许虎摸了摸下巴，眉头皱得更紧了。树丛里灯火通明，一炉炭火烧得正旺，几块黑色的铁料在砧板上噼里啪啦地飞溅，发出刺耳的叮当声。一个穿着粗布麻衣的汉子，正挥舞着一把偌大的铁锤，锤头上沾着火漆，火星子“噼啪”炸开，呛得他直咳嗽。

这汉子脸膛黝黑，胡茬子拉拉杂杂的，像刚从煤堆里刨出来似的，手上却稳稳地夹着一块烧红的铁，看样子是个老练的铁匠。可许虎就是搞不懂，这大半夜的，谁会找个偏僻角落打铁？而且这手艺……啧，虽然不如他爹当年炉火纯青，但也绝对是祖传的功夫。

许虎蹲在树丛边，小心翼翼地探头往里瞅。只见那铁匠旁边还放着一个破木箱，箱子里隐约能看到些零碎的布料和针线。这功夫，这布料针线……许虎心里咯噔一下，这难道是……裁缝？可这裁缝咋还打铁呢？

那铁匠似乎察觉到了什么，猛地停下手里的活儿，一边咳嗽，一边瞪着许虎的方向。许虎吓得一哆嗦，赶紧缩回头，心想暴露了。他眼珠子一转，趁着铁匠转身去捶打另一块铁料的时候，又悄悄探出头。

借着昏暗的火光，许虎看清了，那破木箱旁边，还放着一个半旧的油纸包，Packaged with a piece of cloth, looks like something important. box, but because of the dim light, it couldn't see what was inside clearly. He frowned and thought, what are you doing here, or what is this box for?

The sound of hammering continued, but in the eyes of Xu Hu, things were becoming more and more strange. He felt that the iron匠 seemed to be deliberately moaning, sometimes slowly tapping, sometimes striking hard, as if he were in a mood. And that box, that oil paper包, it seemed to attract his attention.