Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The chestnut horse ran tirelessly, or rather, it was fear and pain that drove it to dare not stop.

Lin Fan lay on the horse's back. After the initial jolting and panic, a deeper, more piercing cold and exhaustion enveloped him.

The wind lashed at his bare skin like a whip dipped in salt water.

The hard biscuits and gunpowder pouch in his arms were painfully digging into him, but he dared not let go, as if they were the last real connection between him and the bloody and chaotic world he had just escaped.

He didn't know how long he ran, nor where he was running to.

Before my eyes were only endless loess hills and plateaus, undulating like solidified waves.

The area is crisscrossed by ravines, with sparse vegetation, and occasionally a few withered trees wailing in the wind.

The sky remained that despairing leaden gray, making it impossible to discern the time.

The dust kicked up by the horse's hooves quickly turned him into a moving earthen man, with only his eyes still retaining a glimmer of lingering fear.

The chestnut horse finally slowed down, its breathing heavy, and the white breath it exhaled from its mouth and nose was as thick as fog.

It carried Lin Fan and instinctively turned into a relatively sheltered, dry ravine.

There were some withered grass and low shrubs at the bottom of the ditch.

The horse stopped, lowered its head to nibble on the dry, hard grass stems, its body drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably.

Lin Fan almost tumbled off the horse; his legs were weak and he could barely stand.

He slid down against a relatively steep earthen cliff, his heart still pounding, and the sounds of battle shouts still seemed to echo in his ears.

He fumbled to untie the tattered leather pouch for water from his waist—

This was the only thing that belonged to "himself" that he had brought from the post station; it also contained a small sachet of cold, earthy well water.

He took a small sip to moisten his chapped, bleeding lips and burning throat, not daring to drink more.

He didn't touch the hard biscuit in his arms for the time being.

He didn't know how long he would have to stay in the mountains.

He gripped the stolen knife tightly in his hand. The unfamiliar patterns and faint bloodstains on the scabbard made him feel nauseous and alienated, but the cold touch of the hilt brought a faint sense of security.

He took off his tattered courier's coat, which was covered in dust and bloodstains, revealing an equally thin and dirty inner garment. He turned the coat inside out, patted it off with difficulty, and wrapped it back around his body, barely managing to keep out the cold wind swirling in the ravine.

A fire must be lit.

This was the first clear thought Lin Fan had after calming down.

The cold will quickly rob him of his already meager strength, and even his life.

He looked around and saw some dead branches and dry grass at the bottom of the ditch.

There was no flint or steel, nor were any of the things Li Zicheng had given him.

He remembered the small leather pouch in his arms.

gunpowder.

He carefully untied the leather pouch and poured out a small amount of grayish-black powder into his palm.

The particles are coarse and the color is uneven, but it is indeed gunpowder.

He found a relatively flat stone and sprinkled the powder into a thin line.

Then, he tore off a relatively dry strip of fabric from his undergarment, rubbed it vigorously in the gray-black gunpowder, and embedded as many gunpowder particles as possible into the fibers before twisting it into a thin rope.

He needed to ignite it, but directly setting it on fire was too difficult.

He thought of a knife.

He drew his sword, the blade gleaming coldly in the dim light.

He found a piece of flint with a sharp edge and struck it hard with the back of his knife.

Sparks flew, but most landed on the damp soil and went out.

He tried repeatedly, his arms aching and numb, and finally, a few sparks landed on the thin rope soaked in gunpowder.

laugh--!

A brief but dazzling flash of light, accompanied by a slight popping sound, passed by. The cloth rope emitted a wisp of smoke and quickly burst into flames, igniting the surrounding dry grass and twigs!

Become!

Lin Fan's heart pounded, not with fear, but with excitement.

He quickly and carefully added more dry grass and twigs to the faint flame and gently blew on it.

The flames struggled and flickered, but finally slowly stabilized, licking the larger, withered branches and releasing precious heat.

He leaned against the edge of the earthen cliff, trying to get as close to the fire as possible, feeling the faint warmth seep into his cold body.

The firelight illuminated his young face, which was covered in dust and looked tired, but his eyes gradually regained focus.

He survived.

They escaped from a sudden and unexpected battle.

But what's next?

What happened to Li Zicheng? What about the post station workers?

Where are Wu Shuban and his men?

he does not know.

All he knew was that, according to the vague historical trajectory, the Yinchuan Post Station Incident was very likely a key turning point in Li Zicheng's life.

Was it killing an official? Or fleeing? Or both?

He touched the remaining gunpowder in his pocket.

Not much, use it sparingly, maybe it can create a few more moments of chaos, or... a hunt?

He remembered the blurry, wild goat-like figures he had seen on the distant mountain ridges along the way.

Food. Water. Shelter.

These are the three most basic things for survival.

He rested for a while, and once he had regained some strength, he began to explore the dry ditch, using the makeshift fire as a center.

The ditch wasn't deep, but it was winding, providing basic concealment.

He found a shallow, abandoned burrow in a depression in an earthen cliff. It was just big enough for one person to curl up in, and it was much better than being in the open for shelter from the wind and rain.

Water is a big problem.

The remaining water won't last more than a day.

He must find a new water source.

Looking around, all that could be seen was a small patch of muddy puddles in the ravine.

He stared at the muddy water, knowing the danger of drinking it directly.

He needs to prepare a method to purify it in advance.

He struggled to his feet and found a dead dwarf elm tree at the edge of the ravine. He carefully peeled off several pieces of dry, supple inner bark with a knife.

He lightly roasted the bark over a fire to make it more flexible, then carefully folded, stretched, and secured it with thin branches, barely managing to make a rough, cone-shaped container.

He dug up some relatively clean sand and collected small stones, first laying a layer of collected small stones at the bottom, then a layer of coarser sand, and finally carefully laying the finest layer of sand.

He knew that having charcoal would be better, but this was all he could do for now.

He scooped up the water from the muddy puddle and filtered it. Although the water was still murky, at least most of the mud and sand had been removed.

The water, once filtered, was poured into a bowl made from another piece of bark. It remained icy cold and had a raw, earthy smell.

He knew it had to be boiled.

However, bark bowls should not be exposed to open flames.

He remembered that old method.

His gaze swept across the bottom of the ditch, and he picked up a few small, fine stones without cracks. He wiped off the loose dirt with the corner of his clothes and threw them into the center of the fire.

The flames licked at the stones, gradually turning them red-hot.

He made a simple clamp from two sturdy tree branches and used it to lift a scorching hot stone from the fire.

The air seemed to distort slightly the moment the stone was removed from the flame.

He quickly immersed it in the water in the bark bowl.

"laugh--"

With a sharp bang, white steam suddenly rose up.

The scalding hot stone darkens in the water as the heat dissipates rapidly.

He repeated it several times, and the originally cold water in the bowl finally began to bubble, with a faint heat wave rolling on the surface.

A scent mingled with the scent of grass, trees, and dust wafted through the air with the moisture.

He looked at the bowl of hot water obtained in the most primitive way and felt the warmth emanating from the steam.

Knowledge, once again, carved out a tiny path to survival for him in a desperate situation.

As darkness fell, the night came early in the mountains and was frighteningly cold.

He moved the fire near the cave entrance, both to keep warm and to ward off any wild animals that might be there.

He tied the chestnut horse to a protruding rock next to the cave, where there was some dry grass.

The horse stood quietly, occasionally snorting.

Lin Fan ate half a piece of hard biscuit. The biscuit was so rough that it scratched his throat. He chewed it hard and swallowed it with a little hot water.

With something in my stomach, the chill seemed to dissipate a little.

He clutched his knife, huddled in the cave, listening to the howling wind and the crackling of the fire outside, too afraid to fall asleep completely.