Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

As the nitrate solution gradually concentrated, fine crystals began to precipitate at the edges.

Lin Fan carefully scraped off the initial crystals with a sharpened wooden sliver and placed them on a relatively clean stone slab.

This is just a crude product containing impurities, but its purity has improved considerably compared to the original damp, lumpy material.

He repeated the steps of dissolving, heating, and precipitating, which was inefficient, but it was the only feasible purification method under these rudimentary conditions.

Sulfur processing is relatively simple.

He carefully crushed the yellowish-white lumps on another stone slab, picking out the obvious stones, grass stalks, and other impurities.

Grinding is a laborious task, and the pungent smell of sulfur gradually intensifies in the enclosed space, irritating the nasal cavity.

Lin Fan tried to move as quietly as possible to reduce dust.

The charcoal was something Li Zicheng found from somewhere; it was hard and of excellent quality.

Lin Fan patiently ground them into powder as fine as possible using small stones.

Charcoal powder covered his hands and face, turning black.

With most of the raw materials processed, the most crucial step now is the proportioning and mixing.

Without a precise scale, one can only rely on touch, volume estimation, and memory of the standard proportions.

The optimal ratio of black powder to its power—saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal—is approximately 75%, 10%, and 15%, respectively.

However, this is the ideal value after fine purification and granulation.

The raw materials currently undergoing crude purification contain many impurities and have uneven particle size, so the proportions need to be adjusted.

Lin Fan composed himself, first roughly dividing the purified saltpeter powder into piles, then adding an estimated amount of sulfur powder, and finally charcoal powder.

He began mixing very slowly and very gently with a smooth, short wooden stick.

There must be no violent friction or impact; it must be uniform.

This is the most dangerous step in the whole process; a slight mistake could lead to an accident due to static electricity or localized overheating.

His movements were as careful as if he were touching the most delicate glass, yet fine beads of sweat gradually seeped from his forehead, partly due to his intense mental tension and partly due to his proximity to the faint source of the charcoal fire.

Cold beads of sweat slid down his cheeks, bringing a slight shiver.

Li Zicheng suddenly moved, leaning forward slightly, his gaze sharp as a needle, locking onto Lin Fan's hand that was mixing the raw materials and the mixture that was gradually turning grayish-black.

He still didn't speak, but his breathing seemed to become even lighter.

Mixing complete.

Lin Fan exhaled softly, and the breath condensed into a cloud of white mist in the cold air.

He carefully transferred the mixed raw gunpowder powder into a shallow earthenware pot.

Then, he raised his head and looked at Li Zicheng in the darkness.

"Is it done?" Li Zicheng's deep, hoarse voice rang out in the silence.

"It can only be considered a rough draft," Lin Fan's voice was also a little hoarse.

"The raw materials are impure, and the mixture can only reach this level. The power... is hard to say; it could be very strong, or it could just be a loud noise. Moreover, you must be extremely careful. It cannot be exposed to open flames, cannot be subjected to violent impacts, and must be stored in a dry place."

He didn't say how to detonate it, and Li Zicheng didn't ask.

Both of them knew that what they lacked right now was a reliable and safe detonation device.

This pile of gunpowder is more like a symbol, a proof of a possibility.

Li Zicheng remained silent for a moment, then slowly straightened up.

He walked to the broken earthenware pot, squatted down, and carefully examined the grayish-black powder by the dim light of the charcoal fire. He even stretched out his finger, picked up a small pinch, smelled it, and gently rubbed it.

"That's all?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion.

"There's not enough time, and we've only processed this much of the raw material," Lin Fan said frankly. "Besides, without a suitable fuse, this thing is very dangerous right now; even the slightest spark could..."

Li Zicheng waved his hand, interrupting him.

He wiped the powder off his fingers on his pants and stood up.

"Clean it up completely, leave no trace," he commanded, his tone regaining its usual decisiveness. "These things," he pointed to the remaining raw materials and rudimentary tools, "are put back exactly as they were. I'm taking this powder you made."

Lin Fan didn't ask any further questions and immediately started cleaning.

Carefully wipe the used broken bowls, sticks, and stone slabs, pour away the wastewater, sweep away the spilled powder, and restore everything to its original state as much as possible.

Li Zicheng then took out a leather bag from who-knows-where, carefully poured gunpowder into it, tied the bag tightly, and hid it close to his body.

When everything was tidied up and the warehouse looked almost identical, the wind and snow outside seemed to have subsided a bit, and the sky was no longer completely black, but had a hint of cold bluish-gray.

It was almost dawn.

"What happened today," Li Zicheng said, standing by the door with his hand on the latch, his back to Lin Fan, "is kept to himself." His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable weight.

"Understood," Lin Fan said in a low voice.

Li Zicheng opened the door, and a gust of biting cold wind immediately rushed in.

He dodged to the side, his figure quickly disappearing into the fading snow and the deepest darkness before dawn.

Lin Fan stood alone in the now-cold warehouse, watching the last embers of the charcoal fire on the ground completely extinguish, turning into a pale speck.

He moved his numb hands and feet, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him, but his mind remained unusually clear.

He knew that from this moment on, something was different.

That coarse gunpowder was more than just a mixture; it was a signal, a key, drawing this lonely soul from the future deeper into the lava about to erupt in this era.

He quietly returned to his little shack, and by the time he lay down, it was already dawn.

The snow stopped, and the world was a deathly white.

The post station began to awaken, with various sounds coming from it, as if it were a completely different world from the deathly silence of the warehouse last night.

Life seems to have returned to its original course.

Clean the stables, chop hay and feed the horses, and repair damaged saddles and shafts.

The half-month deadline given by the county government was drawing ever closer, and the oppressive atmosphere was not relieved by the heavy snow. Instead, it was like a frozen ice surface, seemingly calm, but underneath there were surging undercurrents and ever-widening cracks.

Li Zicheng went out less often, but each time he returned, he brought back a more varied collection of things. Sometimes it was a few bags of grain, sometimes a few worn-out winter clothes, and sometimes even a couple of rusty but still usable waist knives.

The distribution of supplies barely kept the morale of the post station afloat.

No one questioned their origins, but everyone knew in their hearts that these sources were probably not so "legitimate."

Lin Fan continued his cautious "improvements".

He no longer limited himself to tools and began to try more.

He took the opportunity while helping out in the kitchen to carefully fill the worst leak in the old, patched-up iron pot. Although it looked unsightly, at least it stopped dripping when cooking porridge.

He carefully glued the cracks in the broken wooden water trough in the stable with collected fish glue and fine hemp thread, thus delaying its decay.

These small, insignificant improvements, in an increasingly difficult environment, are like a faint firefly in the darkness. Although they cannot illuminate the way forward, they allow those in the midst of it to feel a tangible possibility of "getting better."