Chapter 195: Gradual Development

Bai Lang wants a mountain‑pattern lock mail, which in the old Ming Dynasty was considered high‑grade armor for senior officers; handcrafted seven‑ring mail is probably extinct in the present Qing lands. It can still be bought from foreign regions, but only at a steep price. This is the information Huo Qingtong reported to Bai Lang, essentially no different from idle talk. If the Tang era still had a Silk Road to Central Asia, today Central Asia's trade routes are far less flourishing than before.

Buying weapons that come from Central Asia isn't too hard, but the quality is far inferior to the past—back then they could import world‑famous blades like Damascus swords, also called Bing Tie swords. Imported armor from farther west is even scarcer; moreover, this region is plagued by constant warfare, and a suit of armor is a treasure collected by tribal chieftains. After hearing the woman's words, Bai Lang pulled her into his arms and casually stroked her, while he kept thinking.

"Actually there's no need for that mountain‑pattern lock mail; isn't my own Golden Bell Shield enough? So a nicer‑looking leather armor will do, as long as it showcases the majesty of a Han general—don't dress like a stage actor or a temple's heavenly minister." Bai Lang idly ran his hand over his own arm, thinking, "It's a pity that a Ming general's official robe can't be taken to the battlefield; that garment is only for standing or sitting in display, it's truly useless in combat."

As for weapons, there's a solution: the city has a blacksmith, and if you can afford the money you can buy good iron and forge them directly. The remaining issue is a warhorse; when Bai Lang thought of that, he twitched his nose. "This scent? It's rather… fragrant. So that's why my fellow sisters can be completely different, it makes sense." He saw the slightly trembling figure in the emerald‑feathered yellow robe, and his hands kept touching and squeezing, unable to restrain himself.

After all, she's still a young woman; she says she doesn't want it, and her heart says the same, but her body is honestly compliant… Bai Lang chuckled. He doesn't have any particularly strong preference in male‑female relations—otherwise he'd be making love all day, not just once every two or three days as now. After all, the emerald‑feathered yellow‑robed lady is a rare, exotically beautiful woman, though he's not sure what the so‑called 'Fragrant Princess' looks like.

Since that's the case, let's start with a toast, of course with my own pleasure as the highest goal—she's just a mere female slave, why bother satisfying a slave?

Nevertheless, Bai Lang's stamina is abundant; although he isn't the prodigy Lao Ai, he's at least at the lower bound his physique should allow, so the emerald‑feathered yellow‑robed woman became too limp to move. Bai Lang tossed her into a room, dressed himself, took his silver and went to find the local blacksmith. By the Qianlong era, the Qing were relatively lenient about civilians possessing weapons—aside from armor, cannons, and military flags, everything else, including muskets and bird guns, was permitted, let alone broadswords, spears, bows, crossbows, and throwing darts.

But this world differs from history; firearms and bird guns are rare curiosities, and most people still wield various cold weapons. Otherwise, Thousand‑Hand Buddha Zhao Banshan could pull out a dozen handguns and fire them rapidly, which would look like the western style of the Ameili family… The local blacksmiths can forge weapons, and compared with everyday tools and farm implements, they are actually better at making arms.

All Bai Lang wants is an iron spear; he doesn't expect to forge a hollow iron pipe as the barrel, just a hardwood shaft wrapped in iron skin. The spearhead, however, is a sword‑shaped blade over forty centimeters long, with a reinforced spine in the middle—that's what Bai Lang requested. He doesn't expect to create any divine weapon; a few extra copies for spare will do. As for horses, this region in the northwest near Central Asia should have plenty of fine mixed‑blood steeds.

Since there is no Ming court, Bai Lang's hope of hanging a full horse armor will likely fail; at most he can prepare a half‑horse armor—tanned leather with iron plates nailed on—for any future warhorse he might acquire—and that's prohibited, making it very difficult.

Bai Lang isn't in a hurry, not at all; he has time to stir up the world—Yu Yu seems unusually normal again, apparently enough to keep him occupied for ten years. He's been training for a little over two years, plus the years wandering on the road, totaling about three years, leaving seven years for idling. So the question arises: how long would it take to set a whole nation ablaze with war? How long to incite a rebellion along the Yellow River?

The Tartar court experiences peasant uprisings every year, and the anti‑Qing, pro‑Ming cries have never ceased. Yet after traveling so widely, Bai Lang sees that the Qing realm is relatively stable now, not yet completely plagued by famine. Ordinary folk rarely have ethnic conflicts, so Bai Lang must act, stirring up the world's ambitious schemers himself. Moreover, killing the Tartars is the most righteous act, and the local cowards can follow him.

Bai Lang doesn't care how many will die; he's only thrilled by the imminent slaughter, the tiger in his heart growing harder to suppress. "Useless, women are no help," he thought, as the tiger leapt and roared, eager to fight.

Then let's go with leather armor; if that fails, we can rob a theater and repurpose the costumes. The key is to make Bai Lang stand out, showing he isn't some drab subject under Qing rule.

These past nights, Huo Qingtong has habitually lain down beside him to sleep, and Bai Lang finds it rather dull. "The earlier the work, the less standout the characters…" Yet Bai Lang is satisfied with the emerald‑feathered yellow‑robed woman's body. She has also formally opened her Ren and Du meridians, and in Bai Lang's eyes she has become a rare "expert" in this world.

Forging the weapons took a bit longer, because Bai Lang's standards aren't low; merely shaping the spearhead and grinding the blade consumed a great deal of the blacksmith's effort, as Bai Lang demanded a folded‑steel mouth. Quenching and annealing were especially time‑consuming, but the finished weapons have blackened spearheads that reveal a pattern at certain angles in the light, while the polished, snow‑bright sword blades display the distinct folds from the forging.

The old blacksmith at the shop was immensely grateful—folded forging isn't hard, but the heat‑treatment tricks were taught by Bai Lang, who had watched many blade‑forging contests in the modern world.

Four such iron spears were forged, each weighing over thirty jin and eight chi long. Bai Lang, with the emerald‑feathered yellow‑robed woman, bought a large cart and a mule to haul the weapons onto the road—whether leather armor or a great horse, they must head further west, perhaps to the foot of Tianshan. Bai Lang knows many episodes of this story occur near Tianshan, and he doesn't mind the slave's little scheming—who will be the unlucky one later remains unknown.