Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The air froze instantly.

Han Jinhu and the others held their breath, watching Lin Fan nervously.

They had witnessed Lin Fan's shrewdness and his "tricks" along the way, but now, facing these men carrying weapons who were clearly ruthless and ready to fight, none of them dared to make a move.

Lin Fan forced himself to loosen his grip on the knife hilt, lowered his eyelids slightly to avoid the other person's piercing gaze, and spoke in a deliberately humble tone, tinged with fear and exhaustion:

"Replying to your question, sir, this knife... I found it by the edge of a forest during my escape. Perhaps... perhaps it was dropped by some fleeing soldier. I thought it could be used for self-defense, so... so I kept it."

As he spoke, his body twitched slightly, much like a refugee terrified by the chaotic soldiers.

"Found it?" The foreman scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "A standard-issue waist knife, reasonably well-maintained. You think you just picked it up? You seem suspicious. Are you a spy for the government troops? Or perhaps a guard who escaped from some manor?"

Several riders behind him also gripped their sword hilts, their gazes hostile.

Han Jinhu's forehead was covered in sweat. He wanted to speak up for him, but he didn't know what to say.

Just then, a child who had been unconscious and feverish on the mule cart at the back of the procession suddenly began to convulse violently, making strange hoarse noises in his throat, and his face turned bluish-purple.

The woman looking after the child screamed in fright and was at a loss for what to do.

This sudden change diverted attention.

The foreman frowned, glanced at it, and cursed, "Bad luck!"

But the tense atmosphere eased slightly as a result.

Lin Fan's mind raced, and he immediately seized the opportunity, taking half a step forward, his face showing anxiety:

"Sir, I know a little about folk remedies. That child might be having convulsions; we can't delay!"

He was being half-true and half-false. He knew some about treating febrile seizures in modern first aid, but more importantly, he wanted to demonstrate that his knowledge was "useful" rather than "questionable."

The foreman looked him over suspiciously: "You know medicine?"

"I learned a few tricks from an old man on my way to escape famine. He can't cure serious illnesses, but he might be able to help in emergencies."

Lin Fan spoke sincerely, but his gaze quickly swept over the convulsing child and the panicked woman.

Han Jinhu quickly chimed in, "Absolutely! This Brother Lin saved us on the road and knows a bit about herbs!"

The leader glanced again at the child in critical condition, then finally waved his hand impatiently and said:

"Go now! If you can't cure him, I'll settle the score with you!"

Lin Fan said no more and quickly walked to the mule cart.

The child was a seven or eight-year-old boy, so thin he was skin and bones. At that moment, his jaw was clenched, his limbs were spasming, and he was breathing rapidly.

He quickly examined the patient and determined that the seizures were caused by a high fever.

While instructing the woman to hold the child's hands and feet to prevent injury, he quickly untied his almost empty water bag, poured the last bit of water onto a relatively clean rag, and applied it to the child's forehead and armpits to help cool him down.

At the same time, he pressed the child's philtrum firmly and had him lie on his side to keep his airway clear.

These methods are simple, yet effective.

After a short while, the child's convulsions gradually subsided, and his breathing became easier. Although he was still unconscious, his complexion improved considerably.

The woman expressed her deepest gratitude, and Han Jinhu and the others around her looked at Lin Fan with even more admiration.

The junior leader had been observing coldly. Upon seeing this, the suspicion on his face lessened slightly, but his scrutinizing gaze remained.

"You've got some connections, I suppose." He snorted, then looked at Han Jinhu. "Have you all thought this through? Are you going to follow our King Wang and eat his grain, or continue waiting in this ravine to starve to death, die of disease, or be slaughtered by defeated soldiers and bandits?"

Han Jinhu exchanged glances with several young men.

They had been fleeing all the way and were already at their wits' end. Although they didn't know the origins of this group of people, they seemed more organized than the fleeing soldiers, and... the words "there is food to eat" were an irresistible temptation for hungry people.

"We... are willing to follow Your Majesty!" Han Jinhu gritted his teeth and clasped his hands in a fist salute.

Other young adults echoed this sentiment.

The women and children were bewildered, but seeing that their husbands had made a decision, they could only silently follow.

A smug look appeared on the leader's face, and his gaze fell on Lin Fan again:

"And you? You don't look like a farmer, but you've got some weird talent. This knife..." He paused, "...no matter how you got it, leave it here as your pledge of allegiance. If you come with us, at least you'll have a way to survive."

Surrendering the knife is both a way to eliminate potential dangers and a form of control.

Lin Fan understood that he had no choice.

He silently unfastened his waist knife and handed it over with both hands.

The moment the knife left my hand, I felt a void, but then a sense of relief washed over me.

This blood-stained blade, forged in the bloodshed at Yinchuan Post Station, to some extent represents a complete break with his brief career as a post station clerk.

The foreman took the knife, weighed it in his hand, and casually tossed it to one of his men behind him.

"You're smart enough to know your place. From now on, I'll call you 'Doctor Lin.' You'll work with the supply train for now, taking care of the wounded and sick. If you have any ulterior motives, hehe..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the threat was obvious.

Thus, Lin Fan and Han Jinhu's group were drawn into this peasant army that flew the "King" flag.

The team continued northward, and Lin Fan was assigned to a dilapidated truck specifically for carrying the wounded and sick, where he teamed up with another veteran, "Old Chen," who claimed to know a little about herbal medicine and had a limp.

This force was a detachment under Wang Jiayin, an early leader of the peasant army. It consisted of about five or six hundred people, mostly farmers who could not make a living, deserters from the border army, post station workers, and bankrupt handicraftsmen.

They had just withdrawn from a small-scale conflict with local militia in the south. Although they had achieved some success and seized some grain, they had also suffered casualties, and their morale was not very high.

Lin Fan soon witnessed what the true living conditions of "bandits" were like.

The procession moved haphazardly, with families, mules, vehicles, and people all mixed together, creating a chaotic scene resembling a migrating refugee group.

The so-called discipline was mainly maintained by the personal authority of the leaders, both big and small, and the original promise of "sharing meals together".

If they managed to grab some food, they would eat and drink to their hearts' content; if they couldn't, they would suffer from hunger.

The wounded and sick were haphazardly placed on bumpy wagons, lacking medical care and medicine. Wound infections and the spread of disease were commonplace, and the mortality rate was alarmingly high.

Lin Fan's title of "Lin the Physician" quickly became well-deserved.

He used his limited knowledge to do his best to treat the wounded.

He cleaned the wounds with boiled and cooled water, bandaged them with relatively clean strips of cloth he could find, and instructed the lightly wounded to move their limbs to prevent blood clots.

For fever and diarrhea, in addition to using a limited number of herbs, he emphasized clean drinking water and isolation. Although the effect was limited, the survival rate was actually higher than that of Old Chen's "shamanistic rituals" and random administration of unknown herbal juices.