Gao Yiyi set up the three-eyed gun, a weapon that looked more like a medieval candlestick than a firearm. He grabbed a fistful of the sandy black powder—a move that made Chief Xu Dafu's eye twitch violently.
"Too much!" Xu Dafu yelped, his voice tight. "Scoop some out! No, not that much! Add a pinch back! A pinch, Yiyi, not a mountain!"
(Fact: Ming gunners often measured powder by volume using spoons or bamboo dippers, not weight. This led to hilarious—and lethal—variations. A "Fuzhou pinch" and a "Xi'an scoop" could differ by enough powder to turn a gun into a grenade. Xu Dafu's micro-managing wasn't just fussiness; it was survival.)
After several nerve-wracking adjustments, Gao Yiyi finally packed the barrel, tamped the charge with a rod, and dropped in a small, perfectly spherical lead ball.
The bullets were lead—a metal so scarce in the late Ming that it was often hoarded by the Ministry of Works for official seals. But for Li Daoxuan? A ten-meter spool of lead wire from an online hobby shop solved the village's ammunition problem for a decade.
(Fact: The Ming Dynasty's lead shortage was so severe that in the 1630s, officials melted down ancestral altar statues to cast bullets. Li's "celestial lead" isn't just convenient—it's a logistical miracle that would make any Ming quartermaster weep with envy.)
Bullet seated, fuse inserted. Gao Yiyi, looking decidedly queasy, held the gun at arm's length like it was a sleeping snake. He aimed at the cliff face, touched the fuse with a coal from the brazier, and—
BOOM!
The sound wasn't just loud; it was a physical punch to the chest. Gao Yiyi staggered, his arms buzzing like beehives. White smoke, thick and sour with the smell of sulfur, enveloped the clearing.
For a moment, silence. Then a collective blink.
"Did... did it work?"
They swarmed the cliff. There, nestled in the stone like a dark pearl in gray oyster flesh, was a deformed lead ball.
"A hole! It made a hole in solid rock!"
"By the Tianzun's grace,it works!"
"We're gunsmiths now!Actual, proper gunsmiths!"
From his vantage point, Li Daoxuan grinned. The three-eyed gun was wonderfully clunky, a far cry from the sleek muskets in history books. Seeing it actually fire, spout smoke, and dent rock was deeply satisfying.
Wait a minute.
That thing has some kick. If a Ming army shows up with a few hundred of these, and I stick my hand in to swat them away... I might actually get a splinter. Or worse, a lead tattoo.
Note to self: order tactical gloves. The kind that look like they belong to a supervillain.
His fingers flew across his keyboard. Search: "Metal Knuckle Gloves, Cosplay, Full Protection." Add to cart. Checkout.
Meanwhile, Gao Yiyi, his ears still ringing, had already forgotten the precise powder measure. He turned to Xu Dafu with the helpless look of a student who didn't study for the quiz. "Chief Xu... was it this much? Or... this much?"
Xu Dafu sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man surrounded by enthusiastic amateurs. "Less. Then a hair more. No, a hair."
Li Daoxuan decided to end the suspense. "Yiye," he said, his voice carrying the amused tone of a teacher introducing a simple trick. "Tell Chief Xu about 'paper cartridges.'"
Gao Yiye relayed the message.
"Paper... cartridges?" Xu Dafu's brow furrowed, then smoothed as understanding dawned. "You mean pre-measured wraps? Like... medicine packets?"
"Exactly," Li Daoxuan continued through Yiye. "Pre-weigh and wrap each charge in paper or thin cloth. Ten shots? Give them ten packets. They pour one packet per shot. No guessing. No mistakes. Faster reloading, fewer explosions."
Xu Dafu's face underwent a transformation. The perpetual worry lines around his eyes softened. "It's... it's elegant," he breathed. "So simple. This would stop Old Wang's third son from blowing his eyebrows off. Tianzun, this is not just clever—it is merciful."
(Fact: Xu Dafu's reaction isn't just about safety. In Ming craftsmanship, elegance— 精巧 —is prized as highly as function. A solution that is simple, efficient, and prevents human folly is seen as possessing a kind of virtuous beauty. Li's idea isn't just smart; in Xu Dafu's eyes, it's morally good design.)
Li Daoxuan mentally patted himself on the back. Of course it's simple. Europe's been doing it for ages. Japan too. The Ming probably does it in the fancy coastal armies. But watching Xu Dafu have his personal eureka moment was half the fun.
He didn't stop there. He printed out a page on granulated black powder—where the mixture was dampened, kneaded, and sieved into tiny grains for more consistent burning—and had Yiye deliver the "Celestial Manual for Enhanced Firepowder" to the awestruck chief.
Xu Dafu handled the large, smooth paper as if it were a sacred scroll. He barked orders, and four apprentices carefully carried it into the heart of the bureau, to be stored away from light, damp, and clumsy hands.
The testing continued. Nine more thunderous booms echoed through the valley. Each time, the gun held. No cracks. No catastrophic failures. Just smoke, noise, and ten neat holes in the cliff.
The blacksmiths returned to the fortress triumphant, already debating production schedules.
"Hold on," Li Daoxuan's voice cut through their plans. "Don't mass-produce the three-eyes. Make a handful for training. Our future lies in proper matchlock muskets. Single-barrel. Longer range. That's the goal."
The blacksmiths bowed in unison, their dream of becoming three-eyed gun specialists gently, but firmly, redirected.
As Gao Yiye skipped back along the path, her mood light, Li Daoxuan couldn't resist.
"Yiye," he called down, his tone playful. "How's the masterpiece coming along?"
"Great!" she chirped, looking up at the low cloud. "The second volume is almost done!"
Volume Two? Li Daoxuan thought with amusement. Volume One isn't even off the woodblocks yet. This girl has the productivity of a novelist on a deadline. He had to admit, he was morbidly curious. Her first volume was a glorious, nonsensical mash-up of Journey to the West, local folklore, and what he suspected were pieces of a stolen romance novel. What mythological creatures would get welded together in Volume Two?
"Let me guess," he teased. "Is it another epic where I fight a dragon made of tax ledgers?"
"It's... it's a serious cultural work!" she protested, her cheeks turning pink. "About virtue! And... and justice!"
"I'll be the judge of that when it's printed," he said. "I look forward to my copy."
"Tianzun, no!" she yelped, horrified. "You mustn't! It's mortal scribbling! Unworthy of your divine eyes! You have celestial libraries to read!"
"But I need to understand mortal life," he argued, thoroughly enjoying her fluster. "Its toils. Its... creative endeavors."
"You can understand it by thinking about it!" she pleaded, waving her hands. "Just a little heavenly thought! Poof! Understanding achieved!"
"I'm a hands-on learner," Li Daoxuan said, his grin audible in his voice.
Gao Yiye was reduced to incoherent mumbles, studying her shoes with immense dedication.
Her salvation came in the form of a frantic, wheezing distraction. "Saintess! Saintess, wait!"
It was Zhao Sheng, the scholar-turned-rebel known as "Lantern-Lighter." He was running, if one could call his gasping, stumbling gait a run. He covered the distance with the speed of a sleepy tortoise, arriving before her bent double, hands on his knees.
"Sain... tress..." he puffed, face the color of a beet. "I must... beg an audience... with the... Tian—"
"Tell him to breathe," Li Daoxuan interrupted, watching the performance with concern. "If he dies of apoplexy before delivering his message, I'm not bringing him back. My divine insurance doesn't cover poor cardio."