Starting from 1618 of the Ming Dynasty

Chapter 155 A Visit

The boat returned to Dengzhou at dusk.

Lu Yan did not return to the yamen first. Instead, he had Fan Fu send the luggage back and then headed towards the governor's yamen with Zhao Changying and a personal guard.

Fan Fu had arranged for the gatekeeper of the yamen to deliver a visiting card beforehand, saying that the Assistant Magistrate was returning from his inspection tour of Ningyuan and would like to pay a visit to Lord Sun on his way, asking if it would be convenient for him. The gatekeeper replied that Lord Sun would be there in the evening, and that it was fine.

Upon entering the government office, the gatekeeper led them inside. After passing through two courtyards, they stopped outside a side room in the third courtyard and were told that Lord Sun was inside and asked to wait a moment.

Lu Yan told Zhao Changying and the guard to wait in the corridor while he went inside.

The room was small and simply furnished. Against the north wall was a desk with a thick stack of drafts, all unfolded and weighed down by paperweights. The edges were curled up, indicating they hadn't been laid out today but had been used as tools for a long time. Beside the window was a small table with an oil lamp on it. The wick was mostly burned out, but it wasn't completely dark yet, so the lamp only illuminated a small area, clearly showing the objects on the table while leaving the rest of the room to the fading light of dusk.

Sun Yuanhua stood behind the stack of sketches. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and glanced at Lu Yan.

He was thinner than Lu Yan had imagined, with slightly high cheekbones and deep-set eyes—the kind of face one would have from someone who spends long hours working at a desk. His hands rested on the edge of the desk, and there was a thin, old scar on his finger. It wasn't long, but it was dark in color, a burn mark—not from a single burn, but from multiple burns.

"Prefect Lu," he began, his voice low and halting, "a rare guest."

"I apologize for disturbing you, Lord Sun," Lu Yan bowed slightly, a simple greeting between peers, not the kind of greeting between a subordinate and a superior. "I was passing through Dengzhou and heard that you have been busy with artillery matters lately. I have long admired you and have come to ask for your help."

Sun Yuanhua listened to the "I've long admired you" for a moment, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the side, pushed out a chair from the table, and said, "Sit."

The two sat down.

Sun Yuanhua was behind the desk, and Lu Yan was in the chair diagonally opposite. The stack of sketches on the desk was spread out between the two of them, like a low wall that wasn't very thick. Their eyes could pass through it, but the atmosphere of their conversation was naturally buffered by that stack of papers.

Sun Yuanhua did not speak first; this was his habit—when someone came, they would state their purpose first, and then he would respond.

Lu Yan didn't beat around the bush and said directly, "Regarding the battle of Ningyuan, I made a special trip these past two days to check on the artillery positions on the city wall."

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Sun Yuanhua had a teacup beside him, but he didn't pick it up; he just placed his hand next to it and listened.

"Eleven rounds of cannon fire, thirty percent of which were misfires," Lu Yan continued. "I don't understand artillery, but I do know one thing. If we can hold our ground with thirty percent of the shots misfired, it means that none of the seventy percent that were fired were wasted."

Sun Yuanhua then raised his eyes and truly looked at Lu Yan, not scrutinizing him, but judging whether the words were flattery or genuine understanding.

If it's okay.

Lu Yan didn't continue speaking, stopping there and letting Sun Yuanhua finish his sentence with a single glance.

Sun Yuanhua picked up the teacup, took a sip, put it down, and said, "That fort in the north of the city was added on the spot." He said in a deep voice, without much emotional fluctuation, as if he were talking about something that had already happened. "In the first two days after it was set up, it had the most misfires. The gunner was an old soldier who knew how to operate the cannon, but he didn't know the ratio of powder particles. When he was loading, the gunpowder was not mixed evenly, so in the first few rounds, when the fuse was lit, the cannon didn't move, it just smoked."

"And then?" Lu Yan asked.

"Later, I went up myself and reassembled it in front of those artillerymen. They checked it once, and after reassembling it, it worked normally," Sun Yuanhua said. "But those two rounds of misfired. The Jin's horse-racing ramp was off course. We tried it once from the outer edge of the city gate tower." He paused for a moment. "That time when we entered the city, seven garrison soldiers died."

The study fell silent; no one spoke.

Outside the window, people were walking around in the backyard of the government office. The footsteps pounded on the stone path, circled around, and then disappeared into the distance.

Lu Yan did not express regret, nor did he offer any words of comfort. Those words would be useless to this person. He could tell that Sun Yuanhua was not asking for comfort when he mentioned these seven people, but rather that the matter was still weighing on his mind, and that he was simply stating a fact, not venting.

Sun Yuanhua glanced at him and said, "He's still here. The compensation for casualties during the defense of the city is based on those who died in battle. If you ask me if I blamed that old soldier, no," he said, "I learned the ratio of gunpowder pellets from my mentor Xu Guangqi. No one had taught him before, so it was my fault."

Upon hearing this, Lu Yan did not refute it, but simply nodded.

He took the small wooden box from his pocket, placed it on the table, pushed it toward Sun Yuanhua, and said, "Sir, this is a flintlock gun that I made in my own workshop in Dengzhou. Please take a look."

Sun Yuanhua lowered his head, glanced at the wooden box, and did not immediately take it. Instead, he looked at Lu Yan and asked, "Do you have your own firearms workshop in Dengzhou?"

"It's just a small-scale operation," Lu Yan said. "I wouldn't dare call it a workshop. It's just a few knowledgeable craftsmen getting together and experimenting in their spare time."

Sun Yuanhua sensed a hint of ambiguity in those words, but didn't expose it. He reached out, pulled the wooden box over, opened the brass clasp, took out the flintlock pistol, placed it horizontally in his palm, and looked down at it.

He examined it very carefully, not in a playful way, but in the way a craftsman would examine an object. From the muzzle of the gun barrel to the way the flintlock was fixed, from the curvature of the hammer to the thickness of the guard, he went down to every detail, leaving no stone unturned.

After looking at it for about half a cup of tea's time, he pointed the gun at the darkening sky outside the window, closed one eye, glanced at the sights, put it down, and said calmly, "The barrel is welded."

"Yes," Lu Yan said, "double-layered, with the inner and outer tubes rolled in opposite directions. The craftsmen who made it were former members of Qi Jiguang's army, and the welding technique was passed down from the Ordnance Bureau back then, with some improvements made by him."

"Mug explosion rate?"

"Of the more than three hundred guns produced so far, there's no record of them exploding," Lu Yan said. "But the gunpowder charge was controlled, 20% lower than the maximum. We traded range for safety. If you think this trade-off isn't worthwhile, sir..." "No," Sun Yuanhua interrupted him, his tone not a denial, but a way of cutting off the rest of the sentence, "On the battlefield, a gun exploding is more deadly than insufficient range." He placed the gun back on the wooden crate, rested his hands on it, glanced at Lu Yan, and asked, "Was this your own judgment, or the craftsman's?"

"It was my judgment," Lu Yan said. "The craftsmen initially wanted to maximize the amount of filling, but I was the one who told them to reduce it."

Sun Yuanhua didn't speak. He picked up the gun again, turned it over, and looked at the back of the flintlock clip. There was a fine engraving there, a mark that craftsmen usually left. He looked at the engraving, put it down, closed the wooden box, pushed it back to Lu Yan's side, and said, "Commissioner Lu, you came today just to let me see this gun?"

"Not just," Lu Yan said, "but the gun really needs to be examined by an elder." He paused, "I've been doing this for almost three years, and the biggest problem I've encountered isn't the craftsmen, nor the materials, but my own lack of knowledge. There are some things..."

west, Li, understands, but doesn't know how to turn Li into a tool. He raised his head and looked at Sun Yuanhua. "I haven't seen the things you used in those eleven cannons in Ningyuan in any books. I'd like to know what you were thinking."

After hearing this, Sun Yuanhua did not answer immediately. He lowered his head, pushed the wooden box to the edge of the table, picked up the teacup next to him, took a sip, and put it down. The bottom of the bowl made a soft, clear sound on the table.

The atmosphere between the two was more relaxed than when they came in, as if a layer of buffer material created by the stack of sketches had been quietly removed.

Sun Yuanhua said, "Commander Lu, there is something I would like to ask you directly."

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"Please speak, sir."

"For whom have you come today?"

The study light was burning quietly by the window, casting the shadows of the two people on the walls on either side, one high and one low, both very still.

Lu Yan didn't beat around the bush and said, "I'm not representing either side," he said, "I'm representing myself."

Sun Yuanhua looked at him and remained silent for about half a cup of tea's time.

Outside the window, the last vestiges of twilight had faded from the government office, and darkness had fallen. The oil lamp became the only light in the room, illuminating half of Sun Yuanhua's face in light and half in shadow. The deep wrinkles between his eyebrows were clearly visible, the marks of long-term frowning, not something that had appeared in the last year or two.

He didn't give Lu Yan an answer at that moment, but only said, "Let me think about it," he pushed the wooden box towards Lu Yan, "Take the gun with you," he paused, then added, "If you have time tomorrow, you can come again."

Lu Yan put away the wooden box, stood up, bowed, and said, "Sir, I apologize for disturbing you. I will come to visit again tomorrow."

He stepped out of the door, closing it behind him. In the corridor, Zhao Changying saw him emerge, pushed open the pillar he was leaning against, and walked over, whispering, "How was it?"

"It's planted," Lu Yan said in a low voice, not so that the guard next to him could hear, but only enough for Zhao Changying to hear, "Come again tomorrow."

Zhao Changying didn't ask any further questions and followed him towards the courtyard gate. The three of them left the governor's office and entered the completely dark streets of Dengzhou. The night wind carried the smell of the sea, unlike the lazy breeze during the day. The night wind was cool and strong, pulling up the hem of their robes and then letting them fall back down.

Lu Yan walked at the front, carrying the small wooden box in his hand. The light from the lantern, carried by the guards, illuminated the road ahead.

The light was on, but as people walked forward, the road behind them gradually darkened.