Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The group left Ziwu Ridge in the darkness before dawn.

Lin Fan walked in the middle of the group, with Han Jinhu and Shuanzhu beside him.

Han Jinhu carried a newly made steel knife on his back and had two thunderbolts tucked at his waist, which clanged as he walked.

Shuanzhu remained silent as always, only occasionally looking up to observe the mountain scenery on both sides, his eyes as alert as an eagle's.

They traveled along the northern foothills of the Ziwu Ridge.

This road was scouted by Gu Jun'en in advance, avoiding the main checkpoints of the government troops. Although it was not the shortest route, it was relatively safe.

The procession stretched out in a long line, with scouts leading the way and armored soldiers bringing up the rear. Mules and horses walked in the middle, their hoofbeats absorbed by the thick pine needles and fallen leaves, unable to travel far.

As dawn broke, they emerged from the first mountain ridge.

Lin Fan reined in his horse and looked back.

The valley of Ziwu Ridge was faintly visible in the morning mist. The flames of the blast furnaces were no longer in sight, and only a few wisps of smoke rose up as the craftsmen who stayed behind cooked.

He looked around for a moment, then turned his horse around and continued north.

In the afternoon, the team rested in a pine forest.

The soldiers ate their dry rations and drank water from their water bags. No one spoke; only the sounds of chewing and the occasional cough could be heard.

Zhang Nai leaned closer to Lin Fan and asked in a low voice, "Master Lin, what kind of place is Blackwater Ditch?"

"A ravine." Lin Fan unfolded the map drawn with charcoal on coarse cloth. "The official road from Jiazhou to Fugu passes through here. The ravine is deep and densely forested, with steep slopes on both sides and only a narrow road in the middle. Grain transport convoys can't go fast here even if they want to."

"So we'll just wait there?"

"Wait." Lin Fan put away the map and looked at Zhang Nai. "Are you scared?"

Zhang Nai shook his head, then nodded. "A little."

"That's normal." Lin Fan patted his shoulder. "Remember what you practiced. Rangefinding, wind observation, loading explosives, ignition. Do what you practiced on the battlefield. Don't think about anything else."

Zhang Nai nodded vigorously.

After resting for half an hour, the group continued their journey.

On the evening of the fourth day, they set up camp in a secluded mountain valley.

We have now entered the territory of Blackwater Gully, and are less than ten miles away from the designated ambush point.

Li Zicheng ordered that no fires be lit, and everyone should eat cold, dry rations and sleep fully clothed.

Lin Fan leaned against an old pine tree, gazing at the starry sky.

The nights in the mountains are eerily quiet, with only the sound of the wind and the occasional hooting of owls.

He recalled a night like this last year in Huanglong Mountain, when he, Han Jinhu, and Tian Ergou huddled together, listening to the distant bugle calls of the government troops searching the mountain.

At that time, he only had a few pounds of crude gunpowder and a chipped knife.

Now, he has five hundred elite soldiers, twenty steel cannons, and eight hundred catties of gunpowder.

But the government troops were also more numerous and fiercer than before.

Hong Chengchou was not Du Wenhuan, and Cao Wenzhao was certainly not Zhang Yingchang. These men were the last elite of the Ming Empire, veterans who had fought desperately against the Jurchens in Liaodong. Trying to extract their wisdom from them wouldn't be easy.

"Brother Lin, can't sleep?" Han Jinhu turned over and leaned closer.

"Thinking about things."

"What are you thinking about?"

Lin Fan was silent for a moment. "Brother Han, do you think we can win this battle?"

Han Jinhu grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth in the darkness. "Brother Lin, that doesn't sound like you at all. From Huanglong Mountain to Lubao Ridge, from Shanxi to Shaanxi, when have you not led us to victory?"

"It used to be luck."

"Then let's try our luck again." Han Jinhu patted his shoulder, turned over, and soon began to snore.

Lin Fan didn't sleep. He gazed at the starry sky, mentally rehearsing tomorrow's ambush over and over again.

He had already surveyed the terrain of Blackwater Gully. The gully was about three miles long, and at its narrowest point it was only a dozen steps wide. The slopes on both sides were between thirty and forty degrees, and the forests were dense, making it an excellent place for an ambush.

The problem is that the ditch is too long.

His twenty cannons could only block a section of the three-mile-long ditch.

If the government troops' grain transport teams are stretched out too far and cannot coordinate their efforts, the effectiveness of the artillery bombardment will be greatly reduced.

Therefore, he had to choose the narrowest section—the bend in the middle of the ditch.

The mountain road there is the narrowest, and the slopes on both sides are the steepest, so grain trucks must slow down when they get there. Moreover, the curves obstruct the view, so the front convoy cannot see the rear convoy, making it difficult to coordinate if attacked.

He divided the twenty cannons into three groups.

Ten gates were positioned on the hillside directly above the bend, offering a commanding view of the main road; six gates were positioned at the bend's exit to block the government troops' breakout; and four gates were positioned at the bend's entrance to cut off their retreat.

Each group is equipped with enough shotgun shells and solid shot; shotguns are used to hit people, and solid shot is used to hit vehicles.

After the artillery barrage, the archers unleashed their arrows, followed by the infantry charge. The objective was swift and decisive, leaving as few survivors as possible.

He had mentally rehearsed this plan dozens of times. Each time, he considered every detail, down to the firing angle of each cannon, the impact point of each shell, and the charge route of each infantry unit. But he knew that there were no perfect plans on the battlefield. The real test always came from the unexpected variables.

On the sixth day, at the first light of dawn, the scout returned.

"Master Lin, the government army's grain transport convoy has arrived from Jiazhou." The scout panted, "About two hundred large carts, escorting about five hundred cavalry and three hundred infantry. The leader is Cao Wenzhao's deputy general, surnamed Zhou."

Lin Fan nodded and turned to walk towards Li Zicheng.

Blackwater ditch, bend in the road.

Five hundred new soldiers were all in position. The gunners set up their cannons in pre-selected locations, camouflaging them with branches and dry grass. The infantrymen lay in ambush among the trees on the hillside, steel knives in hand and thunderclaps at their waists. Everyone held their breath, staring towards the mouth of the ravine.

Lin Fan stood on the hillside directly in front of the bend, with Zhang Nai and his artillery unit beside him.

Looking down from here, the official road resembles a grayish-yellow ribbon, winding its way through the bottom of the ravine.

The road surface at the bend is only about ten steps wide, with steep mountain walls on both sides, covered with gnarled old pines and shrubs.

"Master Lin, they're here." Zhang Nai lowered his voice and pointed towards the mouth of the ditch.

Lin Fan raised his homemade monocular telescope—it took him two months to handcraft and polish using crystal and copper tubing. Although it looked rather rough, it was enough to see clearly what was happening in the distance.

From the direction of the gully entrance, a long convoy is slowly driving into the Blackwater Gully.

Leading the way were cavalry, about a hundred riders, divided into two groups, guarding both sides of the official road. In the middle were large grain carts, one after another, piled high with sacks. At the rear of the convoy were infantry and cavalry bringing up the rear.

The caravan was very long, stretching for nearly two miles from the mouth to the end of the gully. Lin Fan's gaze quickly swept across the caravan—two hundred carts, each with two drivers, plus five hundred cavalry and three hundred infantry, totaling about twelve hundred men.

Li Zicheng only had five hundred men.

Five hundred against one thousand two hundred—a head-on confrontation would be suicide. But this is Blackwater Trench, an excellent place for an ambush. The terrain can compensate for the disparity in troop strength.