My father is Chongzhen? Then I have no choice but to rebel.

The old craftsman touched his head to the ground, his voice trembling and choked with sobs as he pleaded:
"My lord, please calm down! My lord, please understand! It's not that we haven't tried our best, but the firearms of these southern barbarians are simply too ingenious and unpredictable in design, making them far more difficult to replicate than we anticipated!"

He mustered his courage, raised his head, pointed to a twisted and deformed metal mechanism part among the pile of wreckage on the ground, and lamented:

“My lord, take the 'flint' latch under this 'dragon head' as an example. We initially thought it was just made of ordinary refined iron, so we searched for the best wrought iron and forged it repeatedly to make it look similar. But after we installed it, it either couldn't hold the flint firmly, or it broke or deformed after firing a few times.”

"Later, when we sawed it open to examine it closely, we discovered that its cross-section and texture were completely different from the iron we had forged!"

He became more and more agitated as he spoke, and no longer cared about anything else:
"We consulted some experienced masters and studied it repeatedly. We also paid a high price to consult an interpreter who often dealt with the barbarians. Only then did we realize that this thing is probably not a single metal, but an 'alloy' made of iron as the base, mixed with a small amount of other rare metals, and smelted by a special furnace fire secret method!"

"The proportions, the heat, and even the quenching methods all have secrets that are kept hidden! Too much and it will be brittle, too little and it will be soft. Without the right method, it is impossible to imitate its toughness and strength! Although we have tried our best and experimented with different proportions day and night, we have not yet mastered the key to it."

"This barrel explosion was most likely caused by the fact that this critical component could not withstand the force of continuous firing, and suddenly broke apart, triggering a chain reaction of explosions in the gunpowder inside the barrel!"

As the old craftsman spoke, he pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket with trembling hands. He opened it and found several metal fragments of different colors and lusters, as well as a few rough small parts that were obviously the result of many failed experiments.

"My lord, Your Highness, look, these are the 'alloy' test pieces that we have made these days by experimenting with different proportions. Some are too brittle and break with a tap, some are too soft and cannot be formed at all, and some seem to be made, but they have problems after being assembled and tested a few times."

"It's not that we petty people are not trying; it's just that even a skilled cook can't make a meal without rice, and there's no secret recipe to follow!"

Fan Wencheng was speechless for a moment after listening to the old craftsman's tearful yet reasonable explanation.

Although he was not skilled in craftsmanship, he understood that what the other party said made sense.

The flintlock musket was far more sophisticated than the simple matchlock guns and muskets of the past. Every precision component, from the bolt and spring to the rifling, represented the highest level of metalworking and mechanical manufacturing in that era.

The fact that the Ming Dynasty was able to develop it was the result of the collective wisdom of craftsmen across the country and the enormous amount of money and time invested.

The Qing Dynasty's attempt to reverse engineer a single sample without theoretical foundation, skilled craftsmen, or a complete production process is virtually impossible.

Exploding barrels, misfiring, poor precision, and short lifespan are almost inevitable, so forcing these craftsmen is indeed of little use.

Just as Fan Wencheng's expression shifted, unsure how to respond, Dorgon spoke again, his voice still calm and unreadable:
“Mr. Fan, there’s no need to be so harsh on them. Craftsmen’s work is all about taking their time and making things meticulous. Forcing them won’t help.”

He turned to the group of craftsmen who were almost collapsed on the ground and said slowly:
"You may all rise. Since your skills are lacking, it is not that you did not try your best. I will not blame you. As for the explosion, find out the cause and learn from the experience."

"I will allocate more silver and materials for you to continue your experiments. If there are skilled craftsmen in Southeast Asia, Korea, or even Russia, you can try to hire them at great expense. You only need to remember that this matter concerns the fate of our Great Qing Dynasty. You must do your best to achieve success as soon as possible, and do not disappoint me or the court for too long."

These words were nothing short of imperial grace and a miraculous escape from death for the artisans who had thought they were doomed! They could hardly believe their ears; after a moment of stunned silence, they kowtowed to the ground, tears streaming down their faces, and cried out in overwhelming gratitude:
"Thank you, Your Highness, for sparing our lives! Your Highness's grace is boundless! We will do our utmost to serve you and create a fine gun for you as soon as possible! We will never dare to fail Your Highness's expectations again!"

"Go down and do your job well."

Dorgon waved his hand.

The craftsmen, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, kowtowed several more times before retreating tremblingly, supporting each other, their backs still showing signs of shock and unsteadiness.

After the craftsmen left, only Dorgon, Fan Wencheng, and a few personal guards remained on the shooting range, and the atmosphere eased slightly.

Fan Wencheng approached Dorgon again, his face filled with even deeper shame, and bowed deeply to the ground.
“Your Highness, I am truly ashamed. I have spent a lot of time and money supervising this matter, but have made no progress. Instead, Your Highness has personally come to this dangerous place. I am deeply grateful for Your Highness’s leniency. I have no place to hide my shame.”

Dorgon looked at him with a faint, meaningful smile on his face and patted Fan Wencheng on the shoulder.

He had done this action twice today, once to the soldiers and once to Fan Wencheng, but the meanings were completely different.

“Mr. Fan, we have known each other for many years, served the late emperor and helped the current emperor. Why be so formal? I know your loyalty and talent. This firearm imitation is not your forte. You cannot force it. I do not blame you for this.”

He paused, then his tone became more candid:
"This matter is difficult, as I am well aware of. It cannot be rushed. Let's leave it at that, Mr. Fan, there's no need to worry about it anymore."

Upon hearing this, Fan Wencheng was filled with a mixture of gratitude and guilt, and could only bow again:
"Your Highness is trustworthy; I can only repay you with my life!"

"Alright, the smell of gunpowder is too strong here; this is not the place to talk. Please come inside and have a seat."

As Dorgon spoke, he turned and walked toward a row of bungalows next to the firing range, where officials of the Imperial Workshops worked and rested.

Fan Wencheng quickly followed.

Once inside, the furnishings were simple, but the place was clean and tidy.

Goshha quickly brought over a chair and served hot tea. Dorgon sat down in the main seat, picked up his teacup, blew on the tea leaves, took a sip, and gazed thoughtfully at the shooting range outside the window.

Fan Wencheng sat at the lower end of the table, but his mind was racing.

Today's events are too coincidental. Did Your Highness just happen to be "idle" and happen to hear the explosion?

He harbored doubts, but showed no sign of them on his face, simply sitting respectfully with his hands at his sides.

After Dorgon put down his teacup, Fan Wencheng cautiously asked:
"Your Highness, is there something important you wish to instruct me on at the Imperial Workshop today?"

He tried to find out Dorgon's true intentions.

Upon hearing this, Dorgon turned his gaze and looked at Fan Wencheng with a look that seemed to penetrate one's heart.

He smiled faintly and said:

"Mr. Fan, you are overthinking it. I really had nothing to do today. I was bored in the palace, so I came out for a stroll to clear my head. When I got to this area, I heard a loud noise and, out of curiosity, I came in to take a look."

"Unexpectedly, this has disturbed Mr. Fan's important business."

These words were spoken lightly and reasonably, but Fan Wencheng's doubts were not completely dispelled. Based on his understanding of Dorgon, the regent was a man of deep thoughts and his actions were often meaningful; he rarely "strolled around."

Especially given the recent delicate political situation, with Hauge away and the movements of the Ming army in the south unclear, is it really just a coincidence that Dorgon is now at a key location for firearms research and development?

However, since Dorgon had said so, Fan Wencheng naturally couldn't question it, so he could only go along with it and put on a smile:
"I see. It was my commotion that disturbed Your Highness's peace. I am so sorry."

Dorgon gave a noncommittal "hmm," his fingers tapping unconsciously on the rough wooden tabletop, his gaze returning to the window, seemingly lost in thought. A quiet silence fell over the room.

Fan Wencheng held his breath, not daring to disturb him. He knew that the prince must have something to say.

Sure enough, after a moment of silence, Dorgon suddenly withdrew his gaze and looked back at Fan Wencheng. His tone was calm, but he posed a question that made Fan Wencheng's heart tighten instantly:

"Speaking of which, I've just remembered something that I'd like to discuss with Mr. Fan."

Fan Wencheng's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straight, saying respectfully:
"Your Highness, please speak. I am all ears."

Dorgon's gaze deepened, and he slowly said:

"It's about Hauge. Mr. Fan thinks that, given his current state of mind, if he were to lead troops in the field, could he truly do his utmost to protect our Great Qing from the Southern Ming, as he claims?"

Here he comes! It really is Hauge!

Fan Wencheng thought to himself.

Since the incident involving the plot to sow discord, a rift has developed between Hauge and Dorgon. Although they maintain a calm facade, the seeds of suspicion have already been sown.

Dorgon's sudden question at this moment spoke volumes.

Almost without hesitation, Fan Wencheng stood up immediately, bowed to Dorgon, and spoke with unwavering certainty:
"Your Highness, please be wise! I would give my life to guarantee that Prince Su's loyalty to the Qing Dynasty is as clear as day! He may harbor some resentment towards Your Highness or certain arrangements in the court, but he has absolutely no ulterior motives towards the Qing Dynasty and the foundation laid by Emperors Taizu and Taizong! If he were to lead troops abroad to resist the Ming army, he would certainly devote himself wholeheartedly and never allow the Ming army to cross the line! This is my heartfelt opinion, and it is also the inevitable result of human nature and reason!"

He paused, as if feeling it wasn't enough, and added, his tone even carrying a hint of confusion:
“Your Highness, Prince Su is the eldest son of the late Emperor, with the noble blood of the Aisin Gioro clan flowing through his veins. Moreover, he is a descendant of the leader of the ‘Jiangnu’ whom the Chongzhen Emperor of the Southern Ming hated to the bone! He and the Southern Ming have a blood feud of killing his father and destroying his country, and they are irreconcilable enemies! Tell me, how can anyone in the world pledge allegiance to an irreconcilable enemy?”

"Moreover, if he were to surrender to the Ming, what status would he have? What could the Southern Ming offer him that could compare to his princely position and banner authority in our Great Qing? This is simply out of the question!"

Fan Wencheng's words were sincere and his analysis was reasonable.

In his view, Dorgon's concerns about Hauge were completely unnecessary and even somewhat absurd.

Power struggles are one thing, but betraying one's nation and siding with one's mortal enemy is another.

Given Hauge's status and circumstances, there was absolutely no possibility of him surrendering to the Ming Dynasty.

Dorgon listened quietly to Fan Wencheng's impassioned speech, his face expressionless.

Only after Fan Wencheng finished speaking did he slightly twitch the corners of his mouth, revealing a faint smile that seemed both self-deprecating and relieved, and nodded:

"What Mr. Fan said is all reasonable. I have been overthinking. Perhaps I have been thinking too much lately and am seeing things too clearly."

He sighed softly, as if to exhale that inexplicable doubt:
“Mr. Fan is right. Hauge is, after all, a descendant of the Aisin Gioro family and Prince Su of the Qing Dynasty. I should not doubt him like this.”

That being said, Fan Wencheng keenly noticed the fleeting, indelible shadow in Dorgon's eyes when he said those words.

Deep down, the regent could never fully trust his nephew, who possessed great power, was also eligible for succession, and with whom he had already had public conflicts.

The shadow of that divisive scheme may never have truly dissipated; he merely suppressed this unease with reason, but subconsciously, his vigilance never wavered.

Today's visit may have been a genuine "stroll," but mentioning Hauge was probably not entirely unintentional.

However, since the prince himself had said it was "overthinking," Fan Wencheng naturally tactfully refrained from delving into the matter, and simply followed the conversation:
"Your Highness is busy with countless affairs of state and works hard for the country. It is only natural that you sometimes overthink things. Your Highness's understanding of Prince Su is a blessing for our Great Qing Dynasty and a foundation for the stability of the court."

Dorgon gave a noncommittal "hmm," seemingly unwilling to discuss the topic further. The two then chatted about trivial matters of the court, the allocation of funds and provisions, and other unimportant topics.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Dorgon stood up and said:
"Alright, Mr. Fan, please continue with your work. I should return to the palace now."

Fan Wencheng quickly stood up and respectfully saw him off:
"Your subject respectfully sees Your Highness off."

Dorgon waved his hand casually and walked outside.

Ahachu and the guards immediately followed. Reaching the door, Dorgon paused slightly, as if remembering something, and turned to Fan Wencheng, saying:
"There's no rush with the firearms, but you need to be careful. You won't be short of money or materials. If you encounter any difficulties, you can report them directly to me."

"Your subject obeys! Thank you, Your Highness!"

Fan Wencheng bowed again.

Dorgon said no more, turned around, and strode away from the Imperial Workshop, surrounded by Bayara.

The sunlight stretched his tall figure long, casting it onto the bluestone pavement, making him appear both dignified and seemingly carrying an indescribable sense of loneliness and heaviness.

Fan Wencheng straightened up and watched Dorgon's departing figure until he disappeared outside the courtyard gate. Only then did he let out a long sigh of relief, feeling that the back of his official robe was soaked with cold sweat.

Today's experience was truly thrilling.

He went back inside, sat down again, and stared into thought at the cup of tea on the table that had long since gone cold.

Dorgon's "leniency" towards the progress of firearms development, and Hauge's "unnecessary" concerns.
Is all of this merely a technique of superiors to control their subordinates and a result of their suspicious nature, or does it foreshadow that beneath the calm surface of Shengjing, certain undercurrents are quietly surging?
He shook his head, temporarily suppressing these chaotic thoughts.

The most pressing issue right now is how to solve this damn problem of replicating flintlock muskets.

After all, Dorgon's "tolerance" was limited, and if there was no progress for a long time, he might not be so lucky next time.

Thinking of this, Fan Wencheng sighed helplessly again.

To be honest, he really regretted taking the job.

However, this task was entrusted to him by Huang Taiji before his death, so how could he easily refuse it? (End of Chapter)