Chapter Forty-Nine: Advancement in Technology

After several days at sea, Sun Li finally set foot on the land of Song. The moment he disembarked, he was met by Gai Shitaibao, the chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, who had been waiting at the dock. This brooding spymaster, known among enemy spies and the so-called “lower classes” of Song as the Maniac Butcher, was a fearsome figure whose very name struck terror into hearts.

Yet before Sun Li, Gai Shitaibao always wore an affable smile. Apart from the faint chill that seemed to seep from him, he was the very picture of a faithful steward. Indeed, almost all of Sun Li’s personal affairs were handled directly by Gai Shitaibao: efficient, convenient, and above all, discreet.

With their leader’s return, it was only natural that the military would send someone to greet him: Gai Shitaibao came to curry favor, while the soldiers were there to provide security—though, truth be told, formality outweighed substance in this deployment.

An entire infantry regiment, under Colonel Hu Hei, secured the dock from end to end. Carriages, servants, ceremonial guards, imperial banners—everything was prepared to perfection by Hu Hei.

Why, one might ask, did the military send only a lowly colonel to receive him? This called for some explanation of how the officers of Song’s army regarded Sun Li. In this realm, the military alone was subject to the most stringent system of control, which meant the army was, without exception, fiercely loyal to Sun Li. The flip side of such unwavering loyalty was that, from the generals down to the rank and file, most were somewhat “rigid” in their thinking. By that, it is meant that the soldiers focused solely on accomplishing their duties, indifferent to all else. Sun Li’s orders would be carried out to the letter, but expecting them to wax poetic about “their boundless admiration flowing like the great river” was simply too much for these iron-blooded men.

Hu Hei, however, was something of an anomaly—a veritable chatterbox by the army’s standards. The other officers, finding such ceremonial greetings a trial, were only too glad to hand the task to an officer known for his gift of gab. Mostly, though, the other commanders were simply too busy.

“Your Majesty, Colonel Hu Hei of the First Division reporting for duty!” Even as the most loquacious of officers, Hu Hei still spoke with the stiff formality characteristic of Song’s troops. Such a force was unmatched on the battlefield, but their lack of social finesse would surely hinder them in the treacherous world of politics.

Fortunately, Sun Li was thoroughly satisfied with his soldiers. By keeping the military structure distinct and separate, he had preserved the army’s purity.

“Hu Hei? You don’t look dark at all—how did you come by that name?” Now that he was back within his own sphere of influence, Sun Li’s spirits soared, and for once, he even joked with an officer.

“Um, my surname is Hu, and the first character I learned to write was ‘Hei,’ so I became Hu Hei…” Colonel Hu Hei replied sheepishly.

Sun Li was rendered speechless on the spot—so that’s how it was? This Hu Hei was certainly a character.

Shaking off his bemusement, Sun Li changed the subject. After a few words of encouragement, he beckoned Gai Shitaibao into the carriage, and together they set off for the city of St. Taren.

All the way, Sun Li conversed with Gai Shitaibao, catching up on recent events at home. As he had expected, under Zhuge Liang’s wise leadership, Song was thriving. Agricultural output and gold mining efficiency had both improved markedly, war reserves had been stockpiled, and all that remained was to amass enough gold to recruit new troops.

Reassured that the people were prosperous and the army harmonious, Sun Li returned directly to Song’s foremost university.

The researchers had not disappointed him. The wooden-handled grenade, loaded with granular gunpowder, was already a finished product, ready for mass production via the system interface. With a wave of his hand, Sun Li decreed that each soldier would henceforth be issued three such grenades. These new weapons, with their greater throwing range, would be devastating on the battlefield.

At the same time, true “blooming shells”—what one would traditionally call shrapnel or explosive shells—had also been developed. These advanced shells, equipped with state-of-the-art time fuses, were designed to inflict maximum casualties upon infantry through fragmentation and shockwaves.

The time fuse itself was a hollow wooden tube, open at both ends, filled with a slow-burning powder formulated for consistency. Marks along the tube allowed artillerymen to calculate the correct time delay based on the distance to target, referencing artillery manuals to match range and shell type. They would then adjust the fuse accordingly, bore a hole at the right mark, and insert the fuse into the shell.

Once loaded into the muzzle-loading cannon, the fuse protruded from the shell’s front, its inner end in contact with the charge. When the cannon was fired, some of the ignition flame would seep through the gap between the shell and the barrel, igniting the exposed end of the fuse. After a set flight time, the fuse would burn down to the charge inside the shell, detonating it in midair.

Such shells represented a significant leap in modern military technology; on Earth, they did not appear until the Napoleonic era, far superior to solid shot or grapeshot. The only drawback was the cost—until Sun Li could seize control of the Jinzhou gold mine, he could not afford to fully equip his army with them, not even as a basic standard issue.

For now, they could only be manufactured in limited quantities for use at decisive moments.

Compared to the breakthrough with explosive shells, the production of 12-pound siege cannons seemed almost routine. Paired with iron balls, these cannons were the ultimate siege weapon—against ordinary colonial fortifications, a few rounds would shatter the gates.

The 12-pounder—effective range: about 1,000 meters; maximum range: 2,000 meters. Though formidable, these cannons too could not yet be widely deployed, for the same reason as before: money, money, money!

Surveying the military technologies acquired over the past two years, Sun Li realized that the million gold coins he had won from the British Empire were, in truth, not so much. It was enough to support a family of a hundred in luxury for several centuries, but for the army, it barely scratched the surface.

Ah, the military truly was a bottomless pit for gold. Points were far better—no cost, and they could recruit units with higher-level technology.

With that thought, Sun Li hurriedly checked the system interface. He seemed to have a fair number of points left; why not simply buy a few ironclads and trounce the British Navy for sport?

Just as Sun Li was savoring the thought of crushing the British fleet, he saw that his remaining points were in the single digits.

“Xiaobai, where the hell did all my points go before I left? I didn’t spend a single one! You had better explain yourself, or I swear I’ll…” Alas, Sun Li could never quite win against Xiaobai…