Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

He had seen Lin Fan's eyes pleading for survival in the desperate situation at Yinchuan Post Station, his focused gaze as he muttered to himself while holding a broken stirrup in the stable, and his calm, almost cold, calculating look as he faced a pile of rubbish raw materials in the warehouse on a snowy night.

This young man is not as simple as he seems.

"Let's not talk about Wang Ziyong for now," Li Zicheng waved his hand, then gestured with his chin towards Lin Fan. "I know what you're capable of. But these guys you brought..."

His gaze swept over Han Jinhu and the others. "We'll see what they're made of. Grain doesn't just fall from the sky. If you want some, show us what you've got."

He pointed to a makeshift stove made of stones and clay at the edge of the camp—

That was where the blacksmiths in the camp worked; several mediocre craftsmen were around the furnace, repairing broken swords and spears.

"There's material, charcoal, and a bellows there. You take some men and fix this knife."

Li Zicheng took the badly worn saber from his waist and threw it on the ground, scabbard and all.

The sound of the knife hitting the ground was dull, and the scabbard was covered with dirt and dried blood.

Lin Fan bent down, picked up the knife, and drew the blade.

This is a standard-issue waist knife of the Ming army, but it has been weathered many times. The blade is curled, there are several obvious cracks on the blade, and the rope wrapped around the handle has come loose and fallen off, revealing the rusty iron handle underneath.

The materials are so-so, but there's still hope.

"How long?" Lin Fan asked.

"One hour," Li Zicheng said. "It'll be dawn then, and I'll need it."

Lin Fan didn't waste any more words and led Han Jinhu toward the simple blacksmith's forge.

Lao Geng, Shuanzhu, and Tian Ergou stood still, nervously watching Lin Fan's retreating figure.

The soldiers in the camp also gathered around, curiously watching this newcomer, this young man whom the general "knew," to see what abilities he possessed.

The fire in the furnace blazed up, the bellows hissed and roared, and the embers gradually turned from dark red to bright red, the rising heat distorting the surrounding air.

Lin Fan did not act immediately, but carefully examined the material of the blade, the direction of the cracks, and the degree of curling of the blade edge.

Then, he began to direct Han Jinhu.

"Make the fire bigger, and spread the charcoal evenly."

"Heat the blade to a dark red color; it shouldn't be too bright, otherwise the grains will become coarse."

"When reheating, keep the blade away from the charcoal and take your time."

Han Jinhu was a blacksmith by trade and had a solid foundation in craftsmanship, but he had never been exposed to Lin Fan's "traditional quenching" method before.

During his time at Huanglong Mountain, Lin Fan had already taught him some basic principles and operations.

At this moment, the two worked in perfect harmony, one holding the tongs and the other pumping the bellows, the firelight reflecting off their focused faces.

The soldiers in the camp watched intently.

They had seen blacksmiths forge iron before, but they had never seen such a "refined" method of forging.

They didn't understand terms like "grains," "tempering," and "stress," but the knife was repeatedly heated red-hot in the furnace, forged, and quenched in water, emitting hissing white steam. Then it was carefully tempered and polished, the whole process carried an almost ritualistic seriousness and caution.

Li Zicheng stood not far away, arms crossed, watching silently.

His eyes were calm, but something flickered slightly deep within them.

One hour later.

Lin Fan handed the repaired waist knife to Li Zicheng with both hands.

The blade had been re-sharpened, and the edge had been restored to its sharpness, reflecting a cold light in the firelight.

The cracks were forged and healed; although the marks remained, they no longer affected the structure.

The handle was re-wound tightly with leather straps, and it felt solid and powerful in my hand.

Li Zicheng took the knife and tapped the blade with his knuckles.

The sound was crisp, with a long, resonant metallic echo, unlike the muffled and loose sound before.

He swung his knife at a standing wooden stake beside him.

Click!

The wooden stake snapped instantly, leaving a clean break.

Only a faint white mark remained on the blade; there was no chipping or nicking.

"What a fine blade!" The soldiers around couldn't help but cheer.

Li Zicheng sheathed his sword, and his gaze toward Lin Fan softened slightly.

"The craftsmanship is quite good," he said. "Much better than back in Yinchuan."

Lin Fan wiped the sweat from his forehead and said modestly, "It's because Brother Han's cooking is so good."

Han Jinhu quickly waved his hand: "No, no, no, it was Brother Lin who taught me this method. I didn't have this skill before!"

Li Zicheng didn't dwell on the topic. He looked at the sky; the east was already showing the first hint of dawn.

"It's almost dawn," he said. "You all rest and have something to eat. We'll talk about the rest when you're awake."

He waved, and a soldier came over and led Lin Fan and his group of five toward a few empty shacks on the edge of the camp.

"Brother Lin, we've... stayed behind?" Tian Ergou asked in a low voice, his voice filled with disbelief and surprise.

"It should be," Lin Fan said.

He looked back and saw Li Zicheng still standing there, whispering something to several of his leaders.

The flag bearing the character "闯" (Chuang, meaning "venture") fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, the ink characters on it standing out prominently in the dim morning light.

Han Jinhu suddenly whispered:

"Brother Lin, when you were quenching that knife just now, I noticed a few people around General Li whose eyes looked a bit off. One of them, a tall, thin guy, the one who spoke up for you earlier, looked at you with a kind gaze. But the other two, one with a scar on his face and the other with a goatee, looked at you with... a shrewd, calculating look."

Lin Fan paused slightly, then continued walking as if nothing had happened.

"I know," he said.

He experienced similar looks at Huanglong Mountain.

That was scrutiny, weighing, and also... apprehension.

Any newcomer with "special skills" becomes an unstable variable within the existing power structure.

Some will see him as an ally, some as a threat, and many more will remain on the sidelines.

He needs time, needs to prove his worth, and even more so, needs to find his place in this unfamiliar, untamed "venture camp."

The shack was simple, but at least it could keep out the wind and rain.

The ground was covered with dry grass, which smelled musty and dusty.

A soldier brought over a pot of steaming hot porridge and a few dark, coarse grain cakes.

The porridge was so thin you could see your reflection in it, and the flatbread was as hard as a rock, but for someone who had been starving for days, it was undoubtedly a delicacy.

Tian Ergou held the bowl, his hands trembling. He took a sip, and it was so hot that he gasped for breath, but he couldn't bear to put it down.

Old Geng and Shuanzhu ate in silence, not fast, but chewing each bite carefully, as if savoring something precious.

Han Jinhu ate a few bites, then suddenly put down his bowl and looked at Lin Fan: "Brother Lin, do you think... General Li will really take us in? He didn't say for sure just now."

"Yes," Lin Fan mumbled, chewing on a hard biscuit. "He let us rest and gave us food, which means he took us in. If we didn't want it, he would have kicked us out long ago."

"Then why didn't he just say so?" Tian Ergou asked, puzzled.

"Some things don't need to be said too explicitly." Lin Fan took a sip of porridge, feeling the warmth slide from his throat into his stomach, dispelling some of the chill. "He needs manpower, he needs skills. We need a way to survive, we need protection. Each gets what they need, it's all in tacit agreement."

"So from now on... we'll follow General Li?" Han Jinhu's voice was tinged with excitement.

Lin Fan did not answer immediately.

He put down his bowl and looked at the sky outside the shack, which was gradually brightening.

The morning mist swirled among the mountains, and the flag bearing the character "闯" (Chuang, meaning to break through) appeared and disappeared in the mist, like a burning, inextinguishable flame.

"Go with it," he said. "At least for now, it's the best option."

What he didn't say was—

Li Zicheng, a figure who rose and fell several times in the torrent of history and eventually stirred up the world, was at this moment just a small "rebel" struggling to survive in the cracks.

His team consisted of only a few hundred men, lacking food and clothing and with rudimentary equipment. They were chased all over the mountains by government troops.

But he possessed something that Wang Ziyong, Wang Jiayin, and others lacked—

That's not bravery, nor cunning, but a kind of power that can still attract and unite people even in dire straits.

Lin Fan couldn't explain what it was.

But he knew that in the history books of another time and space, it was this very power that allowed Li Zicheng to rise from a lowly courier to the stage that would change history.

And he, this wandering soul who stumbled in by accident, now stands on the edge of this stage.

They carried knowledge from another world, along with several companions who were also struggling to survive in the chaos.

What can it change?

he does not know.

But he knew that from this moment on, he was no longer the beggar huddled by the roadside in Yinchuan waiting to die, nor the "Lin Langzhong" struggling to survive in the cracks of Wang Ziyong's army.

He is Lin Fan.

A newcomer to the camp.

A craftsman who can repair knives, quench them, and create "heavenly thunder".

And all of this is just the beginning.