RPAGF Chapter 18 New Blade South Pointer - New
Chapter 18 New Blade South Pointer - New
On the 21st day of the tenth month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the beginning of the Chen hour.
Xiyuan Training Ground.
The autumn wind was harsh, making the flags flutter and stinging people's cheeks.
Three thousand new soldiers stood silently in three square formations.
They wore newly made gray cotton armor, a dark color unlike the bright and gorgeous armor of the Beijing garrison, but it was thick and sturdy, with iron plates adorning the shoulders, chest, and elbows.
On his shoulder was a newly forged flintlock musket—the body was black, the barrel was straight, the bayonet was not yet attached, but the muzzle gleamed with a cold metallic luster in the morning light.
Li Ce stepped onto the training platform.
Below the stage, civil and military officials stood on either side. The civil officials were led by Qian Shisheng, the Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites. They were all dressed in heavy court robes, their necks hunched against the wind, their faces pale. On the military side, Zhang Weixian was dressed in military uniform, his back straight, with several newly appointed captains of the Beijing Garrison standing behind him, their eyes sharp.
Johann Adam Schall von Bell was also there.
This blond, blue-eyed Westerner, dressed in a dark blue Confucian robe with a leather jacket over it, held a wooden model—the firing mechanism of a flintlock musket. He stood somewhat out of place at the end of the military officers' line, but his expression was focused.
"Let's begin." Li Ce sat down.
"Martial arts demonstration—begin!" Zhang Weixian shouted.
The first formation moved.
One thousand men, divided into ten rows, one hundred men in each row. Advance, halt, load powder, load ammunition, raise guns—the movements were not perfectly synchronized, but clean and efficient, without any unnecessary actions.
"put!"
bang bang bang-
White smoke rose, and the pungent smell of gunpowder instantly filled the air.
A wooden target a hundred paces away crackled and popped. A soldier ran over to inspect it and reported loudly:
"Seventy-three hits!"
A low murmur arose from the ranks of civil officials.
Qian Shisheng frowned, stepped forward, and bowed:
"Your Majesty, I have something to say."
"explain."
"Firearms are powerful, but extremely expensive," Qian Shisheng said calmly, each word clear. "I have heard that a flintlock musket costs about eight taels of silver, and a lead bullet with gunpowder costs two fen of silver. Just now, a single volley cost twenty taels of silver. In a major battle, with ten thousand muskets firing at once, thousands of taels would be wiped out in an instant—can the national treasury afford it?"
He paused, then looked up towards the throne:
"Furthermore, firearms are easily affected by the weather; they cannot be fired in rain or snow, and their accuracy is completely lost in strong winds. In the past, when Qi Jiguang quelled the Japanese pirates, he also relied on the Mandarin Duck Formation, swords, shields, bows, and crossbows. I believe that... training troops should prioritize their duties."
The wind picked up.
The wind made the large banner with the character "Ming" on the martial arts stage flutter loudly, and the robes of the civil officials flutter wildly.
Li Ce did not answer immediately.
He looked at the new soldiers below the stage—most of them were young men in their early twenties, their faces flushed red from the wind, but their eyes were bright, and their knuckles were white as they gripped their guns.
They were farm boys recruited from Beizhili and Shanxi. Some were descendants of military households, while others were selected from among the strong and able-bodied refugees. After a month of eating their fill and practicing drills for a month, today was their first time firing live ammunition.
"Minister Qian," Li Ce said, "you're right. Firearms consume a lot of silver and are subject to weather conditions, making them less reliable than swords and bows."
Qian Shisheng was taken aback.
"But," Li Ce stood up, walked to the edge of the platform, and pointed north, "the Jurchen cavalry will not come on a sunny day. The soldiers of the nine border regions will not lay down their swords just because it rains."
He turned and looked at Qian Shisheng:
"You say that General Qi relied on the Mandarin Duck Formation—I ask you, who forged the swords of the Qi Family Army? Who made the bows? Where did the iron come from?"
Qian Shisheng opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"From Jiangnan," Li Ce answered for him. "Suzhou steel, Fujian iron, Zhejiang saltpeter—seventy percent of the world's finest iron and firearms come from Jiangnan. But now—"
His voice deepened:
"The canal transport has been disrupted. Iron cannot be brought in. Saltpeter is stuck in Jiangxi. The Ordnance Bureau's inventory is only enough to last two months."
The audience was deathly silent.
Only the sound of the wind and the hoarse cawing of crows in the distance could be heard.
"You think I built this new army just to deal with the Jurchens?" Li Ce sneered. "You're wrong. I built this new army to let those in Jiangnan who control the mineral veins, dictate the grain transport, and hoard saltpeter know—"
He paused, then spoke slowly and deliberately:
"The swords of the Ming Dynasty can cut down foreign invaders, and they can also cut down internal traitors."
Qian Shisheng turned pale and retreated.
Li Ce stopped looking at him and said to Zhang Weixian:
"continue."
The second round of shooting begins.
This time it was a moving target—soldiers pushed wooden carts covered with cowhide to move laterally a hundred paces away, and the new army fired in three waves.
White smoke rose up again and again.
The hit rate dropped to 60%, but it's still considerable.
Johann Adam Schall von Bell stepped forward and explained the improvements to the flintlock musket in broken Mandarin: "Your Majesty, I have thickened the firing spring, reducing the misfire rate from 30% to 10%. If we have more refined iron, I can try to manufacture a repeating musket..."
Li Ce nodded without saying anything more.
He knew in his heart that without iron, everything was just empty talk.
It was noon, in the West Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace.
Li Ce had just taken off his military uniform and changed into civilian clothes when Li Ruolian arrived.
He held a file in his hands, his face grave.
"Your Majesty, the Zhou Kui case... has been concluded."
Li Ce sat down, picked up his teacup, but didn't drink.
"speak."
"Zhou Ming confessed that on the night of October 17, a man claiming to be the 'steward of the Zhao family' came to him, offering a thousand taels of silver as payment, in exchange for delivering a message from the palace."
Li Ruolian unfolded the file. "The information that was passed on, including what time His Majesty reviewed memorials each day, who he summoned, and which palace he stayed in, were not military or state secrets, but they could give us a glimpse into His Majesty's daily routine."
"Did Zhou Kui know about this?"
"I knew about it." Li Ruolian paused. "Zhou Ming secretly informed his uncle, Zhou Kui, who scolded him for being 'muddled,' but did not stop him or report it. Afterwards, he accepted 5,000 taels of 'tribute' from gentry in Jiangnan to supplement the expenses of the Emperor's father-in-law's residence."
Li Ce put down his teacup.
The bottom of the cup touched the rosewood table with a soft sound.
What do you think?
Li Ruolian lowered her head: "Zhou Kui's crimes lie in his tacit approval, his greed, and his foolishness. But... he did not collude with the enemy or plot treason, so his crimes do not warrant death."
"Does the Empress know?"
Not yet.
Li Ce remained silent for a moment.
Sparrows are chirping outside the window, chattering away carefree.
"Draft an imperial edict," he began. "Duke Zhou Kui of Chengguo is muddle-headed and negligent, allowing his nephew to act recklessly and failing the Emperor's grace. He is hereby stripped of his title of Imperial Father-in-Law, his family property of 100,000 taels of silver is confiscated, and he is confined to his residence to reflect on his mistakes. He is not to leave without an imperial decree."
Recorded by Li Ruolian.
"Zhou Ming was executed. His wife and children were exiled to Yunnan."
"Yes."
"Half of the confiscated silver will be used to replenish the new military pay, and the other half... will be allocated to the Empress so that she can set up an orphanage in the palace to take in wartime orphans."
Li Ruolian paused, then looked up.
Li Ce looked at him: "What?"
"Your Majesty...is merciful."
"Mercy?" Li Ce laughed, but there was a hint of weariness in his laughter. "When I killed Zhou Yanru, beheaded Zhu Chunchen, and quelled the mutiny, no one said I was merciful."
He stood up and walked to the window:
"Zhou Kui is the Empress's father. If I kill him, the Empress will be disheartened, and the harem will be unstable. If I let him off lightly, where will the discipline be? Fines, confinement, and stripping of his rank—this is a warning, but also a safeguard."
He paused:
"Go to Kunning Palace in person and tell the Empress the truth about the case. Tell her... I have saved face for her father, and I have also saved face for her."
Li Ruolian bowed deeply: "Your subject understands."
At 1-3 PM, in the Kunning Palace.
Empress Zhou sat in the warm pavilion, twirling a string of Buddhist prayer beads in her hand.
The beads are made of sandalwood and polished to a shine.
Li Ruolian knelt outside the curtain and recounted the case details, confessions, and the contents of the imperial edict one by one.
After he finished speaking, the warm pavilion remained silent for a long time.
The only sound was the gentle clinking of the prayer beads.
"Lord Li," the Empress spoke, her voice calm, "Your Majesty...is there anything else?"
"His Majesty said that he had saved face for both the Emperor's father-in-law and the Empress."
The Empress smiled.
His smile was tinged with bitterness.
"Dignity..." she repeated softly, "I know Father is confused. Over the years, he has received quite a bit of 'tribute,' and I have tried to advise him, but he won't listen. He always says, 'The Imperial Father-in-Law's Mansion should have the pomp and circumstance of the Imperial Father-in-Law's Mansion'... Pomp and circumstance?"
She stood up and walked to the curtain.
The curtain was made of beads, and through the dim light, her slender figure could be seen.
"Lord Li, please return and report to His Majesty—I thank His Majesty for his great kindness. I am willing to atone for my father's sins by reducing my meals for the rest of my life and reciting Buddhist scriptures daily. I will personally handle the affairs of the Orphanage and will certainly not fail His Majesty's trust."
Li Ruolian kowtowed: "Your Majesty is truly wise and understanding."
"A profound understanding of righteousness?" The Empress gently shook her head. "I only understand... at this critical juncture, His Majesty cannot be in disarray, nor can the harem be in disarray."
She paused, her voice even lower:
"Tell His Majesty that I... am waiting for his return from his southern tour."
Li Ruolian was startled, bowed again, and withdrew.
Shen Shi (3-5 PM), West Warm Pavilion of Qianqing Palace.
Li Ce summoned the ambassador of the Ordnance Bureau, the secretary of the Ministry of Works, Johann Adam Schall von Bell, and the newly appointed Minister of Revenue, Ni Yuanlu.
Several account books were spread out on the table.
"Tell me," Li Ce said, "how much exactly are you short?"
The ambassador of the Ordnance Bureau was a thin, old man surnamed Hu, who spoke timidly:
"Your Majesty, there are only 80,000 catties of Fujian iron and even less Suzhou steel, only 30,000 catties. If all of it were used to make flintlock muskets, it could make... about 800 muskets. But cannons, swords, spears, and armor all require iron. If it were distributed among the different types of equipment, the new army's equipment would be... less than 30% complete."
The official from the Ministry of Works added: "The saltpeter mines in Jiangxi have been controlled by local gentry, and the amount transported to the capital is less than 30% of what it used to be. The current stockpile of saltpeter is only enough for three months."
In his stilted Mandarin, Johann Adam Schall von Bell said, "Without good iron, a flintlock musket is prone to exploding. Without pure saltpeter, the gunpowder is weak."
Ni Yuanlu spoke last, her voice heavy:
"Your Majesty, the national treasury currently holds approximately 1.2 million taels of silver. Of this, 400,000 taels have been allocated to pay the outstanding wages of the nine border regions, 300,000 taels have been used to recruit new troops, and 200,000 taels have been used for river repairs. The remaining 300,000 taels are needed to cover the salaries of officials, the expenses of the palace, and disaster relief in various regions... We are truly unable to make any further large-scale purchases of iron and saltpeter."
Li Ce listened without saying a word.
He tapped his fingers lightly on the imperial desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each sound felt like a tap on the heart.
"Where does the iron come from?" he asked.
"Jiangnan," Ni Yuanlu replied. "The four prefectures of Suzhou, Songjiang, Changzhou, and Zhenjiang account for 60% of the country's iron production. Fujian iron is also transported by sea to Jiangnan for distribution."
"Salt water?"
"Jiangxi and Huguang. But the transshipment must pass through the Jiangnan Canal."
"Therefore," Li Ce concluded, "if Jiangnan is cut off, the Ming Dynasty will lose its iron, its saltpeter, and its source of weapons."
Everyone fell silent.
"Okay." Li Ce nodded. "Very good."
He stood up, walked to the huge "Complete Map of the Ming Dynasty," and pointed to the location of Nanjing.
"Since our lives are in someone else's hands—" He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, "I will take them back."
"Your Majesty..." Ni Yuanlu hesitated, wanting to say something but stopping herself.
"explain."
"The gentry of Jiangnan are deeply entrenched and powerful. Forcibly confiscating their property could incite a major upheaval..."
"Change?" Li Ce laughed. "Haven't they already changed? Cutting off the canal transport, intercepting iron supplies, communicating with the Jurchens, plotting against Prince Fu—how much more can they change?"
He returned to his desk, picked up his brush, and wrote two lines on a blank yellow silk scroll:
Guarding the nation's borders in the north, seizing its lifeline in the south.
My sword should see the blood of Jiangnan.
After writing it down, he handed it to Ni Yuanlu:
"This message is hereby issued to the Six Ministries. Three days later, I will embark on a southern tour."
Ni Yuanlu accepted it with both hands, her fingertips trembling slightly.
"All of you may leave," Li Ce waved his hand. "Tang Ruowang, please stay."
Everyone left.
Only Li Ce and the Westerner remained in the warm room.
"Mr. Tang," Li Ce looked at him, "if I gave you enough good iron and pure saltpeter, how much could I increase the production of flintlock muskets?"
After a moment's thought, Johann Adam Schall von Bell said, "If we have a thousand craftsmen, the monthly output could be... three hundred pieces. But it would take six months of training."
"I'll give you two thousand artisans, three months," Li Ce said. "How much can you produce?"
"At most... five hundred."
"That's enough." Li Ce nodded. "You will stay in Beijing and oversee the manufacture of firearms. The iron and saltpeter needed—I will bring them back for you from Jiangnan."
Johann Adam Schall von Bell bowed deeply: "Your subject will do everything in his power."
After he stepped down, Li Ce stood alone in front of the map.
My fingers slid slowly from Beijing to Nanjing.
1,800 li.
The canal is like a knife, cutting through the north and south.
The cold words from history books surged in his mind, those painful endings he had never experienced but knew all too well. But this time, he was going to step out.
Arriving in Jiangnan, in that land that is gentle and wealthy, yet also deeply corrupt.
Then--
"Your Majesty," Wang Chengen whispered as he entered, "Li Ruolian requests an audience, saying... she has an urgent report."
"Announce."
Li Ruolian strode into the hall, her face even more somber than before.
"Your Majesty, two things."
"speak."
"First, I have seized the estate of Shanxi merchant Fan Yongdou in the suburbs of Beijing. Seven account books were seized, which record that over the past three years, more than 500,000 catties of iron, 100,000 catties of saltpeter, and countless quantities of grain have been transported to the area beyond the Great Wall through the Fan family. The trading partners include various banners of the Jianzhou Jurchens, various Mongol tribes, and... Wang Chengyin, the general of Xuanfu."
Li Ce's eyes turned cold.
"Second," Li Ruolian took out a sealed letter with sealing wax from her bosom, "Han Zanzhou sent this urgent letter over 800 li. Sixteen families from Jiangnan jointly submitted a 'Respectfully Requesting Your Majesty's Well-being,' the words of which were respectful, but with an appendix..."
"What did you say?"
"It is said that 'If Your Majesty makes a southern tour, the people of Jiangnan will surely welcome you with food and drink, and present you with umbrellas to express their sincere devotion.'"
Li Ce smiled.
His smile was chilling.
"The Umbrella of Ten Thousand People..." he repeated softly, "I'm afraid it's the Umbrella of Ten Thousand Blades."
Outside the window, the sun is setting.
The afterglow, like blood, stained the eaves of the Forbidden City red.
Li Ce walked to the window and looked at the blood-red sky.
"Li Ruolian".
"Your subject is here."
Li Ruolian trembled and knelt down:
"Your subject... would rather die than fail you!"
(The following is the core paragraph of the logic problem, which has been rewritten)
Li Ce helped him up, placing his hand on his shoulder. The warning from the future about the ending was buried deep in his heart; all he could speak of at this moment was the responsibility he would bear in this life.
"Ten thousand deaths?" He looked into Li Ruolian's eyes, his voice calm yet resolute. "I don't want you to die ten thousand times. I want you to live, to keep this capital city in check, and to quell the fear of the entire world."
He turned to the side, pointing to the somber outline of the palace city in the twilight outside the hall: "My southern tour is to ensure the continuation of the Ming Dynasty's bloodline. And Beijing is the backbone. The backbone cannot bend, much less break."
He paused here. All the weighty warnings from later historical records were pressed to the tip of his tongue, ultimately transforming into the most direct authorization for reality.
"I grant you full authority." Li Ce's gaze was sharp as a knife, and his words were clear. "After I leave the capital, anyone who colludes with the remnants of Shanxi merchants, spreads rumors, undermines public morale, or secretly communicates with those outside the Great Wall, regardless of their status or family background, you may act arbitrarily and execute them first and report later."
"I want Beijing to be an impregnable fortress. I want the people's hearts to be as stable as Mount Tai. Can you achieve that?"
Li Ruolian trembled violently. This was not just trust; it was the weight of the nation's very existence resting on his shoulders. Beneath those calm words, he sensed a powerful will that was almost akin to "living towards death."
"Your Majesty, I can!" he roared, his armor clanging. "When Your Majesty returns, I will restore an impregnable Beijing! If the people are in turmoil, I will behead them! If the city walls are in danger, I will die!"
"Alright." Li Ce released his grip, as if unloading a tremendous burden, or as if handing it over to someone else. "Go and prepare. Let those who should be silent remain silent forever, and let those lights that should be on remain on forever."
(Revision of core paragraphs completed)
"yes!"
Li Ruolian stepped down, her steps heavy as iron, each one firmly planted on her vow.
The hall returned to silence.
Li Ce walked back to his desk, sat down, and picked up a vermilion brush.
The pen tip hovered over the memorial, yet remained suspended for a long time.
He suddenly remembered Zhu Chunchen's dying words:
"Your Majesty... if you can kill me alone, can you slaughter all the gentry and nobles of the land?"
He didn't answer at the time.
Now, he has the answer.
"I can't kill them all," he murmured to himself, "but I can teach them...to obey."
The pen falls.
Cinnabar is as red as blood.
On the same day, at the end of the 5-7 PM, at the Xicheng soup kitchen.
The porridge shed was newly built, with a reed mat roof and wooden plank walls, and ten large iron pots bubbling and steaming.
The pot contained thick porridge—more rice than water, so thick that chopsticks inserted into it wouldn't fall over.
People lined up in long queues, men, women, and children, dressed in rags, but their eyes shone with a new light.
A five- or six-year-old boy, standing on tiptoe, is holding a chipped ceramic bowl.
The yamen runner who was distributing porridge scooped up a full spoonful and poured it into his bowl.
"Thank you, sir," the boy said softly.
The yamen runner waved his hand: "Thank you, Your Majesty. This is grain from the Duke of Cheng's household."
The boy, holding the bowl, ran to the side, squatted down, and began to slurp the wine.
He stopped halfway through his drink and pulled a wooden knife from his pocket.
The knife was roughly cut and unpainted, but it was polished very smooth.
He stared for a long time, then suddenly stood up and ran to the patrolling Imperial Guards.
"Sir..."
The Imperial Guard was a young captain who looked down at him and asked, "What's wrong?"
The boy held up the wooden sword: "Could this... be given to the Emperor?"
The captain was taken aback.
"My father said that the emperor killed the bad guys who hoarded grain, so we can have porridge to drink." The boy's voice was soft but earnest. "This... is for the emperor's self-defense."
The captain crouched down and took the wooden sword.
The knife was light, but it felt heavy in my hand.
"What's your name?"
"Little Stone".
"Alright." The captain carefully put the wooden sword into his robes. "I'll deliver it to the Emperor for you."
Little Stone smiled, revealing his missing front tooth.
He ran back to the soup kitchen and continued drinking his soup.
The sun had completely set.
Lanterns were hung in the porridge stall, their dim light illuminating every tired but hopeful face.
In the distance, the outline of the Forbidden City gradually faded into the twilight.
Like a lurking giant beast.
Waiting—
dawn.
Or, the color of blood.