Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

Meanwhile, in Yichuan County, southeast of Yan'an Prefecture.

In an abandoned mountain god temple, Wang Jiayin sat by a campfire, his face gloomy.

He was the oldest and strongest peasant army in northern Shaanxi, commanding over ten thousand men. He roamed freely in the Yan'an and Qingyang areas, and the government was powerless against him.

But he's been having a tough time lately.

Having suffered a defeat at the hands of Zhang Xianzhong in Shanxi, Hong Chengchou did not continue his pursuit but instead returned to Shaanxi to begin the purge of Wang Jiayin.

Hong Chengchou's military tactics differed from those of other government generals—he did not rush into decisive battles, but instead steadily and cautiously compressed Wang Jiayin's room for maneuver.

Today they occupy a village, tomorrow they cut off a supply route; it's like a dull knife cutting flesh, causing Wang Jiayin's power to gradually shrink.

Even more critically, Hong Chengchou also resorted to appeasement.

He sent people to post notices everywhere, saying that as long as people lay down their weapons and return to their hometowns to farm, the court would not hold them accountable for their past actions.

Many hungry people who were already dragged into this situation secretly ran away after seeing the notice.

Wang Jiayin's army dwindled from over ten thousand at its peak to less than six thousand.

"Brother, that old dog Hong Chengchou has taken over two of our villages again." A burly man with a face full of scars strode into the mountain god temple, his voice like muffled thunder.

His name was Wang Ziyong, a cousin of Wang Jiayin, and also his most capable general.

Last year, I was besieged by government troops in Huanglong Mountain and almost died there, but fortunately I managed to break through the siege.

He led his remaining troops on a journey of hundreds of miles, finally finding Wang Jiayin's main force and reuniting with them.

"Understood." Wang Jiayin replied without looking up.

Wang Ziyong plopped down beside the campfire, grabbed a half-cooked sweet potato, and took a big bite.

"Brother, we can't keep hiding like this. Hong Chengchou is pressing us harder and harder, and the morale of the brothers is getting lower and lower. We need to fight a battle to boost our spirits."

"Who are we going to shoot?" Wang Jiayin looked up, the firelight illuminating his thin, gloomy face. "Hong Chengchou? He'd love for us to go. Ansai? Bao'an? Both county towns have city walls. We don't have cannons. Are we going to use human lives to fill the gaps?"

Wang Ziyong was stumped. He knew his elder brother was right.

The peasant army's biggest weakness was its ability to siege cities.

Without artillery or specialized siege equipment, even the lowest county town walls could only be breached by sheer numbers of lives.

Human life is their most precious asset.

"If Lin Fan were here, that would be great," Wang Ziyong suddenly blurted out.

Wang Jiayin frowned: "Lin Fan? The one who repaired weapons in your camp last year and then disappeared?"

"That's him." Wang Ziyong put down the sweet potato, wiped his mouth, and said, "Brother, that kid is really capable. He's good at repairing knives and can even make gunpowder. It's a pity that he disappeared when the government troops surrounded and suppressed him in Huanglong Mountain. Later, I heard that he surrendered to Li Zicheng and made weapons for Li Zicheng in Ziwu Ridge, and even made cannons."

"Cannon?" Wang Jiayin's gaze sharpened.

"A cannon. Although it's a small cannon, it can fire and launch an iron ball hundreds of paces away." Wang Ziyong's tone carried a hint of envy. "That kid Li Zicheng has struck gold."

Wang Jiayin remained silent.

Of course he knew Li Zicheng, the courier who fought his way out of Yinchuan.

Last year, Li Zicheng crossed the river into Shanxi and joined forces with Zhang Xianzhong. They ambushed Hong Chengchou's vanguard at Qingshigou and made a name for themselves.

Later, he returned to Shaanxi and settled down in Ziwu Ridge.

It is said that he now has two or three thousand men under his command. Although they are far less powerful than Wang Jiayin, they are more elite and have Lin Fan, who can make cannons.

"For our own use, what do you think? Can we poach Lin Fan?" Wang Jiayin asked slowly.

Wang Ziyong shook his head: "It's difficult. I heard that Li Zicheng saved his life, and he is completely devoted to Li Zicheng. Last year, Zhang Xianzhong tried to recruit him to his face, but he refused."

Wang Jiayin fell silent again. The campfire crackled, and sparks flew into the darkness above the temple.

"Brother, I have an idea," Wang Ziyong leaned closer. "We can't poach Lin Fan, but we can learn from him."

"Learn from him?"

"He knows how to make cannons, right? Let's make some too. Although we don't have anyone as capable as Lin Fan in our camp, we do have a few blacksmiths. Let them try. If they can't make cannons, they can make some explosive rockets, right? I saw the power of those things with my own eyes last year at Huanglong Mountain. The government army's cavalry were blown to bits."

Wang Jiayin pondered for a moment and then nodded.

"You handle this. No matter what method you use, I want to see our own explosive rockets before summer."

"yes!"

Wang Ziyong accepted the order and left.

Wang Jiayin sat alone by the campfire, gazing at the flickering flames, his expression shifting between light and shadow.

He knew that simply detonating rockets wouldn't change the fundamental disadvantage.

Hong Chengchou was a famous general with shrewd military skills, so he wouldn't give him many opportunities.

To survive and thrive in this chaotic world, one must find a place that truly belongs to oneself, like Li Zicheng did at Ziwu Ridge, and put down roots there.

But although Shaanxi is vast, where is his Ziwu Ridge?

---

Ziwu Ridge.

In February, the snow lingered in the valley, and the wind was biting cold. But the new army's drills never stopped for a single day.

The whistle blew before dawn.

Five hundred new recruits crawled out of their blankets and lined up in the cold wind.

Zhang Nai was the fastest-rising soldier in the new army.

This 18-year-old boy from Mizhi was as thin as a bamboo pole when he first arrived, and he couldn't even lift a 20-pound stone weight.

Now, wearing the steel armor he cherishes as his life, he can run ten miles of mountain road without falling behind while carrying a 30-pound load.

Lin Fan had some impression of this young man.

"Zhang Nai, are you from Mizhi?" Lin Fan called out to him after training that day.

"Yes, Master Lin!" Zhang Nai stood ramrod straight, his voice booming.

"Who else is in the family?"

Zhang Nai's eyes dimmed slightly. "Reporting to Master Lin, they're all gone. My father starved to death the year before last, and my mother died of plague last year. I also had a younger sister, but we got separated while fleeing the famine; I don't know if she's still alive."

Lin Fan was silent for a moment. "Do you want to learn to read?"

Zhang Nai was stunned. "You can read?"

"Learn to read," Lin Fan said. "Not just reading, but also arithmetic, map reading, distance measurement, and wind observation. A true gunner needs more than just the ability to ignite and fire. He needs to know what kind of shell to use for what kind of target, what kind of propellant to use at what distance, and how much to adjust the angle based on the wind direction. Experience alone isn't enough; you have to learn."

Zhang Nai's breathing became rapid. In his entire life, he had never imagined that he would be able to learn to read.

In his mind, literacy was something for scholars, something for gentlemen.

He was just a tenant farmer's son and a bandit soldier; how could he be worthy of knowing how to read?

"Master Lin, I...can I learn it?"

"Whether you can do it or not depends on you," Lin Fan said. "Starting tomorrow, come to me after training every day, and I'll teach you. Not just you, everyone in the artillery unit will have to learn. Anyone who can't learn will leave the artillery unit."

"I'll learn!" Zhang Nai blurted out. "I'll definitely learn!"

Lin Fan nodded, turned around and left.

Zhang Nai stood there, watching Lin Fan's back, something shining in his eyes.

He couldn't explain what it was.

It wasn't gratitude, it wasn't awe; it was something more complex.

He thought of his deceased parents, his lost sister, and the villagers who had fallen on the road to escape famine.

He didn't know why he was living.

Before, I lived simply to survive; later, I lived to repay Master Lin's kindness in recognizing my talent.

Now, Master Lin is going to teach him to read.

He needs to learn to read. He needs to learn to measure distances, observe the wind, and read maps.

He wanted to become a true gunner, a gunner who could strike fear into the hearts of the government troops.

Not for any other reason than to prevent those poor people like his parents from starving to death, from fleeing famine, and from cooking and eating their own children.