The sun completely sank behind the western mountains, leaving only a last sliver of dark red on the horizon.
Lights gradually illuminated the city walls of Xi'an.
Inside the city's workshops, the furnaces burned all night long; outside the city's military camps, the shouts of drills had barely faded when the sound of night patrol clappers began to ring out.
Further away, on the opposite bank of the river, in the palace of Luoyang, Li Jingang was studying the map left by Xu Shou by candlelight.
Meanwhile, in Chengdu, Jiannan, after receiving a secret letter from Li Jingang's messenger, Yang Yan summoned his trusted confidants overnight, the glint of swords flashing in the candlelight.
The world is like a game of chess, with each side making its move.
But during this brief period of peace, each side is cultivating its territory deeply—cultivating the land, cultivating people's hearts, and cultivating the sword that will determine the future outcome.
Zhao Muyun stood on the city wall, the night breeze brushing against her face.
He unconsciously stroked a newly cast cannonball in his hand; it was cold and heavy, with a number carefully engraved on it by the craftsman: No. 37, Class A.
“After autumn…” he murmured to himself.
When the time comes, on which piece of land will this cannonball explode?
He didn't know.
But he knew that when it exploded, the world would undergo a true upheaval.
As night deepened, the sky was filled with starlight.
The sharpening of the sword has only just begun.
One month later.
In the early morning mist, the thirty blast furnaces of the "Hundred Crafts Workshop" stand along the river, with black smoke and steam rising in a mingled manner.
The sounds of hammers, bellows, and shouts were deafening.
In front of the largest blast furnace, Zhao Muyun stood side by side with the shirtless old furnace master.
The flames spewing from the furnace mouth reflected red on everyone's faces, and iron ore, limestone, and charcoal were being poured in at the feeding port in precise proportions.
"Grand Commander, if this furnace is successfully completed, it will be the first successful application of the 'steel-making method' you mentioned!"
The old furnace master's voice was hoarse but excited: "According to your formula, it should yield 800 jin of wrought iron!"
Zhao Muyun stared intently at the color of the flame inside the observation hole: "The timing is crucial. Remember, the best time is when the flame core turns from red to bluish-white and sparks fly in willow-leaf shapes."
Two hours passed in agonizing anticipation. When the sun reached its zenith, the furnace temperature reached its peak.
"Open the furnace—!"
The gate was pulled up, and molten iron, glowing red-hot, surged like lava into the square ceramic trough.
Four strong craftsmen immediately inserted long-handled iron rods and vigorously stirred the mixture.
The molten iron reacted violently with the air, causing the carbon to oxidize. In an instant, sparks exploded like thousands of golden chrysanthemums, illuminating the entire workshop.
Zhao Muyun squinted and observed closely—the sparks were of uniform size, and the explosions were crisp and continuous.
It's done!
"stop!"
The stirring stopped abruptly.
Dark brown slag floats on the surface of the molten iron; skimming it off reveals the bright silvery molten metal.
This is no longer pig iron, but "fried iron" with a moderate carbon content.
"Enter the standard!"
Molten iron is ladled into standardized clay molds and cooled into regular iron billets.
The first blank was pulled out of the clamp for quenching, and with a "hiss," steam filled the air.
Lu Da slammed his hammer down—
"clang!"
The iron billet stretched out without cracking at all.
"It's done! Grand Commander, it's done!" The old stove-maker knelt down, tears streaming down his face.
The surrounding craftsmen cheered enthusiastically.
Zhao Muyun stroked the warm iron billet; its texture was uniform, and the sound it made when struck was clear and resonant—this was qualified low-carbon steel raw material.
He turned to the clerk and said, “Record in detail: For the third furnace, feed the materials at 3:45 AM, open the furnace at 1:15 AM, and stir for 15 minutes.”
"Three loads of ore, one and a half loads of lime, and two loads of charcoal. Twelve blanks were produced, ten of which were qualified. Two cracked blanks were stored separately, and the cause was analyzed."
“All participating craftsmen will be rewarded with one tael of silver and half a catty of meat. The head of the furnace will receive an additional five taels of silver.”
The cheers grew louder.
After leaving the blast furnace area, Zhao Muyun went to the gunpowder workshop next door.
The workshop owner, Old Man Huo, was frowning at a pile of unburnt medicinal powder.
"Grand Commander, the new formula is 30% more potent, but it will cause the user to become mute two or three times out of ten..."
"It's due to uneven distribution of impurities." Zhao Muyun picked up a pinch of powder. "Three steps to solve: First, purification. Recrystallize the saltpeter, distill the sulfur, use willow wood for the charcoal, and control the kiln temperature..."
He explained the process in detail, and the old man with the fire urgently ordered his apprentice to take notes.
"Second, wet grinding. The stone mill is ground with water for twelve hours, which is explosion-proof and even."
"Third, granulation. Sun-drying and sieving yields uniform granules, resulting in more thorough combustion and better moisture protection."
A complete set of gunpowder improvement techniques was thus born.
It was nearly noon when Zhao Muyun left the gunpowder workshop. Just as he was about to return to the city, he saw a beautiful figure on the ridge of a field in the distance—Bai Ruolan was bending down to check the wheat seedlings.
......
In April, winter wheat sprouts in Guanzhong, creating green waves that stretch to the sky.
Bai Ruolan, dressed in a moon-white ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) and with her black hair simply tied up, was squatting by the field with several old farmers, whispering to each other as they pointed to a patch of yellowing wheat seedlings.
Zhao Muyun gestured for his attendants to stop and approached alone.
"...It's not a disease, it's a lack of fertilizer." Bai Ruolan's voice was gentle yet firm. "Was this field planted with beans last year?"
The old farmer asked in surprise, "How did you know, madam?"
"Beans consume little soil fertility, while wheat consumes a lot of nitrogen fertilizer—this is a term my husband uses."
Bai Ruolan explained using the words Zhao Muyun had taught her, "When rotating beans and wheat, green manure or top dressing is needed in between. Look, the yellow leaves are growing from the bottom up, which is a sign of nutrient deficiency."
She took out a paper packet from her cloth bag: "This is the 'Strengthening Seedling Powder' that I prepared. It's made of gypsum, bone meal, and a little saltpeter. Sprinkle it on the roots, and it will take effect in five days. But in the long run, we still need to follow the regulations of the Agricultural Promotion Office and practice crop rotation and fallow."
The old farmers left, expressing their deepest gratitude.
Zhao Muyun then approached and asked, "When did you become so skilled in farming, Madam?"
Bai Ruolan turned around and saw that his robes were stained with dust. She frowned slightly and asked, "You went to the workshop again? Have you had lunch?"
Not yet.
“Then let’s go together.” Bai Ruolan naturally took his arm. “Sister Yao’er went to the military camp this morning to teach the women’s zither and archery. Xue’er is at home calculating the number of new warhorses that have arrived in the Wuhuan cavalry.”
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