Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

As dawn broke, Lin Fan stood up.

His eyes were red and swollen, but his gaze was firm.

"Brother Han, I want to build a clinic."

"A clinic?" Han Jinhu was stunned.

"A place specifically for treating patients," Lin Fan said. "Not this kind of isolation ward—where people are left to die. It's a real medical clinic, with clean beds, clean water, medicine, and people to take care of you."

"But...we don't have a doctor or any medicine."

"Doctors can be found, and herbs can be gathered," Lin Fan said, "but first, there must be a place. A place where patients can die with dignity, or live with honor."

Han Jinhu looked at him and finally nodded.

"Okay. You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

---

Lin Fan found Li Zicheng and told him his thoughts.

Li Zicheng remained silent for a long time.

"Master Lin, you know our current situation. We don't have enough food, and even less medicinal herbs. Building a clinic requires manpower and supplies. These all have to be squeezed out from elsewhere."

"I know," Lin Fan said, "but General, we can't just treat people as weapons and cannon fodder. Our soldiers risk their lives for us, and if they get sick or wounded, they can only wait to die. Who will want to follow us in the future?"

Li Zicheng remained silent.

Lin Fan continued, "An army needs more than just weapons; it also needs things that give soldiers the peace of mind to fight. Food and pay are the same, compensation is the same, and care for the wounded and sick is the same. General, this is about the people's hearts."

Li Zicheng gave him a deep look.

"Alright. I agree. But there's one condition—weapon manufacturing cannot be delayed. That's our lifeline."

"Understood." Lin Fan nodded.

---

In the days that followed, Lin Fan led the craftsmen to build a simple "medical clinic" in the valley.

A few rows of wooden houses with thatched roofs and mud floors.

But every room was clean and well-ventilated.

The bed was made of wooden planks, covered with hay and coarse cloth.

There is a special place for boiling water, a stove for decocting medicine, and racks for drying herbs.

Lin Fan found a few people in the group who knew a little about medicine—an old soldier who had once been an apprentice in a pharmacy, a hunter who knew how to collect herbs, and Sun the blacksmith's wife (she fled with the group and knew some folk remedies).

These people formed the clinic's first batch of "medical staff".

Lin Fan taught them all the medical knowledge he knew, however limited—wounds should be cleaned with boiled and cooled water, bandages should be boiled and dried, patients should be isolated, excrement should be buried deep, and so on.

These things, which are common sense in later generations, are life-saving treasures in this era.

After the clinic was built, the first thing Lin Fan did was to transfer the surviving patients from the isolation area to the clinic.

Some people were so sick that they died during the transfer.

But some people, receiving better care in their new environment, miraculously survived.

This gave everyone hope.

---

A month later, the plague finally subsided.

This epidemic has claimed nearly two hundred lives.

Tian Ergou is one of them.

Lin Fan stood on a hillside deep in the valley.

There, there was a new grave.

More than two hundred graves, densely packed, resemble scars on the earth.

Tian Ergou's grave is on the very edge.

In front of the grave, there is a wooden plaque with the words "Tomb of Tian Ergou" crookedly carved on it.

Lin Fan squatted down and took out a stack of paper money from his pocket.

He cut it himself out of scrap paper.

He lit the paper money with a tinderbox and watched it burn to ashes, which were then scattered by the wind.

"Ergou, this is for you. Use it on the road."

He stood up, gazed at the graves, and remained silent for a long time.

Han Jinhu walked over and stood beside him.

"Brother Lin, let's go back. It's getting dark."

Lin Fan nodded and turned to leave.

After walking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back.

As the sun set, it dyed the graveyard blood red.

Like the countless wronged souls who died on this land, they cry out in silence.

Lin Fan withdrew his gaze and strode away.

He knew this was just the beginning.

In this chaotic world, even more people will die.

All he could do was try his best to help the living live longer and better.

That's it.

---

Autumn of the second year of Chongzhen's reign.

The maple leaves in Baoan Valley have turned red, like patches of congealed blood.

The shadow of the plague gradually faded, but the atmosphere in the valley was far from relaxed.

The government troops have arrived.

Zhang Yingchang, a subordinate general of Hong Chengchou, led three thousand soldiers from Yan'an Prefecture and headed straight for Bao'an County.

Their target was Li Zicheng.

"Zhang Yingchang..." Gu Jun'en frowned. "This man is a fierce general under Hong Chengchou, known for his daring and aggressive style. His three thousand soldiers are all elite troops."

"Fight or retreat?" Liu Zongmin asked.

"Retreat." Li Zicheng said without hesitation. "We only have two thousand men, and we don't have enough firearms. A head-on confrontation would be suicide."

"Where to retreat to?"

Gu Jun'en unfolded the map and studied it for a long time.

"Head west, into the Ziwu Ridge. The mountains there are high and the forests are dense, so large government troops can't get in. We've been in the Bao'an Valley long enough; it's time for a change of scenery."

Li Zicheng nodded in agreement.

---

Once the evacuation order was given, the entire valley immediately sprang into action.

The craftsmen dismantled the furnace, packed up the tools, and loaded the iron, gunpowder, and finished weapons onto the mule carts.

The wounded and sick in the clinic were carried along by those who could walk, and those who could not were carried on stretchers.

People, with their families and meager belongings, joined the retreating crowd.

Lin Fan stood at the entrance of the blacksmith shop, watching all this, his heart filled with mixed feelings.

Having spent more than half a year in Baoan Valley, it has become their home.

Now, it's time to leave again.

"Master Lin, everything is packed." Han Jinhu walked over, his face covered in dust and sweat.

"Let's go," Lin Fan said.

He took one last look at the empty sheds and stoves, then turned and followed the group.

The mule cart creaked and groaned as it rolled along the dirt road, heading west.

Behind us, Bao'an Valley gradually blurred in the twilight.

Like a forgotten memory.

---

The atmosphere was heavy during the retreat.

No one spoke; only the sounds of footsteps and wheels, and the occasional hoofbeats of scouts from the government troops in the distance.

The government troops were holding on very tightly.

Zhang Yingchang clearly did not want Li Zicheng to escape easily.

His cavalry harassed the rear of the column, trying to slow down the retreat.

Li Zicheng dispatched Liu Zongmin to lead elite troops to cover the rear, repeatedly repelling the pursuing forces.

In every clash, someone dies.

Lin Fan's blacksmith shop also joined the battle.

He took out all the thunderbolts from his stockpile and distributed them to the soldiers covering the rear.

"Save it! Throw it on target!"

Thunderclaps exploded among the pursuing troops, and the flames and smoke temporarily halted the government army's offensive.

But there were too many pursuers.

They fought one after another, killing them without end.

---

On the third day, the team entered the Ziwuling mountain area.

The road became narrower and more dangerous.

There are steep mountain walls on both sides, and a narrow strip of sky overhead.

The mule cart was impassable and had to be abandoned.

The craftsmen carried their most important tools and materials on their shoulders and continued on their way.

Lin Fan carried a basket of gunpowder and walked in the middle of the group.

My shoulder is chafed and burning.

He didn't say anything.

"Master Lin, let me take it." Han Jinhu reached out to take it.

"No need," Lin Fan shook his head. "I can manage."

He knew that everyone had reached their limit.

But no one dared to stop.

Stopping means death.