Rise of a Lonely City: From Exiled Prince to Ruler of the Nine Provinces

Located in western Beijing, at the foot of the Western Hills, this area was a crucial military stronghold accumulated by successive dynasties of the Great Xia Dynasty.

There are no sounds of battle here, only the dull smell of time, a mixture of rust, grease, and old wood.

The enormous cave-style warehouses are built against the mountain and stretch for miles. Their dark entrances are like the open mouths of a giant beast, swallowing up the thin winter sunlight.

Xiao Chen did not ride in the imperial carriage, but wore only a dark blue casual robe. Behind him were Mo Qi, who was also in casual clothes, as well as Han Lie and Zhao Tie, who had changed into casual clothes but still stood up straight.

"Your Majesty, this is Warehouse No. 3 of Class A."

The old captain in charge of guarding the armory was already waiting there. His hair and beard were all white, and his voice trembled as he kowtowed. "Inside here are old cannons from the Shenji Battalion left over from the Jiajing era, as well as replicas of the Hongyi cannons that were traded back from the Portuguese during the Wanli era."

The heavy iron gate was pushed open by a dozen strongmen, making a screeching sound.

Dust rushed towards him, but Xiao Chen waved it off and went inside first.

In the dim light, rows of dark, cast-iron cannons lay silently on wooden frames, like the skeletons of dead giant beasts.

The cannons are mottled, the inscriptions are blurred, and some are even covered in red rust.

On the ammunition rack next to it were piles of gunpowder bags that had long since hardened and cracked, as well as piles of iron balls of different sizes and shapes—those were artillery shells, some of which were so rough that they looked like they had just been fished out of the furnace.

"Is this my national treasure?" Xiao Chen reached out and ran his fingertips over the cold barrel of a cannon.

The texture was rough and dull, with a disappointing heaviness.

"Your Majesty," the old captain explained cautiously, "this...this cannon served its purpose in the battle of Liaodong. Although it's a bit old, it's well-maintained and still usable..."

"Can it still be used?"

Han Lie snorted coldly, stepped forward, and forcefully tapped the cannon barrel.

The sound was muffled, indicating that there was already some loosening inside.

"Sir, if we actually take this cannon out and fire it, it might explode on the spot, sending our own men flying first!"

The old general blushed and was speechless.

Xiao Chen walked to another pile of weapons.

There were thousands of horn bows and thousands of crossbow bolts piled up there.

He picked up a bow at random and tested the string.

The bow's force was weak, and the ox horn at the bow tip had already cracked.

"What is the draw weight of this bow?" Xiao Chen asked.

"About... three shi (a unit of dry measure)," the old captain replied.

"San Shi?"

Zhou Meng's rough voice rang out from outside the door. He and Wang Dashan followed him in, and upon hearing this, they scoffed, "Your Majesty, the horn bows used by the Northern Di cavalry start at five stones! Those Tatar warriors, with bows of seven or eight stones, can pierce two layers of iron armor! Our three-stone bows can't even penetrate a cowhide shield at fifty paces!"

Xiao Chen picked up another crossbow bolt.

The arrowhead is rusted, the fletching is damaged, and the shaft is bent.

He then picked up a part of a crossbow; the winch was rough, the mechanism was rusted, and even the lubricant had dried up and hardened.

"Zhao Tie," Xiao Chen called out.

Zhao Tie immediately stepped forward, took the weapons, and skillfully inspected them.

His hands, which had been working with machinery for years, touched every part, and his brows furrowed more and more.

"Your Majesty," Zhao Tie finally raised his head, his face grave, "this is not just a matter of maintenance. It's a matter of craftsmanship."

He pointed to the bow: "The bow frame is made of mulberry wood, not the mulberry or yew wood used in the horn bows of the Northern Di. The sinew and horn are glued together with fish glue, which has dried out over the years and crumbles at the slightest touch. Not to mention the arrows, the iron is of inferior quality, and the arrowheads have not been quenched; they are as soft as noodles."

He then walked to the replica of the Hongyi cannon and gestured with his hand to indicate the thickness of the barrel: "The wall thickness is uneven, the rifling... oh, this is still a smoothbore cannon. There are too many pores during casting, so barrel explosions are common. Moreover, there is no standardized ammunition; each shell has to be found on the spot, and the propellant ratio depends entirely on the craftsman's mood."

Xiao Chen walked on in silence.

He then went into another warehouse.

What's piled up here are early samples of so-called "advanced firearms"—the three-barreled gun and the swift-fire gun—as well as a batch of "Franklinan" mother-and-child cannons bought from Western merchants.

But in Xiao Chen's eyes, these "advanced" weapons were also alarmingly outdated.

The three-barreled gun was cumbersome, had a slow rate of fire, and poor accuracy; the Thunder Gun, although capable of continuous fire, was cumbersome to load and prone to jamming; while the Western breech-loading cannons, although more sophisticated than the domestic ones, had a slow rate of fire, short range, and were complicated to operate, requiring specialized gunners.

"My bows and crossbows are not as powerful and accurate as those of the barbarians."

"My firearms are not as sophisticated and sharp as those of the West."

"My craftsmen are still hammering away, while in Liège in the West, water-powered forging hammers have already been invented."

"My soldiers are still lining up to fire their guns, while the Northern Barbarian cavalry have already learned to charge in formation."

Xiao Chen's voice echoed in the empty armory, carrying an extreme sense of suppressed anger and sorrow.

"This is the Great Xia? This is the military equipment that has been passed down for hundreds of years?!"

He kicked a nearby ammunition box hard.

The rotten wooden box instantly fell apart, and the cheap gunpowder inside kicked up a cloud of ash.

"Old sergeant, do you really think these weapons can protect our country?"

Xiao Chen stared at that old face, "Using these pieces of scrap metal to stop the iron cavalry of the Northern Barbarians? To fight against the powerful ships and cannons of the West? Go tell me, on what basis?!"

The old captain was so frightened that he collapsed to the ground, trembling all over, unable to utter a single word.

Han Lie, Zhou Meng, Wang Dashan, and others also fell silent.

They had fought bloody battles and knew the strengths and weaknesses of the weapons they wielded.

Looking at this warehouse full of "national treasures," I felt nothing but endless humiliation.

Only Zhao Tie, amidst the swirling dust, slowly raised his head, his eyes flashing with an almost fanatical flame.

"Your Majesty," Zhao Tie suddenly spoke, his voice not loud but unusually firm, "these things are ruined."

He walked up to Xiao Chen, knelt on one knee, and picked up a piece of iron slag that had fallen from the cannon with both hands.

"But I refuse to submit."

"The Northern Barbarians' bows are made of better materials. The Western cannons are made with more refined craftsmanship. This isn't predetermined; it's simply beyond human capability!"

"Your subject is willing to sign a military pledge!"

Zhao Tie suddenly looked up, his eyes burning. "Give me three months, no, give me one hundred days! I will use the scrap materials from the Beijing Garrison and the existing tools in the Ministry of Works to build new guns and cannons for Your Majesty! If I cannot do it, I will offer my head to you!"

Xiao Chen looked at the fire in Zhao Tie's eyes, and then at the renewed fighting spirit in the eyes of Han Lie, Zhou Meng and the others.

He knew that the silence that filled the warehouse was finally about to be broken.

"One hundred days?" Xiao Chen's lips curled into a cold smile. "Zhao Tie, I'll give you six months."

"But what I want is not just one or two samples."

Xiao Chen's gaze swept over the tens of thousands of decaying weapons, as if he wanted to burn them all.

"What I want you to design is standardized equipment that can be mass-produced, is inexpensive, and easy to operate, yet will terrify the Northern Di cavalry and shock Western merchant caravans!"

"I want you to train not a few dozen artisans, but thousands! You must establish a complete system encompassing mining, smelting, forging, assembly, and inspection!"

"From today onwards," Xiao Chen gestured to the massive armory, "I will rename this place the 'Ordnance Research and Manufacturing Bureau.' You, Zhao Tie, will be its director. Han Lie, assign one thousand elite Shenji Battalion soldiers to guard Zhao Tie. Anyone who dares to obstruct will be executed without mercy!"

"Your Majesty, we obey!" The three responded in unison, their voices shaking the roof tiles.

Xiao Chen took one last look at the warehouse full of chronic illnesses, then turned and strode out of the dark armory.

The sunlight outside was a bit dazzling, but he knew that the new era belonging to the Great Xia Dynasty would truly begin to be forged from this moment, from this pile of scrap iron.

The lament of the armory ends here.

The thunder of the empire is about to sound.