Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

In the autumn of the second year of the Chongzhen reign, in Shaanxi, at Ziwu Ridge.

Lin Fan stood silently beside the newly built blast furnace in the valley, gazing at the flames spewing from the furnace opening.

He has just built his first steel cannon.

In this desolate wilderness, they achieved the leap from iron to steel using the most primitive methods.

This is undoubtedly a breakthrough that could change the nature of warfare.

But he couldn't be happy.

Tian Ergou is dead.

He died in a plague that could have been avoided.

He was only seventeen. Before he died, he asked Lin Fan to burn some paper money for his parents. Lin Fan burned it. But could that paper money really reach the other world? He didn't know.

Han Jinhu walked over and handed him a freshly roasted sweet potato.

"Brother Lin, have something to eat."

Lin Fan took the sweet potato and took a bite. It was scalding hot, but he couldn't taste anything.

"Brother Han, tell me, what are we risking our lives here, forging swords, cannons, steel... for?"

Han Jinhu paused for a moment, then scratched his head: "To...survive?"

"Live on..." Lin Fan murmured, repeating these three words.

Yes, we must survive.

In this cannibalistic world, simply surviving is the greatest luxury.

But he knew that simply surviving was far from enough.

They need hope.

We need a goal that goes beyond simply "surviving".

He raised his head and looked at the distant mountains.

As dusk settled, the mountains appeared as dark as ink.

A few wisps of smoke rose from the direction of the camp, and the sounds of people and dogs barking could be faintly heard.

That was the sound of life.

He didn't know what that goal was.

But he knew that before he found it, he had to keep swinging the hammer, keep burning the furnace, and keep turning the knowledge from that other world, bit by bit, into the power of this era.

Even if that power is as small as a firefly.

But if there are enough fireflies, they can also illuminate the night sky.

---

In the winter of the second year of the Chongzhen reign, in Pingyang Prefecture, Shanxi Province.

Zhang Xianzhong stood on a high slope, watching the winding southward procession in the distance, a familiar, enigmatic smile on his face.

His team is much larger than it was a few months ago in Xizhou.

Although the ambush of Hong Chengchou's vanguard at Qingshigou was only a minor victory in the eyes of true experts, in the eyes of various rebel armies and starving people who could not survive, the name "Eighth King" had been gilded with an aura of being able to fight against government troops.

Small groups of rebels and refugees continued to come to join him, and his forces swelled from more than three thousand when he left Xizhou to nearly six thousand.

With more people, food becomes scarce.

Although Shanxi was richer than Shaanxi, it could not withstand years of severe drought and locust plagues, not to mention the repeated plundering by government troops and various rebel armies like a comb.

Zhang Xianzhong knew he couldn't stay in Shanxi any longer.

We need to find a different place.

His gaze turned to Henan, across the Yellow River.

"Brother, the boats are almost ready." A lean, wiry man with sharp eyes rode up to us.

His name was Zhang Xianyi, a cousin of Zhang Xianzhong, and one of his most trusted generals.

Zhang Xianzhong nodded, but did not speak immediately.

He gazed at the Yellow River winding like a ribbon below the mountain, his eyes flickering, lost in thought.

Zhang Xianyi had followed him for many years and knew that his elder brother's expression meant he was planning something big, so he waited quietly to the side without saying a word.

After a long silence, Zhang Xianzhong suddenly spoke up: "Xianyi, tell me, what can our six thousand men accomplish after crossing the river?"

Zhang Xianyi thought for a moment and cautiously replied, "Henan is richer than Shanxi, and its government troops are fewer. If we go there, we should be able to make a breakthrough."

"To break through..." Zhang Xianzhong clicked his tongue, as if savoring the meaning of the word, "How do you mean to break through? Like in Shanxi, striking here and there, grabbing and running?"

Zhang Xianyi was stumped by the question.

Zhang Xianzhong did not wait for his reply.

He gazed at the hazy, barely visible horizon across the Yellow River, a shrewdness flashing in his eyes that seemed incongruous with his rugged appearance.

"Xianyi, I'm thinking about something." His voice was low, so low that only the two of them could hear it. "We've fought our way from Shaanxi to Shanxi, and then from Shanxi to Henan. We've been fighting all along, and we're all just bandits. The government troops call us bandits, and we ourselves feel like bandits too."

"What's wrong with being a bandit?" Zhang Xianyi asked, puzzled. "When the government troops chase us, we run. When they retreat, we come out again. We're free."

"Freedom?" Zhang Xianzhong sneered. "The result of freedom is being chased forever. We may be well-fed today, but who knows where we'll starve to death tomorrow. This is how it is for us while we're alive, and it will be the same for our brothers after we die. Our descendants will all be bandits."

Zhang Xianyi fell silent. He knew his elder brother was right. Bandits, though they sounded carefree, were in reality just rootless duckweed.

It drifts wherever the wind blows. When the wind gets strong, it scatters.

"So, what does Big Brother mean...?"

"I want to live a different life." Zhang Xianzhong's gaze deepened as he looked into the distance, as if trying to pierce the gray horizon. "It's not just about seizing food and territory. I want to... conquer a place, establish a foothold, and let my brothers who follow me have land to cultivate, food to eat, and houses to live in. I don't want them to have to worry about the government troops chasing after them every day."

Zhang Xianyi was stunned.

He had never heard such words from his elder brother.

This doesn't sound like something a bandit leader would say.

He seems like someone who...is destined to rule the world.

"Brother, do you want to be the emperor?" he blurted out.

Zhang Xianzhong laughed heartily, his laughter carrying far across the open hillside.

After laughing, he patted Zhang Xianyi on the shoulder.

"The emperor? That's too far away. Let's focus on doing this right now."

He turned his horse around and galloped down the mountain.

"Let's go! Cross the river!"

Zhang Xianzhong's troops chose a section of the Yellow River with a relatively slow current within Mianchi County as the crossing point.

This is not Guandu. There are no government troops heavily guarding the opposite bank, only a few abandoned watchtowers and a small squad of local garrison soldiers who dare not show their faces.

Despite being called a "ferry," there were no decent boats at all.

A few months ago, when Li Zicheng crossed the river, there were still a few dilapidated fishing boats that could be found.

When it was Zhang Xianzhong's turn, even his dilapidated fishing boat was gone.

His six thousand men used makeshift wooden rafts, sheepskin rafts, and anything else that could float on water.

Door panels, roof beams, gourds tied together... a motley collection, a truly spectacular sight.

On the river, thousands of rafts raced against each other.

People shouted and horses neighed, creating utter chaos.

People kept falling into the water, screaming as they were swept downstream by the murky river.

Zhang Xianzhong stood on the largest raft, looking at the chaotic yet spectacular scene, but he did not laugh.

He gazed at the land on the opposite bank that was getting closer and closer, repeatedly pondering that thought in his mind.

Henan, Huaiqing Prefecture, Zhangde Prefecture, Weihui Prefecture... Luoyang, Kaifeng.

He silently recited these place names in his mind, as if he were caressing an invisible treasure map.

But he also knew that although Henan was rich, it was not unclaimed land.

The imperial court also had troops, vassal kings, and deeply entrenched gentry forces here.

It won't be easy to gain a foothold here.

As the raft docked, Zhang Xianzhong was the first to jump into the knee-deep mud and water, and strode onto the riverbank.

---

Henan, Guide Prefecture.

A village without a name.

Zhang Xianzhong's cousin, Zhang Xianyi, was ordered by Zhang Xianzhong to lead a few capable brothers to sneak into the heart of Henan to gather intelligence on the deployment of government troops, the defenses of prefectures and counties, and the whereabouts of Li Zicheng.

This mission did not originally require passing through Guide Prefecture.

They were traveling southwest along the old course of the Yellow River, heading towards Luoyang.

But a sudden heavy snowfall caused them to deviate from their route.

"Brother Zhang, there's a village up ahead." One of the brothers pointed to a few houses that were faintly visible through the snow.

Zhang Xianyi squinted and looked at it.

There was no smoke from the chimneys.

This is unusual—on a snowy day, even the poorest families would light a fire to keep warm.

"Go check it out. Be careful."

Several people rode their horses closer to the village.

The village was deathly silent. It wasn't that there were no people. There were. But they preferred no one to be there.

Under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village, there is a large iron pot.

All that remained at the bottom of the pot was a pool of cold, snow-soaked ashes.

On the surface of the pot, the grayish-white oil and residue froze into twisted scabs, and a very small, childlike hand poked out from those icy scabs, pointing towards the gray sky.

Zhang Xianyi glanced at it only once before turning away and vomiting violently.

"Brother Zhang... over there..." a brother said, his voice trembling as he pointed into the village.

Zhang Xianyi suppressed the churning in his stomach and continued walking forward.

He saw a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.

A woman squatted at her doorstep, clutching a dark, indistinct object in her arms. She was gnawing on it. Hearing the sound of horses' hooves, she looked up, her eyes empty like two dry wells. A dark red, frozen substance clung to the corner of her mouth.

Zhang Xianyi didn't know how he left that village.

He was riding his horse, his body trembling like a leaf, not because he was cold.

The woman's empty eyes kept replaying in his mind.

He'd seen dead people. Having fought so many battles alongside Zhang Xianzhong, what kind of horrific scenes hadn't he witnessed?

He didn't even flinch amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

But this time, it's different.

"Brother Zhang, shall we... go back?" one of the brothers asked in a low voice.

Zhang Xianyi did not answer.

Looking at the heavy snow, he suddenly remembered what Zhang Xianzhong had said to him before crossing the river: "Xianyi, I want to live a different life. Not just about seizing food and territory. I want to conquer a place, establish a foothold, and let the brothers who follow me have land to cultivate, food to eat, and houses to live in. We don't have to worry about the government troops chasing us every day."

He didn't understand at the time.

Bandits are just bandits, why would they want to establish a foothold?

Now he understands.

If they can't stand firm, if the world continues like this, what that woman is holding will one day become themselves.

"Let's go," Zhang Xianyi said hoarsely, spurring his horse into the snow.

The snow fell heavier and heavier.

It covered the village, covered the iron pot, covered the woman, and covered what she was carrying.

But some things, once seen, can never be forgotten.