Chapter 4: Can't Sit and Wait for Death

In the early morning, Zhao Cheng followed his usual routine, circling the garden for half an hour until he was sweating. He returned to his courtyard, washed his hands and face, and then bowed to the north, paying respects to his father, the emperor, and his mother, the concubine, who were a hundred miles away. Only after completing this ritual did he start his breakfast.

Zhao Cheng washed his hands again and sat down at the dining table. He looked at the food on the table: silver plates were piled with fragrant oranges, true tangerines, pomegranates, and oranges, as well as some fried ring-shaped cakes, fried pancakes, and date towers, and flatbreads. Although they looked good, he wasn't allowed to eat them. These were just for display. The only things he could eat were a small bowl of mutton porridge and a bowl of mutton noodle soup. After Jianxi, his attendant, tasted them, it was his turn to eat, but he couldn't finish them all. The rules in the household were strict to prevent children from overeating and getting "stuffed." Most of his days after his穿越 (穿越 means "穿越" in Chinese, but in this context, it refers to his "reincarnation" or "time travel") were spent in a state of semi-hunger and semi-satisfaction. It was truly pitiful that a prince couldn't even have a full meal!

After breakfast, Zhao Cheng reluctantly left the dining table and followed Jianxi to the large study in the front hall. The teacher was already waiting there. The teacher first made him recite the "Hundred Family Surnames" he had learned the day before, then led him to read a new section. After repeating it three times, he was left to study on his own while the teacher read his own book and ignored him.

Zhao Cheng had already learned these things in kindergarten, so he found it incredibly boring. But now, with danger lurking everywhere, he had to be patient. "Standing out" would only make him lose his life faster. Pretending to be foolish was the best strategy. Zhao Cheng read aloud twice, his voice getting softer and softer until it faded away. In his previous life, one-on-one teaching would have been the dream of many parents, but Zhao Cheng found it dull. He had always lived in a group of forty to fifty classmates from kindergarten to military school, and now facing this old man over fifty every day, it was already a miracle that he didn't fall asleep.

The old man in front was preparing to take the autumn examination this year. Thirty years ago, he had already passed the provincial examination, hoping that passing the imperial examination would allow him to live a life of "eating mutton." However, he failed every time, and now he couldn't even afford to "eat vegetable porridge." So he found a job as a teacher. This family paid him well, eight strings of coins per month, and provided meals. He only had to teach one student, and the student was in poor health, so he only taught for half a day. This money was like free money. He originally wanted to teach the student well, but the student was too lazy and stupid, and even after half a day of class, he still hadn't finished learning the "Hundred Family Surnames." The old man's heart was cold, and every day, the student and teacher just went through the motions, each getting what they wanted.

"Jianxi, have you gathered all the things I asked for?" Zhao Cheng asked the 'book boy' who was dozing off.

"Second Master, I've gathered them all. It was quite a task. The things you asked for, no one had ever seen before. If it weren't for the high wages, they wouldn't have done it!" Jianxi perked up and said, leaning in. He thought these things were useless, but he had spent a lot of money on them. Even a skilled old craftsman would need ten days to make them. But Second Master was not very smart, and as long as he got the things, he was happy and never asked about the cost. Jianxi always tried to get some extra money, so he was very attentive and enthusiastic.

"Bring them to the small study after lunch. Go to the chief steward to get the money you spent. You know how to do it, right?" Zhao Cheng waved his hand to stop his chatter. He noticed that Jianxi's expression was like that of a logistics officer sent to the prison when he was in charge. This kid was treating him like a fool, but now he had no close friends, and Jianxi, who had benefited, wouldn't dare to talk. It suited Zhao Cheng's plan, so he continued to act "stupid."

"Second Master, rest assured!" Jianxi replied with a smile, happy that he had another eight strings of coins. Before being assigned to serve the second prince from the palace, he was just a lowly servant who swept the floor and watered the plants. People in the palace said that the second prince was a disaster, and anyone who followed him would have bad luck. At first, he was very cautious, but soon he realized that the prince was not a disaster but a blessing. At least his pockets were much heavier than when he was in the palace.

The old man watched the master and servant chatting below and sighed softly, "A rotten tree cannot be carved!" He turned his face to his book, out of sight and out of mind. It was a long wait until noon, and both the teacher and the student left the study as quickly as possible, each finding the other unbearable!

Zhao Cheng laid out all the things he had asked Jianxi to gather on the desk. There were about thirty to forty parts of various sizes. As he assembled them, he marveled at how he had underestimated the ancients. These individually processed parts would be impossible to make in modern times without the skills of a "Level 8 Worker." It seemed that although Jianxi was greedy, the things he brought were indeed of good quality.

Zhao Cheng made some minor adjustments to a few parts with a file, then assembled them and hammered the connecting rivets. A device that the ancients would never recognize but a modern three-year-old would know appeared on the desk—a short-barreled revolver. The brass body shone golden, and the huali wood grip felt good in his hand. Zhao Cheng took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in his hand. With the gun in hand, his demeanor changed completely, as if he were a god of death ready to strike at any moment.

"Phew," Zhao Cheng exhaled,收敛了身上的气息 (restrained his aura), and quickly assembled another gun with the remaining parts. His worry was somewhat excessive. To prevent any errors, he had Jianxi make two sets of each part, in case of replacements. This was not because he was overly cautious; his cautious and meticulous nature had always been a key factor in his survival in his previous life.

Zhao Cheng's decision to make the revolver was not a whim but a necessity to protect himself from potential threats. He didn't want to entrust his safety to people he didn't understand. The mansion had no shortage of swords and spears, but he couldn't use them. The best weapon was a small revolver, but this wouldn't appear for another seven or eight hundred years, and even if he had the money, there was nowhere to buy it. After much thought, he remembered the early black powder revolvers. These guns had a simple structure and were relatively easy to make under the current conditions. He used Jianxi to gather the necessary materials over nearly two months.

Zhao Cheng pulled the trigger, and the hammer struck the percussion cap accurately. He pulled the hammer back again, and the cylinder rotated, making a satisfying click. He checked the alignment of the barrel and the cylinder, a critical part that required careful attention. He didn't have high expectations for the gun. The brass body was chosen due to the ancient processing level, which led to many defects. Brass is relatively soft and cannot withstand frequent firing, causing the barrel and cylinder to expand and create gaps, leading to gas leakage, reduced power, and decreased accuracy. The spring in the gun was also a problem, and he had to use a substitute. As for the bullets, they were a luxury, so he had to use the earliest method of loading the revolver.

He moved a low stool, climbed up, and took a book box from the bookshelf, placing it on the desk and opening it. He removed the top book and carefully opened a box inside, taking out the contents. In his previous life, these things were easily obtainable, but now they had cost him a lot of effort. Zhao Cheng first removed the cylinder, blocked the percussion hole with his finger, and used a small silver spoon to load the gunpowder into the chambers, filling each one halfway. The gunpowder was a mixture of saltpeter and sulfur, which he obtained from the mansion's medicine cabinet. He hadn't expected that these ingredients were used as medicine, but as a former special forces soldier, he knew how to make explosives with laundry detergent.

After loading the gunpowder, he added some crushed wheat flour and a lead bullet. The lead bullets were made by melting a lead pot from the kitchen. He sealed the cylinder with wax oil and loaded the six chambers. Finally, he loaded the percussion caps. He used modern percussion paper, which he could buy for a few cents as a child, but now it was a headache. Without the percussion caps, he would have to use a matchlock, which would be less discreet and practical. He had to thank Qingyun, the Taoist, who, in an explosion, gave him the red phosphorus he had been dreaming of.

With the red phosphorus, he added realgar, charcoal, and rice water to create a relatively stable percussion device. He loaded the percussion caps into the firing chamber at the rear of the cylinder and reassembled the gun. He carefully tied the gun to a chair and placed a book about half an inch thick about four to five meters away. He tied a thin rope to the trigger and lay behind the desk to start the test, being very cautious because he didn't know if the gunpowder charge was appropriate or the quality of the ancient metal.

With a muffled "bang," a cloud of choking smoke filled the room. Zhao Cheng saw that the gun was still on the chair, and he pulled the hammer back again, pulling the trigger several times. More muffled bangs followed, and the room was filled with smoke. After the shooting, the gun was intact, but the book in front was shattered by the lead bullets.

"Ha ha, I succeeded!" Zhao Cheng laughed, feeling that he had taken the first step in a long journey. He reloaded the gun and placed a teacup on the desk, which in modern times would be worth tens of thousands, but now it was his target.

"Bang, bang," Zhao Cheng stepped back about ten steps and fired two shots. The bullets missed the teacup but hit a high-quality Duan inkstone, causing sparks and debris to fly. "Damn, the recoil is still too strong!" Zhao Cheng muttered, stepping forward and aiming again. The teacup shattered, and in the next two shots, he found the knack of the old gun. The water basin and pen holder on the desk became "victims" of the gun. For the last shot, he aimed at a pillar in the corner of the room. The gun was now hot, and his wrist was sore from the recoil.

Putting down the gun, Zhao Cheng examined the pillar. The bullet had deviated from the carved flower he aimed at by several inches but had penetrated about an inch deep. He made an initial judgment of the gun's performance: it had an effective range of over twenty meters, but the accuracy decreased. At that distance, he could only rely on luck. Within ten meters, he could hit a target without missing, and even armor would not stop the bullets.

He examined the gun again and, as expected, found scratches in the barrel. It seemed that this gun, like the ornamental guns of his previous life, was more for show than practical use and could not withstand frequent use. However, it was sufficient for self-defense in critical moments.

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