19. Waste Slag Soil

"Why don't we use gunpowder for mining?" Yang Fan asked.

The men looked at each other. Zhao Fu stepped forward to speak, "Master, gunpowder is a military supply. We have no connections with the local garrison, so we cannot obtain it. Furthermore, the private manufacture of gunpowder is a crime punishable by the authorities."

Yang Fan curled his lip. "You should have said so earlier. Is that all? I am a platoon commander of the Zunhua Guard; surely I can manage to procure some gunpowder."

"In that case, it shouldn't be much of a problem," Zhao Fu replied.

"Once the ore is purchased, how do you smelt it?"

"If I may answer, Master, the ore must be smelted with charcoal. Both are loaded into a blast furnace."

"Do you not use coke for steelmaking?"

The men looked at each other, completely bewildered.

Right, there was no coke in this era.

Zhao Fu explained, "To inform you, Master, in the Great Ming, we load charcoal and iron ore into the blast furnace to produce pig iron. This pig iron is then folded and forged repeatedly to become steel. A hundred folds make 'hundred-refined steel'."

Yang Fan now had a rough understanding of how iron was smelted in this era.

"Why did this workshop cease production?" Yang Fan asked the crucial question.

"Master, our iron ore yield is too low, and we lack strong laborers. With insufficient ore, we are forced to buy it from outside. Most of the many ironworks in Zunhua have stable sources of ore. Relying on buying from others drives up the cost; the more we produce, the more we lose. The previous masters all gave up and sold the business," said Fu Liu.

He understood now. Without their own quality ore, they had to buy from others, which added a profit margin for the middleman. With too few people, they lacked economies of scale, the output was low, and the quality was likely poor. Therefore, whoever ran it lost money.

This godforsaken place was not even near a river, making transportation inconvenient. Since both charcoal and ore were heavy raw materials, how could they not lose money?

Yang Fan rubbed his temples, troubled. Work had to resume; feeding three hundred people while doing nothing was not a long-term solution. The main problem hindering production was how to reduce costs.

What did the costs include? Raw materials (iron ore and charcoal), labor, transportation, and taxes.

There was no room to cut the others; only the ore cost could be managed.

"What is the price of the ore?"

"Selected iron ore sand is thirty-eight taels of silver per thousand catties."

"And the price of pig iron?"

"If it's Min iron from the south, it's one qian and six fen of silver per catty. The locally produced iron is of better quality and costs two qian."

"How much iron does a hundred catties of ore yield?"

"Thirty catties, which can be sold for six taels. But other costs come to two taels, and if the government imposes levies and taxes, we are certain to lose money."

Yang Fan basically understood. Buying ore from outside was essentially working for nothing. The ironworks that managed to survive were those that owned their own mines; the savings on the ore were their net profit.

"That's all for today. You may all leave. Tomorrow morning, Zhao Fu, Fu Liu, and I will go out to visit the three largest mines."

Yang Fan had no clear plan yet. Several owners had failed to solve this problem, so it was clearly a thorny issue. He would see for himself tomorrow.

The next morning, Yang Fan took Zhao Fu and Fu Liu straight to the largest mine in Zunhua, the Dongshan Mine.

The Dongshan Mine was vast, situated near a mountain and a river—the very same river that flowed into Zunhua city. It was extremely convenient for transportation.

Yang Fan observed that those coming to buy iron ore sand were mostly small workshops. They usually smelted small amounts as family units and then directly crafted agricultural tools, which allowed for higher profit margins.

There were also some very large clients who benefited from economies of scale, buying over a hundred thousand catties at a time. Even though the profit margin was thin, the sheer volume made it quite lucrative.

He, however, lacked both advantages and would certainly lose money—the more he produced, the more he would lose. Yang Fan pondered how to bring the costs down.

"Let's go take a look at the ore processing area." Yang Fan rode his horse and soon arrived at the site, where thousands of people were laboring like ants.

Strong men carried iron ore out of the mine tunnels in baskets, loading them onto ox carts to be transported to the processing area.

In the processing area, a large number of workers were sweating profusely, swinging heavy hammers to crush the iron ore.

The smaller pieces then moved to the next stage, where many women and half-grown children used small hammers to break the stones into even smaller fragments, over and over again.

Impurities that fell off during the process were cleared away and discarded. The remaining iron ore became increasingly pure.

The final step involved spreading the tiny stones over a field paved with granite and quartzite, then using oxen to pull huge stone rollers in circles to crush them.

They were then swept up as iron sand the size of soybeans. Finally, human labor was used to sift out large particles and carefully sort them, discarding the stones and keeping the iron sand.

Seeing this, Yang Fan suddenly came up with an idea.

This method of ore processing was extremely wasteful. The dust sifted away contained a large amount of fine iron sand. However, it was impossible to separate by human labor—it couldn't be seen or picked up, and the low efficiency didn't justify the labor cost. In the end, it was all thrown away.

"Where is all this waste soil transported to?" Yang Fan asked.

"If I may answer, Master, do you see that mountain by the river? That is where," Fu Liu replied.

Yang Fan looked over. It was a high hill, appearing somewhat reddish. He wondered how many years of accumulation from the Dongshan Mine it represented.

On the hill, there were many ragged children and women carrying tattered sacks and short-handled hoes, scavenging for bits of iron ore mixed into the waste.

Yang Fan figured these women and children were the families of the miners, picking through slag to supplement their meager incomes. Every little bit helped.

They would find a piece, smash it with a small hammer, and toss the useful parts into their sacks. The mine didn't care; anyone who wanted to scavenge the waste could do so.

"Let's go talk to the manager," Yang Fan said.

After inquiring about the manager's location, Yang Fan's group headed straight to the mine's shipping office.

"Welcome, friends. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner," said a chubby middle-aged man with a bow. "Are you here to do business with our mine?"

"Indeed, we have a significant deal to discuss with you," Yang Fan said.

"I wouldn't boast that our iron ore sand is the best in the Great Ming, but in Zunhua County, I dare say we are second to none."

"How are you selling your iron ore sand?"

"Top-grade ore sand is three taels of silver per hundred catties, no haggling."

"I am not here to buy iron ore sand this time," Yang Fan shook his head.

"You're not buying iron ore sand?" The manager was stunned. Why else would he come here?

"If not, then what do you want to buy?" The manager’s tone turned somewhat unfriendly, clearly unwilling to waste his time.

Yang Fan pointed at the hill of waste soil and asked, "I wonder if you are selling that hill of soil over there."

The manager followed Yang Fan's finger and saw it was the pile of waste soil. He sneered internally; another one trying to pick up a bargain. Many people saw the miners' wives and children scavenging for iron ore there and thought there was profit to be made.

Over the years, many people had wanted to buy that hill, but they didn't stop to think—if it were truly worth developing, why would the mine leave it to the miners' women and children?

It was only left there because the input was disproportionate to the output. Those women and children were idle anyway, and whatever they scavenged, they had to sell back to the mine at a low price.

That pile had been accumulating for hundreds of years. Countless people had set their sights on it, only to lose everything and end up having to sell it back to the mine.

Since another fool had walked through the door, why not sell it?

"That hill? You have a keen eye, sir. I can sell it to you outright for two hundred taels," the manager said with a cunning glint in his beady eyes and a smile.

He thought to himself, *You'll be crying soon enough, and then I'll buy it back for twenty taels.*