Chapter Seventy-Nine: Gunpowder and the Great Sword

Holding the flintlock musket in his hands, Li Wenyuan was filled with excitement. He was just about to draw out the ramrod to load powder and shot for a test firing when he suddenly remembered—no one had invented gunpowder yet. He had to give up for the moment. He turned to Manager Jin and asked, “Do you know anything about those alchemists and their detailed practices of refining elixirs and exploding cauldrons?”

Manager Jin nodded and said, “I’ve heard a little about it. Once, while making a cauldron for a royal alchemist, I heard him mention that there was an incident involving realgar, orpiment, saltpeter, and some other substances being refined together, which led to an explosion. But it was so long ago, I can’t recall the specifics.”

Li Wenyuan nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly it. This is the very substance used as the propellant for this musket. I once came across an old folk recipe, called the Sulfur-Fire Method. According to it, for every ten parts of powder, saltpeter should make up about seven, with sulfur and charcoal each making up about one and a half parts. Each ingredient is ground into fine powder in wooden troughs, then mixed with strong liquor to form a wet paste. It’s crucial to thoroughly stir and pound the mixture with wooden pestles, ensuring the dust is completely suppressed, lest the volatile powder ignites and causes calamity. This process must be repeated several times until the resulting paste is perfectly smooth. Afterward, it’s laid out under the sun to dry, yielding a blackish-gray powder known as Scarlet Thunder Powder. This is what I referred to earlier as the musket’s firing charge, or simply gunpowder. For quality testing, a small sample is placed on paper and ignited. If it burns fiercely, leaving no mark on the paper, it’s top-grade and suitable for use in muskets. If it leaves black spots, it must be re-ground and refined until it passes the test.”

While Li Wenyuan explained all this, Manager Jin had already written the entire recipe down on paper. Li Wenyuan glanced over the notes to ensure nothing was missing, then handed the formula back, saying, “Folk recipes should not be believed blindly, nor completely dismissed. You can have some craftsmen try making it according to these proportions, adjusting as needed. The goal is to maximize the power of the musket’s iron shot, but not to the point where the powder becomes so strong it bursts the barrel. Also, consider the stability of the powder over time during transport and storage.”

Seeing Manager Jin carefully put the recipe away, Li Wenyuan sipped his tea to moisten his throat, then asked, “Since arriving in Wuwei County, you’ve kept mostly to yourself and rarely interacted with others. Now that you’ve called me here, aside from this musket, I assume you have another little surprise for me?”

Manager Jin smiled at the question, “Nothing can escape your notice, Chief. Indeed, I have something else to show you.” With that, he led Li Wenyuan toward the large open ground in the northeast corner of the garrison city. This area had been specially set aside by Li Wenyuan as a testing ground for various siege engines and equipment.

Once at the testing field, a few assistants brought over an object covered with a red cloth. When they set it down before him, Manager Jin stepped forward and lifted the cloth. The sunlight reflecting off the object made Li Wenyuan squint. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that the object was none other than the long saber he had previously sketched for Manager Jin.

Li Wenyuan was overjoyed. With such a weapon, he could finally meet the cavalry of the steppe in a head-on clash. The only question was whether the saber met his standards—could it withstand the charge of a horse without breaking? Curiosity piqued, he reached out and took the saber from the assistants. With a slight exertion, he hefted the weapon. It felt heavy and solid, but the balance was excellent; it could be wielded one-handed without feeling top-heavy.

For the test, a wooden post clad in the era’s finest mirror-bright plate armor stood before Li Wenyuan. He gathered his strength and swung the saber diagonally downward at the armored post.

There was a sharp crack—the blade sliced cleanly through both the armor and the post beneath, cutting them both in two as easily as a hot knife through butter. There was no resistance at all. Inspecting the edge after the strike, he found no sign of chipping or damage. Elated, Li Wenyuan struck again, reducing the remaining post and armor to several more pieces before finally resting the blade tip on the ground.

Extremely satisfied with the saber, Li Wenyuan turned to the smiling, silent Manager Jin and asked, “This is truly a fine blade. But how quickly can these sabers be produced?”

Manager Jin could only spread his hands helplessly. “The one in your hand was made by my five most skilled craftsmen working together for over half a month. With this prototype, production speed can be improved, but even with ample materials, making around a hundred sabers per month is the current limit. If we try to speed up further, quality will certainly suffer.”

Li Wenyuan nodded, then reluctantly handed the saber back to the assistants to return to the storeroom. He asked, “How is the enrollment at the technical school progressing?”

The technical school Li Wenyuan referred to was, as the name suggests, a school for training craftsmen. Living in the Western Regions, he was keenly aware of the shortage of skilled hands. In this era, the craftsperson’s profession was held in low esteem. Unless forced by circumstance or family tradition, few willingly took up the trade.

This scarcity of craftsmen troubled Li Wenyuan greatly, but there were few good solutions. All he could do was increase official support and benefits for craftsmen, hoping to attract those without other skills to join and learn. Unlike the Confucian academies, which required study and memorization, the crafts were learned by practice—skills honed through experience. Thus, there were no dedicated school buildings; all training was done at the workshops themselves. Li Wenyuan advocated the “master-apprentice” model, a highly effective method tried and tested in later ages.

Every year, a skills competition was held for these students, and those who performed well—students and teachers alike—received generous rewards. This ensured the craftsmen taught their apprentices everything, never withholding their secrets. Combined with Li Wenyuan’s new social security policies, even those who could no longer work would still have enough to eat, so there was no danger of “starving the master by teaching the apprentice.”