Gao Yiye positioned herself half a step behind Dao Xuan Tianzun, the way her secretaries usually did.
Moments later, San Shier, Tan Liwen, and the rest from the main keep arrived—then Cheng Xu, Wang Er, and a flood of curious faces from outside.
The tiny Craftsman Well suddenly became the hottest place in the empire.
Dao Xuan Tianzun looked at the sea of people and sighed inwardly.
I'm literally just sitting here. Why does everyone treat that like divine theater?
He was about to tell them to clear out when Xu Dafu, head of the Gao Family Village Ordnance Bureau, squeezed through the crowd like a cat avoiding rain.
Dao Xuan Tianzun smiled. "Xu Dafu, why are you moving like you're sneaking into a tiger's den?"
Xu Dafu bowed. "Tianzun, this is still a forge. Blades, muskets, explosives everywhere. Even with your divine protection, a loose hammer could still squash me like tofu."
The crowd exchanged looks. This was the same man who once wore armor to drink tea.
Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled. "Since you've risked death to get here, I assume you have something worth showing?"
Xu Dafu's eyes lit up. He pulled a tiny round object from his pocket, cradling it with reverence.
"Tianzun! I've succeeded—behold, the percussion cap! Using that miraculous powder you granted—the one that explodes if you so much as drop it—I've made a trigger cap that ignites on impact!"
Instantly, every craftsman in the hall leaned forward. The object in his palm gleamed no larger than a fingernail, a flat disc of alchemy and obsession.
Dao Xuan Tianzun recognized it immediately. So this is that little component at the base of modern bullets… the heart of the bang.
While he pondered, Li Da emerged from the smithy carrying a long rifle.
It was the early breech-loading Chassepot, the prototype Tianzun had once described in detail. The springs had been perfected; the barrel gleamed. Only the bullet design had remained unsolved—until now.
Xu Dafu compared the percussion cap with the rifle's chamber, nodded, and began wrapping a paper cartridge right there on the floor.
Black powder in the middle, lead up front, percussion cap at the rear—rolled tight in paper into a spindle shape. Primitive, but effective.
Li Da loaded it, snapped the breech shut, aimed at a wooden board across the hall—
Bang!
A neat hole appeared dead center.
The officials blinked; the engineers cheered.
Cheng Xu slapped Wang Er's shoulder. "A masterpiece! So much faster than muzzle-loading muskets!"
Wang Er's eyes gleamed. "Exactly! Rifled guns were too slow before—our militias couldn't use them. But with breech-loading, even foot soldiers can reload fast. This changes everything!"
Cheng Xu nodded gravely. "Smoothbore guns may soon vanish entirely."
They were already mentally rewriting their battle manuals when Song Yingxing raised his hand.
"I see one serious flaw."
Dao Xuan Tianzun's eyes brightened. Ah, the sharp scholar speaks.
"The breech," Song Yingxing explained. "It's packed with pins, slides, and springs. The seal isn't tight enough. When the gunpowder ignites, force leaks from the gaps. That's why the shot's power is weaker than a muzzle-loader."
Everyone turned toward the target—and realized he was right.
Song Yingxing continued, "It's the same flaw that plagues my steam engine. Steam leaks everywhere. If we solved airtightness, both firearms and engines would multiply in strength."
Dao Xuan Tianzun silently applauded. As expected of him. Sharp as ever—but the solution's still beyond Ming-era chemistry.
Then Song Yingxing's eyes glimmered. "Actually… I just found the material that could solve it."
The crowd leaned closer. "What material?"
He pointed—straight at Dao Xuan Tianzun.
"The same substance as Tianzun's statue."
Gasps. Then outrage.
"Blasphemy!" several cried. "Do you plan to chop up Tianzun's sacred body to patch rifles?!"
Dao Xuan Tianzun burst out laughing. "Hahaha! Peace, everyone. Master Song speaks from curiosity, not irreverence. He thinks in mechanisms, not metaphors."
He turned to Song Yingxing, eyes twinkling. "But you're right about the material. Still—there exists something even better for sealing engines and breech chambers. You'll reach it in time. For now, allow me to provide some."
His voice echoed like thunder within silk.
Then his consciousness lifted from the silicone body and returned to his true form outside the Box.
He reached to his side, picked up a lump of soft black rubber—modern magic disguised as divine grace—and dropped it through the air.
In the Craftsman Well below, the villagers saw a dark mass descend like a celestial gift.
The era of airtightness had just begun.
Trivia:
The "Airtightness Problem" — How Ming Almost Invented the Industrial Revolution.
If there were a list titled "Top 10 Historical Innovations That Missed the Bus by 200 Years," airtightness would take the gold medal.
In real-world history, the whole "airtightness problem" haunted engineers for centuries. Steam engines before James Watt (1736–1819) were basically noisy kettles with more leaks than a corrupt tax office. They wasted so much power that entire factories ran on what could barely puff a teapot. Watt's big brain moment came when he realized: if you keep the steam from escaping, you don't just make it stronger—you make it civilization-changing. That single insight birthed the Industrial Revolution.
Now, imagine if Song Yingxing—the Ming Dynasty's real-life science polymath, author of Tiangong Kaiwu (The Exploitation of the Works of Nature)—had access to airtight pistons and rubber seals. China's early steam tech might've gone full steampunk two centuries early. Trains across the Great Wall. Gunboats on the Yangtze. Bureaucrats clocking in with punch cards.
Instead, the "airtightness problem" stayed unsolved—until Dao Xuan Tianzun dropped literal rubber from heaven, a substance Ming chemistry couldn't even imagine.
In the 19th century, when the West did discover rubber's industrial uses, it kicked off colonial wars just to secure enough of the stuff. But in Gao Family Village? It came free with divine packaging.
So yes, airtightness sounds boring. But in both worlds—real and fictional—it's the difference between a steam-powered empire and one still pushing carts by hand.