Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

Early April, Fugu.

Wang Jiayin received a letter.

The letter was not written by Li Zicheng, but by Hong Chengchou.

When Wang Jiayin opened the letter, Wang Ziyong was standing right next to him.

He watched as his elder brother's face changed from calm to gloomy, and then from gloomy to ashen.

"Brother, what did that old dog Hong Chengchou say?"

Wang Jiayin handed him the letter.

Wang Ziyong took it and quickly glanced at it. His expression changed.

Hong Chengchou's letter was extremely polite. He first praised Wang Jiayin for his "extraordinary bravery and far-reaching reputation for righteousness," and then said that he had "long admired his illustrious name, but regretted not having met him." Then he abruptly changed the subject—

"However, there is one thing I do not understand. You have taken control of Fugu and opened the granaries to distribute grain, winning the hearts of the people. This is truly a righteous act. But do you know what Li Zicheng said about you at Ziwu Ridge?"

Next, Hong Chengchou devoted a large portion of the text to recounting what Li Zicheng "supposedly" had said.

It is said that Li Zicheng believed Wang Jiayin's occupation of Fugu was a death wish, that Li Zicheng privately mocked Wang Jiayin for being "brave but reckless," and that Li Zicheng planned to take advantage of the opportunity to march south and seize Wang Jiayin's old territories in Yichuan and Yanchang when the government army besieged Fugu.

At the end of the letter, Hong Chengchou wrote: "You and I are indeed enemies. However, I respect you as a man of integrity and cannot bear to see you being plotted against. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of writing this letter, hoping that you will consider my advice."

After reading the letter, Wang Ziyong clenched his fists so tightly they cracked. "Li Zicheng! That son of a bitch! Two-faced! Brother, we can't let him get away with this!"

Wang Jiayin did not respond.

He walked to the window and looked at the old locust tree in the yard.

The locust flowers are in bloom, a tree full of white blossoms, their sweet fragrance carried by the wind through the window.

He was thinking about something.

Why did Hong Chengchou write this letter?

Is it really out of "respect for him as a man of principle," and an inability to bear seeing him betrayed by Li Zicheng? What a joke. Hong Chengchou was an official; he was a thief. Between officials and thieves, there is only life-or-death struggle, no mutual respect.

What was Hong Chengchou after?

To sow discord.

When those two words popped into Wang Jiayin's mind, his heart calmed down.

Hong Chengchou had a keen understanding of the relationship between Li Zicheng and Hong Chengchou—nominally allies, but in reality, each harboring their own agendas.

Wang Jiayin wanted to become the leader of the Shaanxi rebels, while Li Zicheng wanted to maintain his independence.

There was cooperation between the two, but also suspicion. Hong Chengchou wanted to add fuel to the fire of this suspicion and make it burn.

"For personal use," Wang Jiayin said.

"Big brother!"

"Burn this letter."

Wang Ziyong was stunned. "Burned? Brother, that brat Li Zicheng..."

"I don't know if Li Zicheng said those things," Wang Jiayin turned to look at his cousin. "But I know that Hong Chengchou told me this not for my own good. He wanted me to fall out with Li Zicheng. If we fell out, he could deal with them one by one."

Wang Ziyong opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

"Remember this," Wang Jiayin's voice was low but clear, "In this world, you can believe anyone's words except those of the government troops. Hong Chengchou is the governor of Yansui, and his troops are stationed in Jiazhou, less than two hundred li from Fugu. Why doesn't he come and attack directly? Because he's not confident. He's waiting. Waiting for us to fight amongst ourselves."

Wang Ziyong's face flushed red. "Brother, I..."

"I know you mean well," Wang Jiayin patted his shoulder. "But this matter ends here. The letter is burned, and the words remain unspoken. As for Li Zicheng, things will continue as before. He advised me to abandon Fugu, and I didn't listen; that's my business. What he says about me at Ziwu Ridge is his business. As long as he doesn't bring troops to attack me, he's an ally."

Wang Ziyong lowered his head. "Yes."

He turned to leave, but Wang Jiayin called him back.

"For my own use, there's one more thing. Strengthen the city's defenses. Prepare more rolling stones and logs, and stockpile more grain, fodder, and gunpowder. The government troops' scouts have already appeared around Fugu. Hong Chengchou won't have to wait long."

"yes!"

Wang Ziyong strode away.

Wang Jiayin stood alone by the window, gazing at the locust tree in bloom.

The wind blew the petals down, scattering them like a light snowfall.

He didn't tell Wang Ziyong that he actually believed what Hong Chengchou said in his letter.

He believed that Li Zicheng did say those words—not the exact words, but the meaning behind them.

Because Li Zicheng had already made it very clear in his reply to him that Fugu was a dead end and could not be occupied.

Did Li Zicheng genuinely advise him to give up Fugu, or was he afraid that if he occupied Fugu, his power would grow too strong?

he does not know.

But he knew that no matter what Li Zicheng's intentions were, they couldn't afford to turn against him right now. With government troops pressing in, if the rebel army were to fight amongst themselves, they would be courting their own destruction.

As for the future...

We'll talk about the future later.

---

Mid-April, Ziwu Ridge.

The ice and snow in the valley have completely melted.

The stream began to flow again, making a pleasant babbling sound.

On the sunny hillside, large patches of tender green sprouted from the withered grass, and clusters of unknown wildflowers bloomed here and there, white, yellow, and purple, as if someone had casually sprinkled a few dots of paint on this grayish-yellow land.

Lin Fan squatted on the hillside behind the blacksmith's shop, in front of him was a small patch of newly reclaimed land.

The land wasn't large, only a few acres, and it was cleared out by Han Jinhu and a few apprentices during their training breaks.

The soil was carried up from the foot of the mountain, mixed with wood ash and decomposed fallen leaves, and its color was much darker than the surrounding yellow soil.

He was holding a bunch of sweet potato vines.

This was obtained by Li Zicheng's men from the direction of Xi'an Prefecture.

The men sent out disguised themselves as merchants and bought a batch of sweet potato vine seedlings at a market outside Xi'an. They wrapped the roots in a damp cloth, put them in bamboo baskets, and transported them back to Ziwu Ridge at top speed.

Two horses died on the road, but most of the vine seedlings survived.

Lin Fan had never grown sweet potatoes before.

In his previous life, he studied materials science, not agriculture.

But he knew the characteristics of sweet potatoes—they are drought-resistant, can grow in poor soil, and can thrive in any environment.

It can be planted on hillsides, sandy land, and wasteland.

Moreover, the yield is extremely high, with one mu yielding dozens of shi (a unit of dry measure), several times that of the five grains.

He also knew that in northern Shaanxi, where the land had been parched and barren for years, sweet potatoes could be a lifesaver.

"Master Lin, can this thing really produce potatoes?" Han Jinhu squatted down beside him, holding a handful of vines in his hand, his face full of doubt. "It looks like sweet potato vines to me, but it doesn't quite look like them."

"It's not a sweet potato, it's a yam." Lin Fan planted a vine in the soil, carefully covered it with soil, and gently pressed it down. "Sweet potato leaves are heart-shaped, while yam leaves are palmate. Look closely."

Han Jinhu looked down at the vine seedling in his hand. Sure enough, the leaves were forked like a hand. He scratched his head. "This thing... is it tasty?"

"It tastes better than tree bark," Lin Fan said.

Han Jinhu stopped asking questions. He followed Lin Fan's example and planted the vine seedlings one by one into the soil.

The two worked in silence.

The sun gradually rose higher, its rays warming my back.

The sound of artillery training echoed in the distance, one shot after another, startling the birds roosting in the pine forest.

Birds circled above the valley, chirping in discontent, before flying away into the distance.

"Brother Lin, when do you think we can harvest these sweet potatoes?" Han Jinhu wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"If it's early, it'll take three or four months. If it's late, it'll take five or six months."

"How long?"

"Grain isn't a firecracker that explodes as soon as it's lit." Lin Fan straightened up, looking at the patch of land where the vines had just been planted. "But once they grow and produce sweet potatoes, we won't have to rely on scavenging grain to survive. This small plot of land can yield several thousand catties without any problem. We can save some for seed and plant them again next spring. And the year after that. One day, this valley will be covered with sweet potatoes."

Han Jinhu's eyes lit up as he imagined the scene. "Then we won't be afraid of a famine?"

"I'm not afraid anymore."

Lin Fan didn't mention that, in his memory, crops such as sweet potatoes, corn, and potatoes, which came from the Americas, were gradually introduced to China in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, changing the landscape of Chinese agriculture and feeding hundreds of millions of people.

He didn't know how long he would live in this era, or how much he could change.

But he knew that he had planted more than just a few vines; he had planted a hope.

A hope that will free the people of this land from having to gnaw on tree bark, dig up grass roots, and eat clay.

In the distance, Zhang Nai ran up the hillside, panting heavily.

"Master Lin! The general requests your presence! We have guests!"

"What kind of guest?"

"I don't know him. He's dressed like an ordinary person, but his accent doesn't sound like a local. Mr. Gu is questioning him."

Lin Fan patted the mud off his hands and followed Zhang Nai toward the central command tent.

Inside the central tent, a middle-aged man dressed in a gray cloth short coat sat in the guest seat, holding a bowl of tea in his hands, his expression reserved and respectful.

His face was dark, and his hands were covered in calluses, making him look like an old farmer who had worked in the fields for many years.

But his eyes looked off—too alert.

A true old farmer wouldn't have that kind of look in his eyes.

Li Zicheng sat in the main seat, saying nothing. Gu Jun'en stood in front of the middle-aged man, asking him questions.

"You said you're a merchant from Xi'an Prefecture, wanting to buy our steel knives?"

"Yes, yes." The middle-aged man nodded repeatedly. "I run a blacksmith shop in Xi'an Prefecture. I've heard that Ziwu Ridge produces excellent steel, and the swords made from it are even stronger than the standard-issue swords of the government troops. So I'd like to buy a batch of goods to sell in Xi'an. The price is negotiable."

"How do you know that Ziwu Ridge produces good steel?"

"I heard it from... I heard it from others. It's all over Xi'an Prefecture. They say that General Li Zicheng has a Master Lin under his command who can smelt steel and make cannons. I'm also in the ironware business, and I got really itchy to try it out, so..."

"You actually risked coming all the way to this remote mountain forest?" Gu Jun'en interrupted him. "How do you, a blacksmith from Xi'an, know the exact location of Ziwu Ridge? Who told you? Who showed you the way?"

Sweat beaded on the middle-aged man's forehead. "I...I traveled with a grain caravan. They had a stopover in Bao'an County; I gave them money, and they brought me here..."

Gu Jun'en was about to ask another question when Li Zicheng raised his hand.

"What's your name?"

"My surname is Zhao, Zhao Si."

"Zhao Si." Li Zicheng stood up, walked up to Zhao Si, and looked down at him. "You say you're an ironware dealer. I ask you, what kinds of iron are there?"

Zhao Si was taken aback. "Iron... is divided into pig iron and wrought iron..."

"Anything else?"

"And...and refined steel..."

How is hundred-times-refined steel made?

Zhao Si opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Li Zicheng asked no more questions. He turned around and said something to his personal guards outside the tent.

"Search him. From head to toe, don't miss a single item."

Zhao Si's face instantly turned deathly pale. "General! General! I really am a merchant! I..."

His personal guards rushed in and pinned him to the ground.

The items found were scattered all over the floor.

A few silver ingots, a short knife for self-defense, a few travel permits, and a bag of dry rations.

There was also a pen, a small piece of ink, and several neatly cut sheets of paper.

The paper was blank; nothing was written on it. But the fact that a "blacksmith" carried pen, ink, and paper was the biggest flaw in itself.

Li Zicheng picked up the pen, looked at it, and then picked up the papers, examining them carefully against the light.

The paper was fine paper, pure Xuan paper from Xuancheng. Ordinary people simply couldn't afford this kind of paper. He had seen people in the county government use this kind of paper when he was a courier at Yinchuan Post Station.

"Zhao Si." Li Zicheng put down the paper, his voice not loud, but it made Zhao Si tremble. "You are Hong Chengchou's man."

This is not a question, it is a statement.

Zhao Si collapsed to the ground, trembling violently, unable to utter another word.

That night, Zhao Si was taken out of the valley.

Li Zicheng did not kill him, but instead had him blindfolded, carried by mules to a place a hundred miles away, and dumped by the side of an official road.

A letter was also slung over the mule's back; it was written by Gu Jun'en and addressed to Hong Chengchou.

The letter was short, containing only a few sentences: "To Commander Hong: I am grateful for your kindness in sending an envoy. The envoy has been returned unharmed. Ziwu Ridge is a remote area with high mountains and treacherous roads. Commander Hong is busy with many affairs of state, so there is no need to send another envoy. If Commander Hong is willing, we can meet on the battlefield someday, and Li Zicheng will certainly welcome you with open arms."

After Gu Jun'en finished writing the last character, he blew on the ink to dry it and handed it to Li Zicheng for inspection.

Li Zicheng read it from beginning to end, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"'Welcoming someone with shoes on backwards'... Your Majesty, that's an insult without using any vulgar language."

Gu Jun'en smiled slightly. "Hong Chengchou was a scholar. Scholars can understand this."

Li Zicheng sealed the letter and handed it to his personal guard. Then he looked at Lin Fan.

"Master Lin, what do you think of what happened today?"

"Hong Chengchou has his eye on us," Lin Fan said.

"He's been watching us for a long time," Li Zicheng said calmly. "Last year in Qingshigou, Shanxi, I helped Zhang Xianzhong launch an ambush against him. He's a vengeful man. Now he's free to act."

"What does the general intend to do?"

"Let him keep an eye on things," Li Zicheng said. "We'll do our own thing. The mountains are high and the roads are long. It won't be that easy for Hong Chengchou to take over Ziwu Ridge in one go."

Lin Fan nodded.

But he knew in his heart that Hong Chengchou was not Wang Jiayin.

He won't attack head-on; he'll wait.

Wait for cracks to appear inside the Ziwu Ridge, wait for the dissatisfaction of old brothers like Liu Zongmin with Li Zicheng to reach its peak, and wait for the most suitable opportunity.

Only then will he reveal his true fangs.

When will that be?

Lin Fan didn't know.

But he knew that before that day came, he had to build more cannons, forge more steel, and grow more sweet potatoes.

This will ensure that when Hong Chengchou bares his fangs, this team has sharp enough teeth to bite back.

In the distance, the songs of the new army could be heard.

"How can you say we have no clothes? We share our garments with you. The king is raising an army; let us prepare our spears and halberds..."

Lin Fan walked back to the blacksmith's shop. The furnace was burning brightly. The hammer was still striking.

The sweet potato vines lay quietly in the soil under the moonlight, waiting for the day they would take root and sprout.