"The fire does not go out. If it did, my grandfather would come back from the grave and ask me what I was doing."
Chen Yongxin runs the fourth-generation forge that has made our swords since we opened. His great-grandfather built it in 1876; his father taught him to fold steel at eleven years old; he has been at it for thirty-one years now. The workshop sits at the edge of Longquan town, in a stone courtyard with a pine tree and a black dog named Mo.
Every blade is made the same way, in the same sequence, by hand. High-carbon steel is folded eight times — not for mysticism, but because that's what produces the grain pattern you see in the fuller. It is quenched in oil once. The edge is ground on a water stone for half a day. The handle is turned from sandalwood Chen's cousin harvests in Fujian. The brass guard is cast in a village kiln two hours south.
We visit twice a year. We have seen blades go back into the fire because Chen didn't like something he couldn't explain. We have watched him sign №038 and then set it aside because the weight was wrong by fifteen grams. This is what "handmade" means when the hands belong to someone with a name.
— Note from the studio, spring 2026