Chapter 45: Little Playthings

The few places in the city where kids could play were all filthy and chaotic, with ruffians and thugs lurking about plotting mischief, and older boys dominating whole areas by themselves. But this place was very safe, and every day there were thrilling sparring matches to watch. The strong and sturdy could even step into the ring and fight. If you managed to place in the rankings, your standing among friends and companions immediately changed.

Although breaking into the top four was difficult, quite a few had made it into the top eight. They all became undisputed leaders within their little groups. One of them, through sheer luck of the draw, had stumbled into the top four, and now he strutted around his neighborhood like he owned the place, admired by a great many youths.

Once the snacks were handed out, the youths returned to their natural state of clustering in twos and threes.

The youths had their own circles too. Zhao Jin, Chen Sheng, along with Shi Manqiang, Sun Dalei, and the others, formed the innermost core circle. Wang Zhaojing, though a newcomer, held himself in high regard and only stayed in their company.

From his casual chat with Wang Zhaojing the day before, Zhao Jin had learned a great deal about the workings of officialdom and felt he had gained a lot. Today, he wanted to chat some more. Just as he was about to sit down on a rock, a sharp spasm of pain shot through his thigh. Instantly losing his balance, he sat down heavily on the rock, and his backside ached fiercely as well.

The force of Wang Zhaojing's strike hadn't been that great, but Zhao Jin's own accelerating charge had greatly amplified the effect of the opponent's attack. Earlier, during his spar with Chen Sheng and while calling everyone over for snacks, he hadn't noticed the injury. Now it was making itself felt.

Wang Zhaojing, sitting on the other side, was not much better off. His face remained pale, and his hand hadn't left his chest. He and Zhao Jin exchanged a glance and couldn't help but smile wryly. Grimacing, Zhao Jin stood up again and said, "Brother Wang, go back and have someone take a look at that. I'll go back and do the same. Don't let it drag on and become a chronic injury. The same goes for the rest of you."

Wang Zhaojing tried to stand but couldn't manage it; it was Ji Xiang who went over to help him up. Zhao Jin was also unsteady on his feet, and Shi Manqiang came over to lend a hand before he was all right.

No one had expected the pain to be this bad. No one was in the mood for idle chat. Ji Xiang escorted Wang Zhaojing, while Shi Manqiang and Chen Sheng helped Zhao Jin. That middle-aged man and woman came again to pick up Mu Shulan and leave. Everyone dispersed, heading home.

By the time he reached the martial arts practice ground, the pain had eased considerably. Training went on as usual, but after picking up a wooden pole and executing a single thrusting motion, the act of pushing off the ground with one leg brought another surge of intense pain. Zhao Zhentang sensed something was wrong and only learned what had happened after asking.

"Don't try to be tough. You lot spar and fight every day; if you get injured, you need to treat it quickly," Zhao Zhentang admonished. He then told Zhao Jin to follow him inside, made him take off his pants, and upon seeing the injury, his brow furrowed. "How did it get hit this hard?"

Only then did Zhao Jin notice that the spot where he'd been struck was already a mass of purple and blue. After speaking, Zhao Zhentang brought out some medicinal oil and began massaging it for him.

It was probably a case of prolonged illness making one a physician. Having practiced martial arts for so long, Zhao Zhentang was very knowledgeable about external injuries and kept some common medicines on hand.

With the application of the medicinal oil and the kneading massage, the pain in the bruised area gradually subsided. Zhao Zhentang had Zhao Jin tidy himself up, then stand and walk a few steps. Everything was completely normal. However, Zhao Zhentang frowned and said, "You must be careful. I never imagined your sparring could inflict injuries like this. If you hit the wrong spot, it could very easily lead to serious trouble."

Zhao Jin quickly agreed and followed Zhao Zhentang out into the courtyard. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke: "Second Uncle, we fight there all day long. Chen Sheng, myself, and a few others all have considerable strength, and we don't hold back. It really is easy for something to go wrong. I've thought of a method that can protect the body while still allowing us to fight freely."

Zhao Zhentang glanced at him in surprise and asked curiously, "What method? Don't tell me you want to get a set of cotton armor? That stuff is expensive, and you need a specialized craftsman to make it."

"What's cotton armor?" Zhao Jin asked blankly. He genuinely didn't know.

Cotton armor was made by beating cotton into hard, compacted sheets, layering them one on top of another, with iron plates sandwiched in between, and then sewing it all up on the outside in the style of a cotton-padded jacket. This type of armor was called cotton armor and was considered standard-issue equipment for the officers and soldiers of the Great Ming.

Zhao Zhentang explained this very patiently, but at the end, he added, "Though I reckon that except for the personal troops and household retainers of the various commanders, everyone else's cotton armor is just a plain cotton jacket. Many of them don't even have that, and their jackets are all in tatters."

After spending so many days together, Zhao Jin could sense that his uncle held the Great Ming's military preparedness in great contempt, his words laced with considerable resentment. But that wasn't the topic at hand. Zhao Jin spoke up: "Second Uncle, do you have any paper and a brush here?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Zhao Jin immediately realized his mistake. He had never written anything in front of anyone during these days; many even thought he was illiterate. Asking this question was just asking for trouble. He had blurted it out carelessly, purely out of habit.

Zhao Jin quickly let out an awkward laugh and said, "What would I need paper and a brush for? I'm so muddled. Second Uncle, I want to make something like this."

He promptly crouched down, picked up a stone, and began drawing on the ground, explaining as he drew. Zhao Zhentang turned his head to glance at the shop's back door but said nothing. Soon, however, he was completely absorbed by what Zhao Jin was drawing.

Zhao Jin's idea was very simple: he wanted to make a set of protective gear. He would weave a vest-like armor out of bamboo strips, then pad the vital areas with leather and wooden boards. Essentially, it was a bamboo basket with holes cut out, with leather and boards affixed at various points. The chest guard, leg guards, and shoulder guards all needed extra padding, and there would also be a bamboo-woven helmet. Zhao Jin planned to use an iron plate as a face mask.

"How did you come up with this?" Zhao Zhentang asked, his face full of astonishment.

"I was just thinking about how to conveniently protect the body and make it easy to build. There's a bamboo weaver over at the freight yard; I walk past there every day..." Zhao Jin gave his reasons.

That bamboo weaver did indeed exist, and this line of reasoning barely held water. However, the real reason Zhao Jin had thought of this was a picture he'd seen during his hospital stay, showing soldiers wearing baseball protective gear for bayonet training. That set of gear essentially protected all the vital areas. Moreover, bamboo and wood were relatively easy to obtain, and the various parts could be tied together with rope.

Zhao Zhentang crouched there, looking at the protective gear Zhao Jin had drawn. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "This thing of yours... in a real battle, it would be far more useful than that damned cotton armor, even though it still can't stop blades, spears, arrows, or fire lances."

Hearing this, Zhao Jin laughed awkwardly and said, "Second Uncle, you're joking with me. Doesn't that mean it can't stop anything?"

"On the battlefield, plenty of men fight to the death with real blades and spears. But there are also those who get careless, get nicked or cut, get a wound, and then the whole man is ruined. With this gear, at the very least, you wouldn't have to worry about that," Zhao Zhentang explained offhandedly.

Because his hospital stay hadn't been short, Zhao Jin had picked up a bit of medical knowledge and immediately understood Zhao Zhentang's meaning.

On the battlefield, non-fatal wounds that went untreated often led to death from infection. Anti-inflammatory measures were practically nonexistent in this era. If this protective gear could be applied on the battlefield, it would greatly reduce such casualties.

"You draw really well... I finally remember now. Isn't this gear just like the armor the Japanese pirates wear? They call it bamboo armor or something. Did your father tell you about this?" Zhao Zhentang's sentences seemed disconnected. Zhao Jin shook his head blankly.

Zhao Zhentang didn't press further. He simply stood up, smiled, and said, "Your leg is injured, so no training this afternoon. I'll take you to get this armor made."

As he followed Zhao Zhentang out the door, Zhao Jin thought for a moment and decided he should record the details related to this protective gear. It would likely prove very useful.

When they reached the bamboo weaver, Zhao Jin described what he wanted. Though surprised, the weaver complied since an adult had brought him there.

Moreover, this set of protective gear wasn't difficult. To make the frame, there was no need to weave with very fine bamboo strips. Using cut-open bamboo slats, crisscrossed and woven together, would suffice. As long as sticks couldn't poke through and blows would bounce off, that effect was good enough.

Business at the bamboo weaver's was very slow. This set of protective gear cost one hundred and fifty wen. Zhao Zhentang agreed to the price very readily, and the weaver eagerly set to work. Zhao Jin could sense that the price of one hundred and fifty wen was on the high side.

The price was agreeable and the materials were at hand. To the bamboo weaver, this protective gear was, at most, just a complicated bamboo basket. In less than a shichen, he had the basic frame done. He also offered Zhao Jin a few suggestions, such as, in addition to the leather, lining the inside with a layer of coarse cloth to prevent it from wearing out one's clothes.

Seeing the weaver working so diligently, they decided to let one person handle the whole job. Zhao Zhentang added another fifty wen and had him attach and finish all the leather and wooden board pieces embedded in the bamboo armor.