Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The echoes of the explosion and the chaos of the camp behind them were quickly swallowed up by the heavy darkness of the northern mountains and the howling wind.

Lin Fan and his five companions, along with two mules, dared not linger. Using the faint starlight and the waning moon, they desperately made their way north along the rugged mountain path.

The pebbles underfoot kept rolling down, and the mule puffed out white steam and snorted uneasily.

Everyone was panting, their chests burning, but no one dared to slow down.

The two explosions behind them could have been cover, or perhaps they were pointing to a beacon tower.

Lin Fan ran for twenty or thirty miles in one breath until the eastern sky turned a pale, fish-belly white, and the path under his feet completely disappeared into the rocks and weeds. Only then did he signal to stop.

The group collapsed in a sheltered mountain hollow, their clothes soaked with sweat, clinging to their bodies, and chilled to the bone.

Han Jinhu clutched his old rib wound, wincing in pain.

Tian Ergou and two other veterans, one named Lao Geng and the other named Shuanzhu, were also pale and almost exhausted.

"Brother Lin... Brother Lin, take a break..." Han Jinhu gasped for breath.

Lin Fan was so exhausted he was almost falling apart, but he forced himself to stay awake.

He observed the surrounding terrain; it was a shallow ravine nestled between two mountains, with sparse vegetation and a few clumps of hardy thorns.

"No fires allowed. Rest in place for half an hour, taking turns on guard duty. Eat something, and drink water sparingly."

He unpacked his bag and pulled out pieces of dried meat and fried noodles that were as hard as rocks.

With the little water left in their skins, the group managed to swallow a little food and huddled in the crevices of the rocks, trying to withstand the biting cold wind before dawn.

Lin Fan chewed on the rough jerky, finding it tasteless, but his mind was racing.

They had completely broken away from the area of ​​Wang Ziyong's forces and were far from the key areas targeted by the government troops for suppression.

But the road ahead is long and fraught with danger.

First, there's the direction.

All they knew was to head north to the Ansai and Bao'an areas to find the "Chuang" flag.

However, the specific route, distance, and conditions along the way were completely unknown.

They could only rely on the sun, stars, and the general terrain to find their way.

Secondly, there is survival.

Two mules carried most of the supplies: gunpowder, tools, limited food, water sacks, and some collected herbs and mineral samples.

The food supply could only last for seven or eight days at most, even under extremely frugal conditions.

Water is an even bigger problem; the north experiences drought in winter and spring, making it difficult to find water sources.

Third, is safety.

In those chaotic years of war, the deep mountains and forests were not only home to wild animals, but also to routed government troops, bandits, starving refugees, and even peasant armies from other factions.

Their small team was poorly armed, and if they encountered a larger enemy force, their chances of survival would be slim.

After a short rest, it gradually got light.

Lin Fan climbed onto a high rock and looked around.

All around were rolling hills and rocky ridges, gray and yellow in color, with withered vegetation, a desolate and lifeless scene.

In the distance, there were a few wisps of smoke rising from chimneys; it was unclear whether they came from villages or from other refugees.

He felt somewhat relieved, at least for the time being, that no large group of people had been found.

"Let's go north along this ditch, try to get to higher ground so we can see further," Lin Fan decided.

Over the next few days, they trekked through the desolate mountains and wilderness.

They marched during the day and sought sheltered places to sleep at night. They dared not light large fires, but could only use small campfires to heat their dry rations and melt snow.

What I saw along the way was shocking.

Abandoned villages are everywhere, with collapsed earthen walls, roof beams removed for firewood, and wells filled with rubble.

The fields were barren, with only withered grass whistling in the wind.

Occasionally, one would encounter a few fleeing people, all of them emaciated and with numb eyes. When asked about the "rebel general" in the north, they would either shake their heads blankly or wave their hands in fear and hurriedly avoid him, as if the word "rebellion" itself was a plague.

On the third day, they found several corpses that had been eaten by wild animals on the side of a dried-up riverbed. Judging from their clothes, they were ordinary farmers and had not been dead for long.

A tattered bundle and a chipped earthenware pot were scattered nearby.

The group remained silent, bypassing the nauseating wreckage, and continued on their way.

The shadow of death has never loomed so vividly over everyone's heart.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, they finally encountered a group of about thirty or forty people, supporting the elderly and carrying children, pushing several creaking wheelbarrows piled with broken belongings, slowly moving westward along a slightly wider dirt road.

Judging from the direction they're heading, it seems they want to cross the Yellow River to Shanxi.

Lin Fan told the others to hide, while he and Han Jinhu cautiously approached.

Upon spotting them, the other side immediately huddled together in alarm, the men grabbing wooden sticks and machetes.

"Fellow villagers, don't panic!" Lin Fan stopped at a safe distance, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, "We're refugees fleeing from the south and would like to ask for directions."

Seeing that there were only two of them, dressed in tattered clothes and looking hungry, the enemy relaxed their guard a little.

An elderly man, who appeared to be the leader, leaned on a cane and asked in a hoarse voice:

"Why ask for directions? In this chaos of war, where are there any roads left?"

"May I ask, sir, what is the current situation in Ansai and Bao'an in the north? Have you... heard of the army of 'General' Li Zicheng?" Lin Fan asked tentatively.

Upon hearing the words "daredevil general," the crowd stirred, and many people wore complex expressions, including fear, curiosity, and a hint of... anticipation.

The old man's cloudy eyes sized up Lin Fan, then he sighed, "Young man, are you planning to go find General Li Zicheng?"

Lin Fan nodded: "I can't survive anymore, I want to find a way to live."

"A way out..." The old man shook his head with a bitter smile. "That Li Zicheng is indeed a good man. I heard he doesn't harm the poor and even opens granaries to distribute grain. But where he is, it's a life of constant danger. The government troops are suppressing him every day. Today he's in this mountain, tomorrow he's in that ravine. He's like a ghost, not easy to find. A few days ago I heard he caused quite a commotion in the Lubao Ridge area, robbing the government's grain convoy. But by the time the government troops arrived, he had already disappeared. Some say he went west, others say he went back into the old mountains north of Ansai."

Lubaoling!

Lin Fan's heart stirred; Han Jinhu had mentioned this place name before.

"Does the old man know roughly how to get to Lubao Ridge from here?"

The old man pointed to the northwest with his cane:

"Follow this road northwest for two days, and you'll see a large river called the Zhou River. After crossing the Zhou River, continue north; the mountains are deeper, and the roads are more treacherous. That area is collectively called Lubao Ridge. But young man, let me give you a piece of advice: that place is in complete chaos right now. It's not just Li Zicheng's men; there are all sorts of heroes, scattered soldiers, bandits—who knows which powerful figure you'll run into? You lot..." He glanced at Han Jinhu behind Lin Fan, then at the indistinct figures in the distance, and shook his head. "It's going to be tough."

After thanking the old man, Lin Fan and Han Jinhu retreated to their hiding place.

Although the road ahead is more dangerous, at least there is a clearer direction—Zhouhe and Lubaoling.