Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

In June of the third year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), in Dengzhou.

The sea breeze blows from Liaodong Bay, carrying salty, fishy vapors, and sweeps over the city walls of Dengzhou Water City.

On the city wall, a brand-new banner bearing the character "Sun" fluttered in the sea breeze. On the drill ground below, three thousand new recruits were practicing in formation, their shouts shaking the heavens and the earth.

Sun Yuanhua stood on the city wall, looking at the scene on the drill ground, a rare smile on his face.

He was promoted by the imperial court last year from his position as a junior official in the Ministry of War to the position of governor of Dengzhou and Laizhou.

At the beginning of his tenure, the court only told him to "reorganize the defenses of Dengzhou and Laizhou and support the Dongjiang region," without giving him many troops.

But he didn't care. His lifelong obsession was with firearms. In his view, as long as there were good cannons and soldiers who knew how to use them, even the fiercest Jurchens would be no threat.

"Sir, the Portuguese have arrived," Zhang Tao, an advisor, reported in a low voice as he walked up to the city wall.

Sun Yuanhua's eyes lit up, and he turned around, saying, "Please come in quickly!"

A moment later, a group of foreigners dressed in black robes and wearing crosses around their necks walked up to the city wall. Leading them was a tall, thin middle-aged man with blue eyes, a high nose, and a neatly trimmed short beard.

His name was Gonzalo de Teixeira, a military instructor from Macau, who was skilled in cannon casting and firing techniques.

"Lord Sun." Teixeira bowed with his hands clasped in broken Chinese, followed by a young translator, also Portuguese, but who spoke much more fluent Chinese.

"Mr. Teixeira, it's an honor to meet you." Sun Yuanhua returned the greeting with a cupped hand, but his gaze fell on the mule carts covered with tarpaulins behind Teixeira.

Teixeira smiled and gestured for his attendants to lift the tarpaulin.

The moment the tarpaulin was lifted, Sun Yuanhua almost stopped breathing.

The vehicle was loaded with cannons. Not ordinary iron or bronze cannons, but the Hongyi cannons—what Westerners called "long-barreled cannons," with long barrels, thick walls, and a dark yellow metallic luster at the muzzle.

There are six cannons in total, each one is in excellent condition, and the cannons are engraved with the coat of arms of the Portuguese royal family and Latin inscriptions.

"These are the best cannons from the Macau cannon foundry," Teixeira said in broken Chinese, his tone filled with undisguised pride. "They are all cast from the finest bronze."

Sun Yuanhua walked up to a cannon, reached out and gently stroked the cold cannon barrel.

His hands were trembling slightly—not from fear, but from excitement.

He had studied firearms for over twenty years and had never seen such a sophisticated cannon.

"How far can this cannon shoot?" he asked.

"Maximum range, 1,500 paces," Teixeira said. "Effective range, 500 paces. It uses an eight-pound iron bullet, and one shot can penetrate a three-foot-thick rammed earth wall."

1,500 paces. Sun Yuanhua calculated in his mind—that was farther than any of the Ming army's existing artillery.

More importantly, Teixeira brought with him the molds, blueprints, and technical manuals for casting cannons.

This means that Deng Lai can not only buy cannons, but also build them themselves.

"Mr. Teixeira, I want all of these cannons, and the technology to cast them." Sun Yuanhua turned around, his eyes gleaming. "Name your price."

Teixeira exchanged a glance with the translator, then smiled and held up a finger.

"Ten thousand taels?"

"Ten thousand taels, just for these six cannons." Teixeira paused. "The technology for casting the cannons, the molds, the blueprints, add another ten thousand taels. In addition, the salaries of myself and my seventeen instructors, two hundred taels per month, you shall pay."

Zhang Tao gasped. Twenty thousand taels of silver, plus a monthly salary of two hundred taels, was an astronomical sum for the already financially strained Dengzhou-Laizhou governor's office.

Sun Yuanhua did not hesitate. "Alright. I will pay the 20,000 taels in three installments. The first installment of 10,000 taels will be paid in cash, and the transaction can be completed today. The instructors' salaries will begin from this month."

A hint of surprise flashed in Teixeira's eyes. He had dealt with many Ming Dynasty officials in Macau and Guangzhou, and those officials were either reluctant or tried to cut prices; he had never seen anyone as straightforward as Sun Yuanhua.

"Lord Sun is indeed straightforward." Teixeira bowed slightly. "Then starting tomorrow, my men and I will begin training your army's gunners. However, I have one condition—during the training, you must obey my orders. Unqualified gunners will not be allowed to use the cannons."

Sun Yuanhua nodded. "Okay."

That night, Sun Yuanhua hosted a banquet for Teixeira and his entourage at the governor's office.

After a few rounds of drinks, Teixeira swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze passing over the window and landing on the dark defenses of Dengzhou in the distance. Suddenly, he let out a meaningful chuckle.

"Lord Sun, forgive my bluntness." Teixeira turned his head, his eyes sharp. "I saw your country's enthusiasm for firearms clearly in Macau. Whether it's a Portuguese cannon or a Western-style cannon, as long as it can blast a breach on the battlefield, you are willing to spend any amount of silver to buy it."

He paused, his tone carrying a hint of arrogance and bluntness:

"But I'm still curious, since your court knows that firearms are so powerful, why do you prefer to spend a lot of money to buy them from Macau, thousands of miles away, instead of setting up a few decent government-run cannon foundries on the mainland? Why are those missionaries who are proficient in mathematics and physics only allowed to hide in the capital to compile calendars in your country, instead of being allowed to go to the arsenals to instruct the craftsmen?"

Teixeira put down his glass and looked directly into Sun Yuanhua's eyes:

"In my view, your country's scholar-officials are not afraid of firearms, but they are afraid of artisans who understand firearms seizing power, and even more afraid of a corrupted military system that could shake the nation. Lord Sun, you are a wise man, but can you alone turn this massive ship riddled with holes around?"

Sun Yuanhua put down his wine glass and remained silent for a long time. Then, he said something.

"I don't want to see the Jurchen cavalry step into the capital region again."

Teixeira was stunned. He had heard about the Jurchen invasion and the siege of Beijing last year in Macau. That was the second time since the Gengxu Incident that the capital of the Ming Dynasty had been besieged.

Sun Yuanhua gazed at the dark night sky outside the window, his voice low and firm:

"My teacher, Mr. Xu Guangqi, often said that empty talk harms the country, while hard work builds it up. The Ming Dynasty did not lack eloquent scholars, but it lacked practical people who could build good cannons and win battles. In my life, I, Sun Yuanhua, do not seek to be ennobled or appointed as prime minister, but only to train a good army for the Ming Dynasty that can use cannons."

Teixeira paused for a moment, then raised his glass and said in broken Chinese, "A toast to Lord Sun's ambition."

The next morning, commands from the Portuguese instructors rang out on the drill ground.

The three hundred carefully selected recruits were divided into six teams to take turns learning how to operate artillery. Teixeira himself stood in the center of the training ground, holding a pointer, and explained the basic principles of artillery to the recruits through a translator.

"Artillery isn't a fire poker! It's not just about lighting a fire and calling it a day!" Teixeira's voice echoed across the drill ground. "You have a lot to learn—the amount of propellant, the weight of the shell, the muzzle elevation, the wind direction and speed, the target's distance—each and every one of these affects the shell's landing point. A slight error can lead to a huge mistake! You're far from even the smallest detail right now, so you have to start from scratch!"

The new recruits were bewildered. Most of them were farm boys recruited from Dengzhou and Laizhou. Some were starving people who couldn't survive, some were disbanded garrison soldiers, and some were refugees who had fled from Liaodong.

Their hands were used to holding hoes and knives and guns; they had never touched such sophisticated firearms before.

But Sun Yuanhua gave a strict order: everyone must learn from scratch. Those who cannot learn will be sent back to their hometowns; those who do learn will receive double the pay.

Standing behind Sun Yuanhua, Zhang Tao gazed at the scene on the drill ground and whispered, "General, these new recruits are too weak; I'm afraid they won't be able to form an army in the short term..."

"No rush," Sun Yuanhua said. "Teixeira said that in the West, it takes at least a year to train a qualified gunner. I don't need a year, two years is fine too. As long as these new recruits are trained, Dengzhou and Laizhou will have an artillery unit that will strike fear into the hearts of the Jurchens."

He paused, then added, "Also, send someone to Macau to invite more craftsmen. Casting cannons requires more than just molds and blueprints; you also need knowledgeable people to teach you step by step."

Zhang Tao nodded in agreement.

Looking at the new recruits clumsily operating the artillery on the training ground, Sun Yuanhua felt a surge of pride.

He recalled the teachings of his mentor, Xu Guangqi: "Those who govern a country should be pragmatic. What is pragmatic? It is military strength, food, and weaponry." The army must be well-trained, the food must be plentiful, and the weapons must be sharp. He now had all three.

He turned around and gazed at the vast blue sea of ​​Dengzhou Port. Beyond the sea lay Liaodong, the stronghold of the Jurchens. One day, he would lead this new army across the sea and crush the Jurchens' lair.

But he was unaware that a storm was brewing in faraway Beijing.