Chapter 31: The Prototype Factory

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Zhu Xuan rode his horse to the craftsmen’s workshop beside the Anmin Army’s main camp. The originally low and dilapidated earthen wall houses had been demolished and rebuilt into tall, brand-new red brick buildings. The dense factory buildings were connected to form the prototype of an industrial park.

The craftsmen, who had once been ragged and destitute under Mongol rule, now all wore new clothes. Many of the workshop foremen had even donned silk and satin robes.

Because Zhu Xuan was an old acquaintance within the artisans’ camp, many craftsmen greeted him along the way with sincere smiles.

Zhu Xuan responded warmly, then beckoned his bodyguard to call Francis, the head of the artisans’ camp.

The red-haired, Semu man knelt respectfully before him, right hand on his chest, saying, “My greatest lord, the most benevolent ruler in the world, your faithful servant Ma Yinglong awaits your orders.”

His ancestor had been a Spanish noble captured during the Mongol westward expeditions and brought back as a slave. By his generation, only the surname remained. His father began giving him Chinese-style names derived from medicinal plasters, which always felt odd to Zhu Xuan when he called him.

“Francis, look at the clothes these people are wearing. I ordered them to wear work uniforms during working hours.”

Zhu Xuan pointed to several foremen inside the workshops. Ma Yinglong replied, “Honorable Prince, please forgive them. The wages you provide are exceptionally generous. These people have been poor for so long that suddenly having money leaves them unsure how to spend it—for example, me.”

Ma Yinglong opened his work smock to reveal a luxurious Sichuan brocade undergarment, far finer than what Zhu Xuan himself wore.

Zhu Xuan did not blame them; higher income encouraged greater productivity and stimulated consumption.

“I don’t care about other times, but during work hours, if anyone fails to wear their work uniform, the first offense will be fined, the second will result in a salary reduction, the third will mean demotion, and if they accumulate ten infractions within a year, they will be immediately dismissed and never rehired.”

“Your faithful servant will implement your orders.” Ma Yinglong recorded the rules and instructed others to enforce them immediately.

“Gather everyone in the dining hall. I have an important announcement.”

All the workers stopped their tasks and gathered in the large dining hall. Zhu Xuan stood on the podium, holding a tin megaphone, addressing tens of thousands of workers.

Many of them were displaced people whose sallow faces had gradually regained a healthy glow since entering the factory. In later generations, many young people looked down on factory work, seeing it as hard, tiring, and poorly paid.

But only Zhu Xuan knew that in this era of hunger, gaining employment in a factory was nothing short of bringing honor to one’s family—it meant solving the problem of basic sustenance and steadily improving one’s life.

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The workers fell silent, their faces solemn, waiting for the young man on the stage to speak. This eighteen-year-old, with a youthful face just beginning to grow a beard, had, just over a year ago, led them out of the Mongol dungeons. He had transformed them from penniless beggars into the most sought-after marriage prospects within Kaifeng city.

Their wages were paid by piecework, the more they produced, the more they earned. Every evening, night classes were held to teach them literacy.

They were able to eat meat at least once a week—a dream unimaginable to ordinary people across the land.

Zhu Xuan’s voice rang out: “Lord Tie Xuan once asked me whether I could save the countless displaced people of this world. Today, I stand before you to let you tell him what you have accomplished in these six months.”

The workers, dressed neatly in blue uniforms, looked proudly toward another man on the stage. Tie Xuan felt the burning gaze upon him. Known for his uprightness and strictness, this was the first time he felt a retreat in his heart.

“In response to the factory director, our Kaifeng Industrial Park, operating three shifts continuously over the past year, has produced over thirty thousand steel knives, more than six thousand sets of armor, over two thousand flintlock guns, two hundred thousand bullets, a total of one thousand and one French-style mother-and-child cannons, and sixty thousand artillery shells.”

Ten thousand workers shouted in unison, their voices shaking the roof as if it might collapse. Tie Xuan stepped back two paces, disbelief etched on his face—such weapon production, powered by one city alone, far surpassed even the mighty Ming dynasty, which controlled half the realm.

Zhu Xuan looked at him with a slight smile: “It’s not just the workers’ efforts. I also melted down the hundred thousand arms of the Yuan army.”

In Zhu Xuan’s view, the Yuan’s cast-iron troops were beneath notice. Though his steel lacked the purity of future ages, it far outmatched the broken scrap metal that equipped the Yuan and Ming forces.

He handed Tie Xuan a standard-issue Ming dynasty wild goose feather saber. Zhu Xuan drew his own imitation Type 65 cavalry saber from his belt and sliced through it effortlessly. The saber snapped with a crisp ring.

Tie Xuan stared at the broken blade in disbelief and borrowed a Xiuchun saber from Ji Gang’s side.

Zhu Xuan raised his cavalry saber. Tie Xuan struck down with all his might, and the Xiuchun saber shattered into two pieces. He ran his hand along the blade of the cavalry saber—it had no chips or scratches.

Tie Xuan wept bitterly, while Yang Shiqi’s expression grew complex. “Such divine weapons and armaments exist in this world.”

The flintlock guns had less impact on the scholars than the cavalry saber because they distrusted these expensive, problematic firearms. In their view, only cheap, durable standard-issue blades could dominate the cold weapon era.

Zhu Xuan’s traditional steel refining methods solved the era’s low steel output problem. Modern methods like Bessemer or open-hearth steelmaking would falter under the demands of mass-producing standard-issue arms. Only the outdated, labor-intensive traditional methods could decisively crush the Yuan and Ming armies, which relied mainly on cast iron.

Zhu Xuan then presented a set of armor modeled after Napoleonic cuirassiers—its surface smooth as a mirror, forged from thousands of kilograms of massive steam-hammered iron, then polished to a gleaming finish.

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Tie Xuan touched the armor that reflected his own image. Zhu Xuan then took a curved saber forged from Damascus steel, used by Yuan generals, and struck the cuirass with great force.

Sparks flew from the collision. The Damascus blade was slightly warped, but the cuirass bore only faint scratches.

“Bring me my flintlock.”

Captain Zhu Neng handed Zhu Xuan a paper-wrapped bullet loaded into a flintlock and placed it in his hands. Zhu Xuan pushed aside the engrossed Tie Xuan and fired at the cuirass from ten paces.

A flash of fire erupted. The lead bullet grazed the armor, leaving a trail of sparks.

Apart from a broken decorative sash, the cuirass showed only a shallow bullet dent.

Tie Xuan and Yang Shiqi had witnessed the flintlock’s power—it could pierce three layers of armor at fifty paces—but failing to penetrate at ten paces shattered their long-held beliefs. They prided themselves on ruling the world with benevolence and ritual, but the armor defied their ideals.

After thousands of experiments, Jin Zhong was used to such sights, but even he was moved. As the logistics chief and treasurer of the Anmin Army, he had always opposed Zhu Xuan’s kindness to the craftsmen. In these times, everyone treated artisans like slaves. Why would this prodigal prince waste money on them?

But at the moment the finished products emerged, he completely revised his views. Industrializing to strengthen the nation was no empty promise. With such an industrially armed force, how could they not march their weapons straight to the gates of Jinling city?

“Mr. Tie, Mr. Yang, next month I plan to launch a campaign to seize all of Henan, expand the industrial park, and double production. I ask you both: ten years from now, where in this world will be beyond my reach?”

“Emperor Taizong of the Tang was once Prince Qin; I am also Prince Qin. He was second in line; so am I. I will not only achieve the peace and submission of all lands like Emperor Li Erfeng but will ensure that the Great Ming faces no more border troubles—those who obey will prosper, those who rebel shall perish.”

“My mission is to make the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers of all under heaven forever shine upon the Great Ming. To drive out the barbarians and restore the Han and Tang.”