Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

In mid-March, in Fugu.

When the messenger returned from Ziwu Ridge, Wang Jiayin was discussing military training with Wang Ziyong in the back hall of the county government office.

He opened Li Zicheng's reply, read it from beginning to end, then placed the letter on the table and remained silent for a long time.

"Brother, what did Li Zicheng say?" Wang Ziyong asked.

"See for yourself."

Wang Ziyong picked up the letter, quickly glanced at it, and his face turned grim.

"What does he mean by that? He said a bunch of polite things, but in the end, he's just trying to persuade us to abandon Fugu? Who does Li Zicheng think he is! A lowly coward who started as a courier, does he even know how to teach our elder brother how to fight a war?"

"He wasn't teaching me," Wang Jiayin said calmly. "He was reminding me."

"Remind us of what? Remind us that we can't hold out?"

Wang Jiayin did not reply. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the old locust tree in the yard that had just sprouted new leaves.

"For my own use, tell me, how is Li Zicheng doing at Ziwu Ridge?"

Wang Ziyong was taken aback. "I heard it's good. That Master Lin is making cannons for him, and he's also trained a new army, equipped with steel armor and steel swords."

Why didn't he occupy the county seat?

Wang Ziyong was stumped by the question.

Wang Jiayin turned to look at his cousin. "With Li Zicheng's current strength, taking Ansai and Bao'an wouldn't be difficult. But he won't. He'd rather stay in that mountain valley of Ziwu Ridge than occupy the county seat. Do you know why?"

Wang Ziyong thought for a moment. "He...is afraid of attracting attention?"

"Yes. He's afraid of drawing attention to himself." Wang Jiayin walked back to the desk, picked up Li Zicheng's letter, and read it again. "His letter made it very clear—when the government troops come, he abandons the city and goes into the mountains; when the government troops leave, he resumes his activities. That's what he's always done. That's why the government troops can't do anything to him."

"Then let's do that too!" Wang Ziyong said. "When the government troops come, we'll abandon Fugu and go into the mountains. When they leave, we'll come back."

Wang Jiayin shook his head. "It's different."

"What's different?"

“Li Zicheng has occupied cities before,” Wang Jiayin’s gaze deepened. “But that was the way of a bandit; he plundered and left, never truly caring for a city or its people. That’s why he could speak of it so lightly, abandoning it so easily. We are different. We occupied Fugu, opened the granaries, distributed grain, and the people call us ‘King Wang.’ Some of our brothers have already found wives in the city, some have been allocated houses, and some have acquired land outside the city. Do you think they would give it up?”

Wang Ziyong opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

He knew his elder brother was right. In just the last few days, more than a dozen of his old comrades had secretly asked him if they could settle down in Fugu. They had fought for so long and were exhausted. They wanted a place to call home.

"Brother, let's hold out then." Wang Ziyong gritted his teeth. "If the government troops come, we'll fight them to the death! Fugu City may be small, but the city walls are still standing. With several thousand brothers, holding out for a month or two shouldn't be a problem."

Wang Jiayin didn't speak, but just quietly looked out the window at the city that had just become his.

---

Late March, Ziwu Ridge.

Inside the cave of the gunpowder workshop, Lin Fan stood beside a large earthenware vat, looking at the nitrate liquid inside.

Nitrate crystals form long, thin needles, which indicates high purity.

Old Wei's refining skills are getting more and more sophisticated.

"This batch of saltpeter can be used in medicine." He turned around and looked at Old Wei, saying, "Old Wei, have you taken on any apprentices yet?"

Old Wei rubbed his hands, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"I brought two. One was recommended by Zhang Nai. His name is Wang Shun. He is only sixteen years old, but he is clever and learns things quickly."

The other one is named Han Xiaozhu; he's strong, but he's also impatient.

"Impatient people shouldn't work in the gunpowder workshop." Lin Fan's voice wasn't loud, but it was very serious. "Explain this to him clearly. You can't rush things here. If you rush, something bad will happen. And if something bad happens, it won't just be his life, it will be the lives of everyone in the entire workshop."

Old Wei nodded repeatedly. "I understand. I'll have to work on his temper."

Lin Fan surveyed the cave and returned to the surface; it was already dark by then.

A muffled thud came from the artillery training ground in the distance—the sound of live ammunition firing.

Judging from the sound, it should be that newly built 500-pound steel cannon.

The cannon barrel was two feet longer than the previous small cannon, and the caliber was also half an inch larger, resulting in a much longer range.

Zhang Nai has been practicing with that cannon these days, saying he wants to figure out its temperament.

Lin Fan then went to take a look around the blast furnace.

The furnace was blazing, and waves of heat were hitting us. Several craftsmen, shirtless, were adding charcoal into the furnace.

Their faces were flushed red by the firelight, and sweat streamed down their backs, forming dark streaks around their waists.

He suddenly remembered Wang Jiayin again. The so-called first banner of the Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Border Region rebels, who had occupied Fugu and was dreaming of ruling the city.

I wonder what he will think after receiving Li Zicheng's reply.

Will they listen to advice? Probably not. For someone used to being a bandit, experiencing the feeling of ruling a city for the first time is like a person who has been starving for a long time suddenly eating meat; you can't ask them to vomit it up.

Lin Fan understood that feeling. Because he had also experienced hunger.

But he knew even better that in this chaotic world, meat wasn't so delicious.

If you eat it, you have to pay the price.

Wang Jiayin will soon understand this principle. But by then, it will probably be too late.

---

Thousands of miles away, in Xi'an Prefecture.

Inside the Shaanxi governor's office, a sturdy, middle-aged official with a stern face sat in the second hall, reviewing military reports sent from various places.

His name is Hong Chengchou, he is thirty-eight years old this year, he is from Nan'an, Fujian, and he became a Jinshi in the forty-fourth year of the Wanli reign.

Last year, he was ambushed by Zhang Xianzhong in Qingshigou, Xizhou, Shanxi, and suffered significant losses in his vanguard.

But that battle didn't break him; instead, it made him more cautious.

After returning to Shaanxi, he spent several months gradually shrinking Wang Jiayin's space for maneuver, forcing Wang Jiayin to flee north from Yichuan and Yanchang, and eventually retreat to Fugu.

"Commander, an urgent report from Fugu." A staff member hurried in, presenting a document with feathers inserted in it.

Hong Chengchou took it, opened it, and read it carefully word by word.

After reading it, his face remained expressionless.

"Wang Jiayin occupied Fugu."

The advisors exchanged hesitant glances. One of them, surnamed Zhao, cautiously asked, "Commander, should we immediately send troops to encircle and annihilate them?"

Hong Chengchou did not answer immediately.

He placed the military report on the table, stood up, and walked to the huge map of Shaanxi on the wall.

His gaze lingered on Fugu for a moment, then slowly moved south—Anse, Bao'an, Ziwu Ridge.

"Wang Jiayin is nothing to worry about," he said, his voice low but clear. "By occupying Fugu, he has essentially locked himself in there. I will take it whenever I wish. What we should truly worry about is this place."

His finger pointed to the location of Ziwu Ridge.

The staff gathered around.

"Li Zicheng?" Zhao's advisor frowned. "This man only has two or three thousand men, huddled deep in the Ziwu Ridge mountains. Compared to Wang Jiayin's ten thousand or so men, he seems... insignificant?"

"You don't understand." Hong Chengchou shook his head. "Wang Jiayin has many men, but they are concentrated. Li Zicheng has few men, but they are scattered. Wang Jiayin occupies the city, making him a sitting duck. Li Zicheng occupies the mountains, making him a sitting duck. If you attack Wang Jiayin, he can't escape. If you attack Li Zicheng, he will disappear deeper into the mountains, and you won't even be able to catch a glimpse of him."

He drew a circle around Ziwu Ridge with his finger. "Furthermore, I have received information that Li Zicheng has a craftsman surnamed Lin who can make cannons."

"Build cannons?" The staff were taken aback.

"Steel cannons." Hong Chengchou's voice deepened. "These aren't ordinary iron or bronze cannons; they're steel cannons. Their range and power surpass the standard artillery of the government army. Li Zicheng is using these cannons to train a new army at Ziwu Ridge. They're equipped with steel armor, steel swords, and cannons. Though small in number, given time, they will surely become a great threat."

Zhao, the advisor, gasped. "So the commander-in-chief means... to attack Li Zicheng first?"

"No rush." ​​Hong Chengchou's gaze remained fixed on the map. "Li Zicheng has been operating in the Ziwu Ridge for half a year. He is familiar with the terrain, which is easy to defend and difficult to attack. If we rashly launch an attack, even if we manage to capture it, we will suffer heavy losses. Let him recuperate for a while. Once he has fattened up his new army and built up his artillery, I will have my own methods."

He didn't say what the method was.

But the staff all understood that a commander's command of troops was never solely reliant on swords and spears.

His greatest skill is sowing discord.

"Issue the order." Hong Chengchou turned around. "Order Cao Wenzhao, the deputy commander of Yansui Garrison, to lead his 3,000 elite cavalry to garrison Jiazhou and cut off the connection between Fugu and Ziwu Ridge. Remember, it is garrisoning, not attacking. Not a single soldier may move without my order."

"yes!"

"Order Zhang Nian, the prefect of Yan'an, to expedite the collection of grain and fodder and stockpile it in Yan'an city. Tell him that this is military rations, and not a single grain is to be diverted to disaster relief. Anyone who violates this order will be punished according to military law."

"yes!"

"There's one more thing," Hong Chengchou said, his gaze sweeping over his advisors. "Send men to Ziwu Ridge. Not soldiers, but merchants. Under the guise of trading grain and iron, infiltrate the valley and gather intelligence on Li Zicheng's strength and weaknesses. Especially that craftsman surnamed Lin—what is his background, what are his skills, what does he like, and what is he afraid of? Report everything you can find out."

The advisors felt a chill run down their spines. Was the commander-in-chief planning to... dismantle Li Zicheng from within?

"Remember," Hong Chengchou's voice was low and slow, "Li Zicheng and Wang Jiayin are two tigers. What I need to do is not to fight both tigers at the same time. I need to make them suspicious and wary of each other first. Then, one by one, I will slowly take them down."

He turned around and looked at the map again.

The mountains and ravines of northern Shaanxi in the picture look like a dense net.

Fugu is a dead knot in the net. Ziwu Ridge is a live knot in the net.

His gaze shifted from Fugu to Ziwu Ridge, and then from Ziwu Ridge to the south—to Xi'an, to Hanzhong, to Sichuan, to this land riddled with holes, where countless storms were brewing.

---

In an inconspicuous house in the eastern part of Xi'an, Johann Adam Schall von Bell had just arrived in Xi'an.

After Xu Guangqi's memorial was submitted, Emperor Chongzhen wrote three words in his reply: "Understood."

It's neither accurate nor inaccurate.

The cabinet sent the memorial back to the Ministry of Rites, which then sent it back to Xu Guangqi, saying, "We will discuss it again."

Xu Guangqi couldn't wait any longer.

He said to Johann Adam Schall von Bell, "Johann Adam, you go to Shaanxi first. The matter of planting sweet potatoes cannot wait. I will keep an eye on the imperial court's approval. I will join you whenever the approval is granted."

Then Johann Adam Schall von Bell arrived.

He brought several cartloads of things—sweet potato seedlings, corn seeds, several boxes of books, a set of astronomical observation instruments, and a gunpowder formula wrapped in layers of oil paper.

That was a Western gunpowder formula that he and Xu Guangqi had tested together when he was in Beijing. It was more powerful and produced less smoke than the gunpowder currently used by the Ming army.

Xu Guangqi told him to take it with him, saying that Shaanxi might need it.

"Mr. Tang, everything has been settled." A young foreigner walked in and said in broken Chinese.

His name was Paul. He was an assistant that Johann Adam Schall von Bell took in in Macau. He was English and converted to Catholicism, hence the name.

"Okay. You've worked hard, go and get some rest," said Johann Adam Schall von Bell.

After Paul left, Johann Adam Schall von Bell looked around the room, his gaze falling on the gunpowder formula wrapped up in a box.

He recalled Xu Guangqi's words: "Shaanxi is in great turmoil right now. Bandits are everywhere, and the government troops can't suppress them all. It's too dangerous for a foreigner like you to go to such a place."

Of course he knew it was dangerous.

But he also knew that the real danger was not weapons, but hunger.

On his way to Shaanxi, he witnessed firsthand how those who starved to death had turned into dried-out skeletons.

He had also seen those who were still alive—numb eyes, empty expressions, wandering the barren land like zombies.

He cannot change the fate of this country.

But at least he can teach some people how to grow sweet potatoes.

Sweet potatoes can't save the whole world, but they can save a few people.

Saving one is saving one life.

Johann Adam Schall von Bell walked outside the courtyard and looked north.

That's the direction of Yan'an Prefecture, the direction of Fugu, the direction of Ziwu Ridge.

Unbeknownst to him, on that land repeatedly ravaged by famine and war, there was a man trying to help more people survive in a different way.

That person's surname is Lin.

They have never met and may never know of each other's existence.

But they are doing the same thing—planting seeds of hope in this scarred land.

One of them is gunpowder.

One of them is a sweet potato.