Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

The team returned to Ziwu Ridge five days later in the evening.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed the valley a dark red. The sentries at the valley entrance were the first to spot the group—first a few scouts on horseback, then the "闯" (Chuang, meaning to break through) flag blackened by gunpowder smoke, and then a long, fully loaded caravan of mules and horses returning home.

"They're back! The general is back!"

The sentry's shouts echoed through the valley, startling the birds roosting in the pine forest. In a moment, the entire valley was in an uproar.

The remaining craftsmen poured out of the blacksmith's shop, their hands still covered in coal dust and rust. The elderly, women, and children peeked out from the shacks, their faces showing a mixture of surprise and joy. The woman in charge of the clinic, along with several apprentices, stumbled towards the valley entrance, carrying stretchers and medicine chests.

Gu Jun'en stood before the central command tent, watching the banner draw ever closer, and let out a long sigh of relief. Behind him, the leaders who had stayed behind also breathed a sigh of relief—the general had returned, won the battle, and brought back so much.

When the troops returned to camp, the women who stayed behind all came out to look around.

Han Jinhu's wife squeezed at the front—she was chosen from among the newly surrendered refugees after the group settled in Ziwu Ridge. She usually helped in the kitchen making pancakes and cooking porridge; she was quick and efficient, and had a loud voice.

She tiptoed through the crowd and spotted her man immediately—Han Jinhu was driving a captured mule cart, his face streaked with black and white, grinning broadly.

"Tiger!" she cried out, her voice trembling with tears.

Han Jinhu reined in the mule, jumped off the cart, and hugged her tightly.

"Why are you crying? I'm perfectly fine!" he said in a muffled voice, his eyes also reddening.

Such scenes played out repeatedly at the valley entrance. Those who returned alive embraced their loved ones, laughing and crying. Those who didn't make it stood blankly in the crowd, watching the procession gradually disappear, their eyes moist and their lips trembling.

Lin Fan rode on his horse, following behind Li Zicheng, slowly making his way through the crowd. His gaze swept over the figures embracing, and then over those waiting in vain.

More than thirty brothers were left forever in the Blackwater Gully. Would their parents, wives, and children be able to wait until tonight? He knew they wouldn't. But he also knew that this was war. Every time they went to war, some would never return.

His gaze fell on Li Zicheng's back. The general hadn't smiled much since his triumphant return. His back remained ramrod straight, but the fingers gripping the reins trembled slightly.

Lin Fan knew what this trembling meant. He had walked the road to victory many times, but each time, he could count how many faces were missing behind him.

On the open ground in front of the central command tent, the spoils of war were unloaded one by one.

The seized grain was packed into sacks and piled up into a small mountain.

Weapons and armor were laid out on the ground, categorized and ready for Gu Jun'en to inventory and store. The prisoners were led aside, strung together with ropes, and squatted on the ground, trembling.

Li Zicheng dismounted and walked to the pile of spoils. He casually picked up a captured saber, examined the blade, and then put it back.

"Your Majesty's Grace".

"Yes, I'm here." Gu Jun'en greeted him.

"Of the captured grain, first allocate a portion to the families of our fallen comrades. Also," Li Zicheng paused, "give each family of fallen comrades five taels of silver as a form of compensation. Tell them it's from the general."

Gu Jun'en was taken aback. "Five taels? General, isn't that too much? We can manage ourselves—"

"Not much," Li Zicheng interrupted him, his voice low but undeniable. "One life, five taels of silver—that's hardly enough. They gave their lives for the rebel camp, leaving behind orphans and widows, whom the rebels feed. That's the rule."

Gu Jun'en opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing more, only nodding: "Yes, I will take care of it immediately."

Li Zicheng turned around, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before finally settling on Lin Fan. Seeing that Lin Fan appeared unharmed, Li Zicheng relaxed slightly and nodded to him.

"Your Majesty, take all these wounded soldiers to the infirmary and give them the best medicine. Tomorrow, convene a meeting of all battalion commanders." He cupped his hands towards several veteran battalion commanders in the crowd and said, "You old men have worked hard guarding the camp. Settle down in your respective battalions first, and I'll see you in the central command tent early tomorrow morning."

After saying this, he ordered the prisoners to be taken away and properly settled, and then hurriedly returned to the camp with his personal guards.

The crowd gradually dispersed. Some returned to their camps to eat and rest, while others were taken away to unload goods and move grain. Those who could not wait for their loved ones were led to a place where someone accompanied them and spoke to them in hushed tones.

Lin Fan didn't rush back to the blacksmith's shop. He stood in the open space outside the central command tent, watching the valley gradually swallowed by twilight. The prisoners were tied to hitching posts, squatting in rows, some weeping softly, others trembling.

Looking at the prisoners, he suddenly remembered someone.

Tian Ergou. That sweet-talking, quick-footed, but timid young man. He too was left behind by Li Zicheng while fleeing for his life. Back then, he was also afraid, bewildered, just like these prisoners huddled on the ground now. But later, he followed him through the most dangerous storms, endured the hungriest times with him, and then died in the plague.

He turned around and walked towards the central command tent.

Inside the tent, Li Zicheng had already finished reading the casualty list handed to him by Gu Jun'en. His fingers tapped lightly on the list, his face expressionless.

"Master Lin, is something the matter?"

"General," Lin Fan stopped in front of him, "I have a question for you. What are your plans regarding these prisoners?"

Li Zicheng raised his head and looked at Lin Fan. He didn't answer immediately, but instead asked, "What do you think?"

Lin Fan carefully chose his words: "I've heard that some rebel armies incorporate prisoners into their camps. Others give prisoners travel expenses to help them go home. We've captured quite a bit of supplies, so perhaps—"

"Why not release them and let them go home to farm?" Li Zicheng finished speaking for him.

Lin Fan nodded.

Li Zicheng did not reply. He stood up, walked to the tent entrance, and looked at the prisoners huddled beside the hitching posts in the twilight.

"Master Lin, if you let them go, where can they go? Ask them how many people are left in their families, whether the wheat in the fields has grown, whether the tree bark has been stripped off, and whether they still have any clay to dig up."

"But they are also poor people, some of whom were forcibly conscripted by the imperial court—"

"I know they are poor people." Li Zicheng turned around and looked at him. "But let me ask you, who commanded the army in the battle of Liushujian? It was Cao Wenzhao, Hong Chengchou's trusted general. Where is Cao Wenzhao from? Datong. He, like you and me, grew up on this Loess Plateau. But he has never hesitated to kill our brothers in the rebel army."

Lin Fan did not respond.

"Believe it or not," Li Zicheng walked back behind the desk and sat down, "if we lose, if any of our brothers are captured, not one of them will survive. Hong Chengchou will hang their heads on the city gate of Jiazhou, so that all those who want to rebel can see what this will be like."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a knife: "We don't want to be thieves, but the court forces us to. Now that we're in this position, we can't just kneel and beg for mercy. Laying down the knife makes one a Buddha; holding a knife makes one a human being."

Lin Fan wanted to say something, but swallowed the words back.

He knew Li Zicheng was telling the truth. In this world, kindness is often the most luxurious thing.

He also knew that most of the prisoners were innocent—many of them were poor people conscripted by the imperial court, with wives, children and elderly parents at home, and were also pitiful people struggling on the brink of starvation.

But he also knew that if he released them, many of them would be conscripted by the court again, and they would be attacked again. It was a dead end.

"General, I understand."

Li Zicheng said nothing more.

Lin Fan stepped out of the tent. It was completely dark. The campfires in the valley flickered, illuminating the huddled figures of the prisoners. He watched for a moment, then turned and walked towards the blacksmith's shop.