Chapter Seventy-Seven: Carrying a Hidden Blade

The question of whom to seek refuge with could only be approached step by step. After all, everyone was constantly on the move; it wasn’t as if you could find someone just because you wished to join them. Moreover, Liu Chengzong and the others had no idea whether fortune would favor them. Perhaps, before they could find Wang Jiayin, Li Bei might catch up with them first.

On June twentieth, as the deadline approached for delivering grain to Liu Chengzu at the county office, Cai Zhongpan’s brother-in-law, Chen Ruji, finally returned. Perhaps there was a connection of the heart, for as they traveled, Cai Zhongpan’s wife, Madam Chen, grew increasingly anxious. After passing through Yijun County with the grain convoy, she urged Chen Ruji to press ahead quickly. Breaking away from the grain merchants, a group of more than ten hurried along the road, arriving at Black Dragon Mountain ten days ahead of schedule.

No one expected that the moment they reached Black Dragon Mountain, it would become impossible to stay there. Chen Ruji felt somewhat at a loss. After finally waiting for Liu Chengzong to return to the mountain, he hurried forward, realizing that Liu Chengzong now called the shots here. Feeling he might have acted too hastily, Chen Ruji turned back to retrieve a bundle, spread his arms, and called out, “Lion, my brother-in-law asked me to bring you a gift from Sanyuan.”

Though recent troubles weighed heavily on Liu Chengzong, hearing that Cai Zhongpan had sent a gift from Sanyuan still made him smile. He took the bundle and asked, “Are they books?”

Judging by the shape, there seemed to be three books inside.

“Yes, it’s ‘Illustrations of Marvelous Western Devices’ by Master Kuixin, published in the seventh year of Tianqi. It’s in three volumes, each bought separately—I almost missed out on them.”

Master Kuixin was none other than the scholar Wang Zheng, who had rallied the gentry in Sanyuan to form the Loyalist Militia. Liu Chengzong had heard Cai Zhongpan mention his name and gladly accepted the books. Wang Zheng was a figure of great renown: when the Jesuits established their church in Sanyuan, they set it up in his home. The Loyalist Militia, though only a hundred strong, had three Hongyi cannons weighing fifteen hundred catties each, all cast under his guidance.

Then Liu Chengzong looked at Chen Ruji with suspicion. “Brother Chen, is there something else?”

He and Chen Ruji weren’t close, and now Chen Ruji stood awkwardly by, clearly with something on his mind. After a moment’s hesitation, Chen Ruji dispensed with formalities and led him to a quiet corner. “We’re all family, so I’ll be blunt. On my way back from Sanyuan, I brought two craftsmen who are wanted by the authorities. Originally, I thought they could stay on Black Dragon Mountain, but after hearing about Fourth Master, it seems we can’t remain here.”

Liu Chengzong didn’t see this as a problem at all. He nodded, “Craftsmen are good! Send them to Liu Family Village. Everything is in ruins there; we need carpenters and stonemasons. Even if we leave, they’ll still be able to make a living.”

“They haven’t committed any serious crimes,” Chen Ruji explained, “but they left their government work unfinished. Their skills aren’t suited to daily use—they can only work as ironworkers and smiths.”

Chen Ruji’s tone was hesitant. “They don’t know carpentry or masonry.”

Liu Chengzong was taken aback. After a pause, he realized, “Brother Chen, you didn’t bring me… two military craftsmen, did you? The kind that hammer out armor?”

Chen Ruji nodded slowly. “One is named He Xin. When he’s working at full speed, he and his son can bore out two gun barrels in twenty-five days. The other is Shi Chengwo. He contributed to the three Atlantic marvels in Sanyuan, though Master Kuixin only taught him the formula for casting cannon barrels of different widths.”

Liu Chengzong was stunned, a smile slowly spreading across his face as a surge of joy welled up within him.

To be exact, these two were indeed not of much use—at least for now. The father and son were expert barrel-borers; Cao Yao had told him this was the most difficult part of making muskets. The smoothness of the barrel determined both accuracy and durability. A skilled gunsmith might need a month to finish a single barrel. Boring out two barrels in twenty-five days, if the quality was right, marked them as master craftsmen without a doubt.

Yet the second man was even more valuable. The formula for casting cannon barrels of varying thickness, which Chen Ruji had dismissed so lightly, was in fact the secret behind the Hongyi cannon—the very thing that made Ming dynasty artillery world-class in the seventeenth century. Combined with local techniques for casting iron cores in bronze shells, this formula produced some of the best cannons anywhere.

This was a treasure trove for Liu Chengzong. He could almost have hugged Chen Ruji out of gratitude.

“No problem,” he replied readily. “Let them settle down in Liu Family Village. Even if they can’t farm, I’ll provide for them.”

These two might be of little use for now. Even if he had a Hongyi cannon at this moment, all he could do would be to stash it in a cave. Such heavy artillery was suited for sieges and defense, which meant Liu Chengzong would not have much use for it in the near future. Any siege or defense would inevitably pit him as a local force against the might of the entire state—a doomed strategy.

He understood this well: without the ability to break enemy encirclement, establishing a base would only lead to disaster. After all, the troops assigned to suppress rebels weren’t outsiders, but local official soldiers from northern Shaanxi—they would never lose their way in the mountains.

Once his uncle’s family was settled, Yang Yanchang gradually moved all the weapons into the city, putting everyone’s mind at ease.

On June twenty-second, the second year of Chongzhen’s reign, Liu Chengzong donned his official robes and dismounted outside the southern gate of the city.

He handed the red banner to his elder brother, Liu Chengzu. The two brothers clasped hands outside the city as if bidding each other a simple farewell.

Standing at the edge of the dry moat, Liu Chengzong looked out at the endless rows of makeshift shelters housing starving refugees. Among the crowd, Li Wanqing looked up, watching as Liu Chengzong lingered long on the drawbridge before disappearing into the depths of the city gate.

Though undercurrents stirred, the city of Yan’an remained as usual. The yamen runners and local militia, worn out under the baking sun, drifted through the walled city. The desolate streets were empty, save for the tea stall attendants calling to passersby to come and have a drink.

Outside a shuttered shop, Guo Zhasi paced back and forth in a bamboo hat until he saw his employer entering the city. He turned back and knocked a few times on the tightly closed wooden door.

The shop was crowded—nineteen men, including Cheng Yun, were squatting in the corners, leaning against the walls, or sitting on the counters.

As Liu Chengzong entered, everyone stood up. Cao Yao spat out a sunflower seed husk, his face a mix of tension and forced cheer. “Lion, shall we begin?”

“The weapons?”

“Yours are under the counter—Feng Rang, bring them out,” said Cao Yao, raising his hand to point to the back courtyard. “Ours are hidden in the hay cart. We’ll push it to the foot of the city wall, storm the walled city, and seize the gate tower.”

Squad leader Feng Rang lifted a large, simply wrapped bundle from under the counter. As it hit the counter, weapons clanged and clattered.

Unwrapping it revealed a dozen assorted weapons.

Cai Zhongpan took a double-barreled pistol; his hands trembled as he loaded it, and he shook his head in embarrassment. “I never imagined we’d try to seize the city’s defenses with just twenty men.”

Gao Xian took a saber, tore off two pieces of cloth to wrap up bows and arrows—one for himself and another with a Yan Wing blade, which he strapped to Guo Zhasi’s back. “Here, Zhasi, carry your master’s bow and blade well.”

Liu Chengzong picked up a pair of short axes, weighed them in his hands, and hid them up his sleeves.

He looked around at everyone and said, “Brothers, be careful. If we survive, we’ll meet again outside the city.”

The door opened.

Sunlight slanted into the dim shop as Liu Chengzong stepped out from the shadows.

From this day forth, they would wander the wilderness, cast adrift, until the great empire finally collapsed with a thunderous crash.