Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The next morning, Li Zicheng summoned the leaders of various camps to the central command tent for a meeting. Lin Fan, as the foreman of the craftsmen, was also present. The atmosphere in the tent was more somber than usual.

Gu Jun'en first reported the results and casualties of the Battle of Heishuigou, and that all the compensation for the fallen soldiers had been arranged.

Li Zicheng immediately ordered all battalions to intensify their training and replenish their weapons, while giving priority to distributing the armor and weapons captured from Heishuigou to the new recruits.

Liu Zongmin stood at the head of the left-hand side, his expression shifting between light and shadow. He had already heard part of the conversation between Li Zicheng and Lin Fan yesterday. At this moment, he suddenly spoke up: "Brother Li, what are your plans regarding the prisoners?"

Li Zicheng glanced at him. "More than two hundred people, lock them up for now. Those who are willing to join the rebel camp will be assigned to various battalions. Those who are not will stay at Ziwu Ridge to do hard labor."

Liu Zongmin sneered. "Brother Li, being lenient with these soldiers will only cause trouble later!"

There was a moment of silence in the tent.

"Prisoners are not killed; this has always been the rule of Li Zicheng's camp." Li Zicheng's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable weight. "Only by keeping the soldiers healthy can the army grow strong. If we spread the word that we kill those who surrender, who will dare to surrender in the future?"

Liu Zongmin snorted and said nothing more. But Lin Fan clearly saw the look on his face when he walked out of the central command tent.

For several days, the Ziwu Ridge Valley was shrouded in a complex atmosphere. The victory, the abundant spoils, and the adequate compensation had naturally boosted morale. However, the presence of the prisoners of war remained a thorn in the side of many.

The prisoners were kept in an abandoned cave in the valley, guarded by armed guards.

Food supplies continued as usual—thin porridge and mixed grain cakes, the same standard as the soldiers who broke into the camp.

Gu Jun'en went there personally to find out which were the conscripted laborers and which were men who were inclined to join the rebel camp.

Liu Zongmin broke into the prisoner camp on the evening of the fourth day after the troops returned to the mountain.

He brought dozens of personal guards, each with their hands on their sword hilts, moving with lightning speed. The squad leader guarding the prisoners was from Lin Fan's new army camp, surnamed Guo. Upon seeing Liu Zongmin arrive, he quickly stepped forward and saluted.

"Chief Liu, what's going on here—"

"Interrogate the prisoners." Liu Zongmin only said two words, then lifted the tattered felt curtain hanging at the entrance of the cave and crouched down to crawl inside.

The cave dwelling was large, and the prisoners were huddled together. When they saw someone enter, they all shrank back. Liu Zongmin's gaze swept over each face, a cold smile playing on his lips.

"All of you, stand up!"

The prisoners stood up tremblingly. Some were shaking, and some kept their heads down, not daring to look at him.

Liu Zongmin walked up to a man in his early thirties, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him to the center of the cave dwelling. "Where are you from?"

The man's teeth chattered, and he couldn't speak coherently, only saying that he was from Jiazhou and had been conscripted to drive a cart.

Liu Zongmin loosened his collar. He slumped to the ground. Liu Zongmin looked down at him, then suddenly kicked him.

"I'm asking you a question, what are you panicking about?"

"Good...good sir, spare my life!" The man knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly.

Liu Zongmin ignored him. He turned around and ordered his personal guards to drive the remaining prisoners out of the cave one by one, line them up in several rows in the open space outside the cave, and make them kneel on the ground.

As dusk fell, a campfire was lit in the valley.

Liu Zongmin stood before the prisoners, a knife in his hand. The firelight illuminated the scars on his face, making his already fierce features appear even more menacing.

"Listen up, you prisoners!" His voice, like muffled thunder, echoed through the valley. "I am the leader of the rebel camp, my surname is Liu. Today I've come to ask you one question—are you willing to follow General Liu?"

The prisoners looked at each other. Some nodded hesitantly, some lowered their heads and dared not utter a sound, and some moved their lips, wanting to say something but unable to speak.

Liu Zongmin walked up to the first prisoner and looked down at him.

"Are you willing?"

The prisoner was a man in his forties, his face weathered and his hands rough like old tree bark.

He raised his head, looked at Liu Zongmin, and after trembling for a long time, finally managed to utter a sentence: "Hero... I have an elderly mother, a wife, and three children..."

Liu Zongmin nodded, then asked again, "Do you want to go back?"

The man's eyes reddened. "I want...I want..."

"It's alright," Liu Zongmin smiled, "I'll take you there."

A flash of light appeared.

The man's head rolled to the ground, his eyes still open, filled with confusion and fear. Blood gushed from his severed neck, splattering on Liu Zongmin's battle robe and the faces of the surrounding prisoners.

The prisoners were thrown into chaos. Some screamed and shrank back, some collapsed to the ground trembling, and some covered their mouths and vomited violently. A few braver ones tried to stand up and escape, but were kicked to the ground by Liu Zongmin's personal guards, who held knives to their necks.

"Don't move." Liu Zongmin's voice wasn't loud, but it froze everyone in place. He walked up to the second prisoner, still carrying a blood-dripping knife.

"Are you willing?"

The prisoner was a young man in his early twenties, whose face was deathly pale with fear, and he couldn't even speak.

Liu Zongmin looked down at him and asked again, "Are you willing to follow the rebel general?"

The young man nodded frantically, kowtowing repeatedly: "I'm willing! I'm willing! I'm willing!"

"Who else is in the family?"

"Gone...gone! All gone!" the young man cried hoarsely. "My parents starved to death, I have no wife, no children! I'm all alone!"

Liu Zongmin looked at him for a moment, then sheathed his knife. "Take him over there."

Two guards dragged the young man up from the ground and moved him to the other side.

Liu Zongmin continued walking forward. The third, the fourth, the fifth… He questioned and interrogated each one. Those who were willing were asked who else was in their family. Those who said no were taken away directly. Those who said yes were asked again if they wanted to leave. Those who said no were taken away; those who said yes were killed with a single blow.

The campfire crackled and popped. Screams, pleas for mercy, and sobs mingled together, echoing through the valley.

Later, Liu Zongmin questioned faster and killed faster.

His knife was chipped, his hand gripping it was covered in sticky blood, and his hand trembled slightly. But his eyes remained cold.

Did he hate the prisoners? No. He didn't hate those he killed. He just knew that in this chaotic world, mercy would only hasten his death.

These people are prisoners now, and they look pitiful, but if they are released, they may still be government troops tomorrow. Even if they don't want to, the court will arrest them again, conscript them again, and force them to come back.

Rather than turning against each other in the future, it's better to let them die here.

It's unclear how much time passed, but the massacre finally ended.

The remaining prisoners, numbering over a hundred, were taken to the recruit camp.

Liu Zongmin sheathed his dulled sword, the hem of his battle robe soaked in blood, leaving a dark red footprint with every step he took.

When the news reached the blacksmith's shop, Lin Fan was inspecting the quality of a new batch of steel billets.

When Han Jinhu stumbled in, he was holding a steel billet and examining it closely in the firelight.

"Brother Lin! Something's happened!" Han Jinhu's voice trembled. "Chief Liu interrogated all the prisoners! Those who refused to stay were all beheaded! Hundreds of heads are piled up outside the prisoner-of-war camp, like a stack of firewood!"

Lin Fan's hand paused. The steel billet slipped from his hand and hit the anvil with a crisp sound.

"When did this happen?"

"Just now! It was barely dark when the fighting stopped!"

Lin Fan put down his work and turned to walk out.

Han Jinhu caught up: "Brother Lin, where are you going?"

He didn't answer, but strode into the valley.

He walked very fast, almost running, with a fire burning in his chest.

In the open space outside the prisoner-of-war camp, guards were moving corpses, dragging the headless bodies onto a mule cart, preparing to take them to the back mountain for burial.

The heads were piled up to one side, neatly stacked, with blood flowing down the severed necks and soaking the yellow earth beneath their feet.

The air reeked of blood. Corpses lay scattered on the ground, some still twitching, others already stiff. Several old soldiers squatted nearby, wiping their blood-stained knives with rags.

Liu Zongmin stood beside the pile of heads, taking a water bag from his personal guard and tilting his head back to drink.

His face and body were covered in blood; he looked like he had been pulled out of a pool of blood.

"Chief Liu," Lin Fan strode up to him, his voice laced with suppressed anger, "These men are not your prisoners. They belong to the general. The general said that those who surrender would be incorporated into the army, and those who didn't would remain at Ziwu Ridge to do hard labor. What right did you have to kill them without authorization?"

Liu Zongmin glanced at him sideways, slowly put down the water pouch, water droplets still clinging to his lips. "Why? Because when I started my rebellion with Li Zicheng, you were probably still eating clay somewhere."

He pointed to the prisoners being taken to the recruit camp: "These are the ones who want to stay. The rest, I asked them, they don't want to stay. They have families, they miss home. Don't they want to go home? I'll send them back, one cut each, clean and efficient. What's wrong with that?"

Lin Fan clenched his fists. "Many of them are conscripted laborers, poor people, forced by Hong Chengchou to transport grain! They are just like us, people driven to desperation!"

“Pah!”

Liu Zongmin slammed the water bag onto the ground, splashing water everywhere.

He suddenly turned around, grabbed Lin Fan by the collar, and pulled him close to him, his scarred face almost touching Lin Fan's nose.

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut into Lin Fan's heart like a knife.

"You pity these government soldiers who are prisoners of war? Then let me ask you! Do you even know how the government troops treat our prisoners?!"

Lin Fan was being gripped by the collar, making it hard for him to breathe. But he didn't struggle; he just stared into Liu Zongmin's eyes and said, word by word, "Chief Liu, let go first."

"Release yourself?" Liu Zongmin sneered. "I'm going to make sure you hear me clearly today—"

He didn't finish his sentence.

Lin Fan suddenly raised his right hand, not to pry Liu Zongmin's fingers off, but to grab the hilt of the knife at Liu Zongmin's waist.

With a "clang," Lin Fan drew his knife, the tip of which was pressed against the gap between the two men, less than a foot apart.

Everyone was stunned.

Liu Zongmin's personal guards instinctively drew their swords and stepped forward, but were stopped by a gesture from Liu Zongmin.

He looked down at the knife pressed against his chest—the blade was still stained with the blood he had just left from killing prisoners, dripping down one drop at a time.

Then he looked up and examined Lin Fan again.

Lin Fan's hand holding the knife was trembling, but his eyes did not.

"Chief Liu, you're a veteran of the rebel camp, I respect you." His voice wasn't loud, but every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, "But don't think you're the only one in the world with a knife, the only one who dares to kill!"

He paused, then moved the tip of the knife forward another half an inch.

"I can't bear to kill these prisoners. If you don't like it, that's your problem. But don't grab me by the collar while you're talking—I don't like that."

Liu Zongmin stared at him for a long time. In those eyes, filled with anger and exhaustion, something indescribable suddenly flashed. It wasn't anger, nor was it murderous intent. It was something more complex.

"You little brat, you've got guts." His voice was hoarse as he slowly released his grip on Lin Fan's collar.

Lin Fan took a step back, flipped the knife over so the hilt faced Liu Zongmin, and handed it back to him.

"I know the government troops killed innocent people to claim credit. I also know Hong Chengchou massacred villages in Yichuan to gain merit." His voice calmed slightly, but was still hoarse. "But Chief Liu, how many of these people truly have a grudge against you and me? And how many are peasants forced into this situation by the court?"

Liu Zongmin took the knife without sheathing it. He looked at Lin Fan, then at the headless corpses on the ground. The killing intent in his eyes surged several times, finally turning into a bottomless, icy pool. He didn't speak again for a long while.

"You pity them." His voice lowered, so low that only the two of them could hear, "But has Hong Chengchou ever pitied our brothers? Has Cao Wenzhao ever pitied Shen Yikui? Has the imperial court ever pitied us, those forced to live without a means of survival?"

Just then, Li Zicheng's voice came from behind.

"Stop it, all of you."

Lin Fan and Liu Zongmin turned their heads at the same time.

Li Zicheng emerged from the twilight, followed by dozens of his personal guards.

His steps were slow, but each step was steady.

He walked up to the two men, stopped, looked at the still-dripping knife in Liu Zongmin's hand, then at Lin Fan's crumpled collar, and finally his gaze settled on Lin Fan's face.

"I know everything." Li Zicheng's voice was calm and unwavering.

Liu Zongmin snorted and sheathed his knife. "Brother Li, you, Master Lin—"

"He has his reasons, and you have yours," Li Zicheng interrupted him. "I saw the Battle of Heishuigou very clearly. The cannons were made by Master Lin, and the artillery unit was composed of soldiers from the New Army. Ten cannons on the front line fired nine out of ten shots at the narrowest bend. Without him, there would have been no battle. Without the New Army, there would have been no captured grain and armor."

He paused, turned around, faced Liu Zongmin, and spoke in a low voice that everyone present could hear clearly.

"Zongmin, you and I started the uprising the earliest and fought the most tough battles. But after the battle of Heishuigou, I realized something—we can't defeat the government army just by being fearless. The government army has cannons, armor, and veterans who have trained for over a decade. If we don't want to be chased, we need someone who can train the new army and build cannons. Are you better at these things than me?"

Liu Zongmin remained silent, the scar on his face appearing particularly somber in the firelight. But this time, he did not refute.

Li Zicheng turned to Lin Fan.

"Master Lin. From today onwards, the new army camp is an independent force. You are no longer the foreman—you are the leader of the new army. The five hundred men in the new army camp, including the artillery, infantry, and scouts, are all under your command. No battalion commander may interfere in the internal affairs of the new army, enter the new army camp without permission, or move a single soldier of the new army. Anyone who disobeys will be punished according to military law."

These words were spoken in front of Liu Zongmin, and also in front of all the personal guards present.

Lin Fan paused for a moment, then clasped his hands in a fist salute: "General—"

"You don't need to refuse." Li Zicheng raised his hand to stop him. "I'll give you another piece of advice—a person who gets things done needs more than just good intentions; they also need a weapon. From today onward, these five hundred new soldiers are the weapon in your hands. How you use this weapon is up to you."

He turned around, glanced at the corpses piled up on the open ground, and a barely perceptible trace of weariness flashed in his eyes.

"Zong Min has already killed these prisoners. That's it. From now on, prisoners will be dealt with according to the rules. Those who are willing to surrender will be assigned to the new recruits' camp; those who surrender and then desert will be caught, interrogated, and then killed; those who are unwilling to surrender will remain in the camp to do hard labor, and will be released as civilians after three years. I will have Gu Jun'en draft the specific rules tomorrow and bring them to me for review."

This statement neither pursued Liu Zongmin's unauthorized killing nor denied Lin Fan's reasoning. Instead, it used a single rule to encompass both sides' arguments.

Liu Zongmin remained silent for a moment, then clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Yes."

Lin Fan clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Yes."

Li Zicheng nodded and glanced at the two men. "That's enough for tonight. Go back and rest."

He turned and left, his personal guards following closely behind, their footsteps gradually fading into the night.

Only Lin Fan and Liu Zongmin remained on the open ground.

The campfire crackled and popped, casting long shadows of the two men. In the open space not far away, the guards were still moving the remaining corpses, dragging the headless bodies onto mule carts. The wheels rolled over the blood-soaked yellow earth with a dull, sticky sound.

Liu Zongmin glanced at the chipped blade of his waist knife and casually tossed it to the ground.

"New army leader." He smacked his lips, as if savoring the meaning of those four words, "Brother Li is going to help you up and challenge me to a duel."

Lin Fan did not respond.

Liu Zongmin turned around and strode towards his camp. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and said a sentence without turning his head.

"Your cannons are really well made. The battle at Blackwater Ditch was fought brilliantly."

After saying this, he strode away. His personal guards surrounded him, and his figure quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Lin Fan stood alone in the open space, looking at the knife that Liu Zongmin had discarded.

The blade was blunt, and it was covered in sticky blood, which gleamed a dark red in the firelight.

He bent down to pick up the knife, ran his fingertip across the chipped blade, leaving a layer of half-dried blood powder on his fingertip. Then he picked up the knife and turned to walk towards the blacksmith's shop.

The news reached Han Jinhu's ears early the next morning.

He paused for a moment, then grinned broadly, his face crinkling with laughter, and strode to the blacksmith's shop, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Brother Lin—no, Chief Lin! Congratulations, Chief Lin!" The loud voice startled the birds in the pine forest and also alerted half of the blacksmiths in the shop.

Lin Fan looked up from behind the furnace, still clutching a piece of steel billet that had just cooled. His face was expressionless, but as he looked at Han Jinhu's wide-eyed grin, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Brother Han, stop shouting."

"No way! How can we not shout about something this big?" Han Jinhu grabbed Shuanzhu's shoulder and shook him vigorously. "Shuanzhu! Tell me, shouldn't we shout? New Army leader! From now on, our New Army will be in charge!"

Shuanzhu rarely showed a smile, but simply said, "Congratulations, Chief Lin."

Zhang Nai ran over from the artillery training ground and stood panting in front of Lin Fan.

This eighteen-year-old is now the commander of the artillery unit of the new army. His face has lost its youthful naiveté and gained a maturity beyond his years.

He stood ramrod straight, clasped his hands in a salute, and said in a loud voice, "Commander Lin, the artillery unit's training schedule for today has been completed. Please give your instructions, Commander!"

Lin Fan looked at him and suddenly remembered the first time he met this young man—he was as thin as a bamboo pole, crying his heart out while holding his armor.

Now, he is the best gunner in the entire rebel camp, able to control the landing point of the cannonballs within one or two zhang (approximately 3.3 meters).

"Zhang Nai".

"exist!"

"From today onwards, the artillery unit will be expanded. You will personally select the new recruits."

Zhang Nai's eyes lit up. "Yes!"

Lin Fan turned to Han Jinhu and Shuanzhu.

"Brother Han, you continue to lead the infantry. Shuanzhu, the scout team is yours. Liu Zongmin has night watchmen, and our new army needs its own. You need to train a group of veterans who can walk through the mountains in the dark and count the number of mess halls of the government troops from ten miles away."

Shuanzhu remained silent for a moment, then clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Rest assured, Commander."

Lin Fan turned around and looked at the rising sun.

The morning light burst forth from the eastern ridge, casting golden rays into the valley.

The blast furnace spewed out flames, and the sound of hammers echoed incessantly.

On the parade ground of the new army camp, the artillery unit was practicing loading—loading, aiming, and firing. Each action was broken down into several steps and practiced repeatedly until it became muscle memory.

The troops were also forming ranks, their steel armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

The stench of blood from last night has been carried away by the morning breeze. But some things remain—the dulled blade, those sharp words, and Li Zicheng's order that suddenly granted him authority.

Lin Fan walked back to the blacksmith shop and took out a small notebook from his pocket.

This is a notebook he made himself, cut from captured paper and tied together with string through holes.

It was filled with writing—the casting process of cannons, the gunpowder mixing experiments, the key points of the new army training, and the precautions for sweet potato planting.

He wrote a line of text in charcoal on a blank page of the notebook.

"Lin Fan, leader of the new army. June 4th, the third year of Chongzhen."

He glanced at the words for a moment, closed the notebook, and walked back to the blast furnace. The furnace fire was blazing, and the hammering continued.