Two hundred Chassepot riflemen stood in neat formation on the sandy riverbank.
Boots planted. Rifles leveled. Breathing steady.
The river breeze carried the faint smell of oil, wood, and iron—new weapons, freshly maintained, not yet baptized by blood.
Inside the diorama box, Li Daoxuan watched silently.
He remembered the moment he had dropped the blueprints for the Chassepot Rifle into the box.
That had been the seventh year of Tianqi.
Now, it was already the summer of the fourth year of Chongzhen.
Five full years.
Originally, he had thought it would take one year. Two at most.
Reality had laughed in his face.
Springs that snapped. Percussion caps that misfired. Breeches that leaked gas. Barrels that warped. Paper cartridges that tore. A thousand tiny problems that no immortal blueprint could solve for mortal hands.
Li Daoxuan had not descended to fix them.
He had only nudged.
Pointed.
Waited.
Let the little people fail, argue, curse, redesign, and try again.
And now—
These two hundred men stood ready.
The Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun clasped its hands behind its back, wooden face calm, heart secretly blooming with satisfaction.
Xing Honglang stepped closer, eyes sharp.
"How fast can you fire?" she asked.
A rifle captain strode forward and snapped a salute.
"Reporting! One round every ten blinks of an eye!"
Xing Honglang frowned. "Ten blinks… how long is that?"
Gao Chuwu immediately puffed out his chest.
"Honglang, don't worry. I'll demonstrate."
And then—
He started blinking.
Very seriously.
Rapid-fire blinking.
Xing Honglang burst out laughing. "Oh, Chuwu, you're so considerate!"
"Honglang!" Gao Chuwu cried emotionally.
Thud.
They hugged.
The surrounding officers stared at the sky. At the river. At anything except the scene unfolding in front of them.
The Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun sighed and waved a hand.
"Enough flirting. Fire a few rounds."
The soldiers straightened instantly.
"As you command!"
Wooden targets were set up at two hundred paces.
Xing Honglang's eyes lit up.
"That far? These are rifled barrels, aren't they?"
Flat rabbit stroked his chin smugly.
"Indeed! All Chassepot Rifles are rifled. Accuracy is excellent even beyond several hundred paces—though hitting anything that far requires true skill. Most of these rookies can't manage it, so don't expect miracles. Only this Rabbit Lord—hehehe—"
Someone couldn't resist.
"Lord flat rabbit, your marksmanship is that good?"
Flat rabbit shook his head solemnly.
"No. It's worse than theirs."
"…Then why did you sound so proud just now?!"
Flat rabbit puffed out his chest.
"Because this Rabbit Lord specializes in swordsmanship!"
Silence fell like a dropped bowl.
Ah.
So he was useless here.
The riflemen took position.
Inside the box, Li Daoxuan switched perspectives and activated his stopwatch.
Flat rabbit raised his arm.
"Fire!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The riverbank thundered.
Smoke rolled. Echoes bounced off the water.
Without pause, the riflemen worked the breech—open, shake, load, seal—motions drilled into muscle and bone. Paper cartridges slid home. Steel clicked shut.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Second volley.
Li Daoxuan stopped the watch.
Ten seconds. Exactly.
His breath caught.
Six shots a minute.
Two hundred men.
One thousand two hundred rounds per minute.
In this era?
That wasn't firepower.
That was oppression.
Even the steppe nomads would have to stop raiding and take up singing and dancing for a living.
Then—
Li Daoxuan's joy froze.
Wait.
No.
That wasn't right.
Firepower like this wasn't just strength.
It was consumption.
Bullets weren't conjured from nothing.
He could provide sulfur, saltpeter, charcoal, lead.
But every cartridge still had to be made.
By hand.
Powder re-ground. Lead melted and cast. Snap-caps modified. Paper pulped, pressed, cut, wrapped.
Each minute of glory on the battlefield burned away countless hours of human labor behind the scenes.
The Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun shouted sharply:
"Stop!"
The gunfire ceased immediately.
In mere moments, over four hundred rounds were gone.
Li Daoxuan didn't feel money burning.
He felt population burning.
Lao Nanfeng frowned deeply.
"Ammunition depletes too quickly. Flat rabbit—how much do we have?"
Flat rabbit scratched his head.
"Only… tens of thousands of rounds? Making these is a nightmare. Blacksmiths, powder workers, papermakers—everyone's tied up. We even hired village women to assemble cartridges."
He hesitated, then sighed.
"We can't use the women from the labor reform camp. They're not fully trustworthy yet. Gunpowder can't pass through uncertain hands. Every worker is someone we've vetted for years. That limits output."
Lao Nanfeng nodded grimly.
"Correct. This rifle cannot be used recklessly. Otherwise, in the time it takes two sticks of incense to burn, Gao Family Village itself could be ruined."
Zhao Sheng leaned in.
"And we can't rely solely on Gao Family Village either. We need an arsenal here—at Gudu Ferry. Ammunition must be produced near the front. Long-distance transport won't last."
The words settled heavily.
The world was vast.
Their strength, still fragile.
Zhao Sheng straightened.
"I'll return at once and bring senior artisans. We'll establish a workshop here."
He turned—
And immediately, two porters appeared like ghosts, lifting him into a sedan chair.
"Sir! Please don't run! You get winded after a few steps. Let us carry you!"
Zhao Sheng coughed politely.
"…Then I'll trouble you."
They dashed off toward the boat.
Xing Honglang clapped her hands.
"Alright! Logistics are sweating for us. Front line can't slack either. Prepare for battle!"
Flat rabbit popped his head out.
"By the way… who are we fighting?"
Gao Chuwu explained, scratching his head.
"Wang Guozhong. A traitor. Betrayed Wang Jiayin and bought himself an official post."
He recounted the story.
Flat rabbit slammed his fist into his palm.
"Disgusting! Even if Wang Jiayin wasn't good, betrayal like that—when Brother Wang left him back then—"
He froze.
Stopped.
Coughed loudly.
"…Anyway!" flat rabbit declared, face righteous.
"This Rabbit Lord shall act on behalf of Heaven and execute this petty villain!"
The river wind howled softly.
Two sticks of incense.
That was all it would take—
For someone's path to ruin.