason, it had to undergo the "mud-wrapped slumber" ritual to send the blade spirit into hibernation.

Why was it necessary to make the blade spirit hibernate? Ancient people believed that the blade spirit was a mischievous sprite—restless, gluttonous, and active. If it was no longer used for chopping vegetables, it would naturally miss out on tasting fine food, and over time, it would inevitably run away from home.

To prevent the blade spirit from escaping, one had to devise a way to seal the knife in mud, lulling the spirit into a peaceful slumber.

Hearing this, little A-Si looked at the clay-encased blade, shook his head repeatedly, and said, "You chefs from the Temple of the Five Organs are far too superstitious! You talk about a simple kitchen knife as if it were some mystical artifact."

Faced with A-Si's skepticism, I smiled faintly and replied, "A-Si, this isn't superstition; it's science."

"Science?!" A-Si scratched his head and asked, "Has science proven the existence of a 'blade spirit' inside a kitchen knife?"

I patted him on the head, smiled, and explained to him the scientific principles underlying the craftsmanship of "mud-wrapped slumber."

Through this, I also wished to express my own perspective and reveal the true significance of this blade.

The mystical aura that Zhao Shuihe attributed to the "mud-wrapped slumber" preservation method was not merely superstition; it was grounded in solid science.

To this, I have my own unique understanding.

First of all, I explained to everyone, the fundamental difference between a kitchen knife and a combat saber lies in the intensity and frequency of their use.

A kitchen knife is used for slicing vegetables, at least three times a day, whereas a combat saber is used for taking lives, perhaps not even once in three days.

Consequently, because a kitchen knife is used daily in a smoky kitchen filled with heat and oil, it naturally absorbs a layer of grease, making it inherently rust-resistant. Therefore, after each use, it simply needs to be wiped clean and hung up, requiring no special maintenance.

This is the great advantage of its convenience in use and storage.

However, if a kitchen knife is left unused for an extended period, this very advantage in maintenance transforms into a distinct disadvantage.

Because kitchen knives frequently come into contact with ingredients such as fruits and vegetables—which often contain trace elements like acidic salts that corrode iron—the effects are negligible during daily use. But once left neglected for a long time, these substances accelerate corrosion and damage the blade.

The cumulative acidic and alkaline residues are extremely stubborn and difficult to remove. Merely rinsing with water is insufficient; any residual moisture left on the blade easily induces rusting. While wiping it with oil seems like a good solution, another cascade of problems follows.

The greatest difference between a kitchen knife and a combat saber lies in the object of their work. What a kitchen knife cuts is destined to be consumed, so it can only be preserved by treating it with edible oils.

However, edible oils have a major flaw: their chemical structure lacks the stability of tree resins or petroleum products, and they are susceptible to temperature fluctuations, causing them to spoil easily. Once rancid, they develop a foul, moldy odor that, in severe cases, could cause fatal food poisoning, rendering the knife entirely useless.

For this reason, centuries ago, our ancestors at the Temple of the Five Organs devised the method of "mud-wrapped slumber" to solve this exact dilemma.

The process of mud-wrapped slumber begins by following standard steps: cleaning the blade's surface with clear water mixed with iron sand, applying gleditsia extract to remove greasy residues, and then swiftly sealing the blade in yellow pottery clay.

Doing this offers two major benefits: first, yellow clay is alkaline and neutralizes the acid retained on the blade; second, fine pottery clay provides an airtight seal, preventing oxidation.

Next, to eliminate the moisture trapped within the clay, the mud-mold must be baked over charcoal embers to shape and harden the casing.

This charcoal baking process constitutes the most challenging step in the blade preservation procedure.

During this final stage, the baking time must be precisely and flawlessly controlled. If baked for too short a time, the moisture within the clay is not fully removed, making the blade prone to rust. If baked for too long, the blade will lose its temper, thereby compromising its structural strength and resilience.

Such skilled craftsmanship requires a remarkably high degree of expertise.

Once the clay mold encasing the blade has been properly fired and cured, the knife can be safely stored away.

Beyond this, meticulous artisans wrapping a blade would typically envelop it in fine linen, place it inside a jar, fill the gaps with tea leaves, and store it in a cool, dry place.

In this manner, the knife was considered to have truly "fallen asleep."

Whenever it was needed, it could be retrieved at any time by simply shattering the clay mold. A blade preserved in this way would impart no metallic, fishy taste to the food it cut, its edge would remain as pristine as new, and it would repel water effortlessly.

Fairly speaking, this method of blade preservation was laborious and time-consuming, which is why it was uncommon. It was typically reserved for renowned blades crafted by master artisans or weapons of immense commemorative significance.

From this, one could readily appreciate the exceptional value of the Zhao family's heirloom blade.

As the saying goes, "A fine steed deserves a good saddle." A weapon sealed away using such exquisite craftsmanship could not possibly be ordinary.

Unable to contain my impatience, my curiosity was thoroughly piqued. I desperately wanted Zhao Haikun to break the clay seal immediately so I could behold the true countenance of this legendary blade.

Moreover, following the detailed introduction provided by Zhao Shuihe and myself, everyone present was eager and filled with anticipation for the thrilling moment when Zhao Haikun would break open the seal and retrieve the blade.

Under the gaze of all present, Zhao Haikun gently pinched the seal—which still carried the subtle fragrance of tea leaves—until it cracked. With a soft sigh, he turned the mud-encased precious blade over and struck its spine heavily against the leg of the nearby table!

With a crisp crack, the clay mold shattered instantly, falling away like the cocoon of a butterfly emerging into a new form.

Amidst rising dust and a faint fragrance of tea, an obsidian-black ancient blade was abruptly revealed before our eyes!

The sight of that blade sent a sudden, thrilling jolt straight through my heart!