Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

Lin Fan continued to bury himself in the stables and chores, trying to minimize his presence.

But he could sense that the scrutinizing gaze was falling on him a little more often.

When he was repairing a particularly worn-out horse harness, he softened the leather with fire, carefully thinned it, punched holes, and re-woven and reinforced it with oil-soaked hemp rope;

As he tried to heat a cracked but not completely broken cart shaft with fire and then tighten it with an iron hoop, he would occasionally look up and see Li Zicheng not far away, either drawing water from a well or checking the horses, his gaze seemingly sweeping over his movements.

That gaze was calm, yet carried weight.

Lin Fan dared not overstep his bounds in the slightest.

All his "improvements" were strictly limited to the framework of "traditional methods passed down from the older generation" and "things I've seen others do before".

The materials were readily available—discarded iron sheets were heated red-hot in charcoal fires and carefully hammered with half a stone anvil and a broken iron hammer.

Leather repair is purely a manual task, only requiring more patience and meticulousness.

Like an ant collecting every withered branch in the dead of winter, he cautiously used his "experience" from another world, trying to make himself more secure in this dilapidated inn and to make his tools more convenient.

However, the sulfur and crude saltpeter in the corner, like sparks in the dark, would occasionally flash through his mind.

He knew what that meant, and he knew how dangerous and deadly that thing was at this sensitive time.

He suppressed all thoughts, silently memorizing the location during that cleaning session, and never approached it again.

The real crisis comes from outside the post station.

Just after the twelfth lunar month, when the severe cold had not yet subsided, a group of people arrived on the post road.

They were not ordinary messengers or caravans, but seven or eight soldiers on mules and wearing uniforms, protecting two officials wearing warm hats and thick cotton robes.

The horses puffed out white steam, and the men's faces bore the marks of travel and impatience.

They were from the county government's finance and grain office, there to collect the "aid silver" and "horse price silver" owed by the post station.

There are many items involved, and when you add them up, it's a considerable sum.

The postmaster, a gaunt old man, had already slipped away, claiming he was going to the prefectural city to "raise funds," leaving Li Zicheng and a few older postmen to deal with the situation.

The account books were spread out on the cold earthen bed, and the clerk's shrill voice was like an awl, each word nailing into people's hearts.

The post station's accounts had long been empty; the previous batch of post station funds was stuck at some stage and had not yet been issued.

The couriers stood around the doorway, their faces ashen as they listened to the escalating argument inside.

"...We really can't afford it! The salary they promised to allocate before the New Year is nowhere to be seen! We can't even get the horse feed on credit anymore!" An old courier's voice was trembling with tears.

"Can't produce it?" a clerk sneered. "If you can't produce it, then bring things! Use them to offset taxes! Horses, carriages, saddles, take whatever you have! Do you think you can delay paying the imperial taxes?"

A commotion broke out in the courtyard.

Horses are the lifeblood of a post station, and carriages and saddles are its means of livelihood. If they are moved away, the post station will cease to exist in name only.

Li Zicheng's voice rang out, not loud, but enough to drown out the noise:

"Gentlemen, the post station is in dire straits, and the brothers are almost starving. We certainly cannot delay paying taxes, but could you grant us some time? We will make sure to pay the outstanding amount once the post station funds are allocated?"

"Grace period? Who's giving us grace?" Another clerk impatiently slammed his hand on the account book. "The prefecture is pressuring us, the road is pressuring us, is it easy for us to make this trip? Today we don't want the money, we want the goods! Take action!"

The soldiers began shouting and pushing aside the couriers blocking their way, heading towards the stables and the backyard where carts were piled with miscellaneous items.

Conflict is imminent.

Several hot-blooded young couriers' eyes turned red, their fists clenched, and curses and shoving sounds filled the courtyard.

Lin Fan huddled in the corner of the stable, his heart pounding like a drum.

He saw Li Zicheng standing between the two sides, his back straight, his face expressionless, but his jawline taut.

His hands hung at his sides, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Just as a soldier was about to untie the reins of a post horse, the horse seemed to sense its unease and began to stamp its hooves restlessly.

The courier holding it clung to it tightly, refusing to let go.

The soldier cursed and raised his hand to shove him.

Just then, a loud "bang" suddenly came from the backyard, followed by several screams and angry curses.

Everyone was stunned, and the argument temporarily stopped.

Li Zicheng frowned and strode towards the backyard, followed suspiciously by several officials and soldiers.

Lin Fan's heart stirred, and he quietly moved to the entrance of the stable, peering into the backyard.

In the backyard, where junk and debris were piled up, an old stagecoach that had been barely standing but was now completely collapsed.

Broken wheels, rotten shafts, and scattered rusty iron parts littered the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Even more striking was that beneath the collapsed vehicle frame, several toppled wooden crates and sacks were exposed, from which rolled out some dark, lumpy objects.

It's a lump of coal.

It was low-quality coal, mixed with a lot of gravel and soil, but in this winter when firewood and charcoal were becoming increasingly expensive, it was still something that could be burned.

This was originally stockpiled by the post station in its early years, but was gradually forgotten in a corner.

However, what attracted everyone's attention at this moment was not the coal, but several pottery jars that had been exposed from deeper within the coal pile, clearly shaken by the recent collapse.

The mouth of the jar was broken, revealing some yellowish-white and grayish-white, damp, hardened lumps and powder inside.

Lin Fan's pupils contracted slightly.

It contained sulfur and crude saltpeter, in much greater quantities than the small amount he had seen in the corner earlier, although it was poorly preserved and severely damp.

A soldier curiously poked at it with his foot: "What's this thing? Why is it piled up here?"

The other courier's expression changed; he instinctively wanted to stop him, but dared not.

Li Zicheng's gaze swept over the pottery jars, then quickly across the faces of everyone present, finally settling on the messy old cart frame.

He walked over, squatted down, and picked up a broken piece of wood from the cart shaft.

The fracture surface was fresh, but the wood was rotten and clearly could no longer withstand the weight.

"It's been so long, the wood was completely rotten," Li Zicheng stood up, dusted off his hands, and said calmly, as if stating a perfectly obvious fact. "And there was so much stuff piled up, it couldn't hold itself up and collapsed."

He kicked a rotten plank at his feet. "Perfect, these rotten logs can still be dismantled and used as firewood. And this coal," he pointed to the dark, lumpy objects, "can also be of some use."

He turned to the two clerks, his face displaying a perfectly timed expression that mixed helplessness and earnestness:

"As you can see, the post station is in a terrible state of disrepair. There's nothing of value there, but if you find these junk pieces acceptable, feel free to take them to offset taxes. However, if you really take these horses and carts, the post road will be cut off, official documents will be delayed, and you'll be blamed by your superiors..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear.

The two officials looked at the utter devastation on the ground, then at Li Zicheng's composed demeanor, and at the suppressed anger in the eyes of the surrounding post station workers, and exchanged glances.

They came for money, not to take over a crippled and potentially troublesome post station.

Taking this junk back will not only be worthless, but it will also take a lot of effort to dispose of.

The clerk who spoke first coughed, his tone softening slightly, but still firm:

"It's not that we're being unreasonable. We simply can't disobey orders. Here's the deal: we'll give you... another half month! If you still haven't seen the money after half a month, don't blame us for being ruthless! At that point, it won't just be about moving things!"

After uttering these harsh words, the group left the post station cursing and swearing. The sound of horses' hooves faded into the distance, leaving the courtyard in deathly silence.