Chapter Eighteen (This World Is Not Quite the Same) (2)

To his surprise, Zhang Changlin’s face remained utterly impassive; he chuckled and said, “Boy, anyone you grab off Firearms Street would know that. You’re really something.”

The cold water of ridicule splashed squarely onto Shi Yi’s forehead, making his expression freeze for a moment, embarrassment flickering across his face.

Zhang Changlin stroked his beard and laughed heartily, then snorted and continued out of the palace.

Shi Yi stood there in a daze. He had been secretly guessing the old man’s identity; clad in a first-rank official’s robe, carrying a firearm, and able to pass in and out of the palace unimpeded—it was clear this old man’s status was anything but ordinary. He was likely affiliated with the imperial military, perhaps even its leader.

Shi Yi had hoped to seize this opportunity to capture the old man’s attention, relying on his accumulated research experience from his previous life to make small improvements to these ancient firearms. That should pose no problem.

If he succeeded, it would be a great accomplishment!

What he didn’t expect, judging from his own words, was that firearms were apparently no longer rare in this era.

In truth, he remained half-blind to this world, muddling through with only a vague understanding; so many things were familiar, yet subtly different.

Take, for instance, the old man’s scarlet first-rank official robe: embroidered with celestial cranes and dragon claws on the shoulders. The color belonged to the Ming dynasty, but the patterns were from the Qing.

This contradicted every historical era Shi Yi knew.

He frowned in thought for a moment, then hurried after Zhang Changlin, who had already reached the Xihua Gate.

Shi Yi didn’t hesitate; he strode up, intercepting him, and said with a smile, “Honored Elder, allow me to finish my words!”

Zhang Changlin glared, “You rascal, step aside! I have no patience for your games.”

Shi Yi moved out of the way, trailing alongside him, still smiling, “Honored Elder, would you let me take a look at the firearm in your hand? Just a glance, and I’ll guess which type it is.”

Zhang Changlin pretended not to hear, quickening his pace, ignoring him completely.

Shi Yi was undeterred, determined to stick close, chattering endlessly beside him like a persistent fly.

When they passed through Xihua Gate, two carriages waited by the roadside.

Zhang Changlin, exasperated, beard bristling, strode toward the first carriage.

Shi Yi rushed ahead, waiting by the carriage door.

Zhang Changlin paused, sighed deeply, “Boy, stop pestering me. Firearms aren’t for casual viewing.”

Shi Yi shamelessly replied, “Honored Elder, if you won’t give it to me, just uncover it for a moment. Two glances and I’ll be satisfied.”

Zhang Changlin shook his head, sidestepped him, and climbed into the carriage, bending low onto the bench.

This old man—so stubborn!

Shi Yi muttered inwardly, then called out urgently, “Honored Elder, is what you’re holding called the ‘Self-Igniting Musket’? It uses a spring to drive a hammer against a flint, the friction sparks ignite the powder, firing the weapon.”

Zhang Changlin had just lifted the curtain to enter when he heard this; his face froze, and he turned to ask, “Did your father tell you?”

He’d guessed right this time!

Shi Yi stepped forward, smiling, pressing close to the carriage wheel, seizing the moment, “My father never mentioned a word. I’ve simply been fond of reading the ‘Lu Ban Classic’ since childhood and am fascinated by such things, so I know a bit.”

“You like to read?” Zhang Changlin looked at him with a half-amused, half-skeptical expression, clearly unsure whether to believe him.

Shi Yi touched his nose, solemnly replied, “Honored Elder, you jest. As the poem goes: ‘Always wandering far, interests diverged from the world; I am no exception.’ Recently, I read a Western treatise called ‘The Complete Firearms Manual,’ which details various Western firearms.” He deliberately dangled this as bait.

Zhang Changlin’s eyes lit up in surprise, “There exists such a book?”

Shi Yi’s lips curled in a modest smile, hands clasped in respect, “It records in detail the history of Western firearms’ development and their internal mechanisms.”

Zhang Changlin frowned, “Are Westerners not afraid such secrets will be stolen?”

Shi Yi gave a faint smile, “Honored Elder, you overthink. Being at the heart of the imperial court, you surely know better than I—these are just light weapons, easily copied. The truly hard-to-replicate ones are warships, cannons, machine guns, those heavy arms.”

“Good lad, did you learn all this from Western books?” Zhang Changlin regarded him with newfound respect.

He’d managed to muddle through.

Shi Yi breathed a quiet sigh of relief, humbly clasped his hands, “I am but shallowly learned, having only read a few books and dared to comment. Please don’t laugh.”

Zhang Changlin looked deeply at him, and as he stepped into the carriage, tossed a casual remark, “Come up.”

Seeing the shift in attitude, Shi Yi’s heart leapt—there was hope. Without hesitation, he boarded the carriage.

No sooner had he sat than Zhang Changlin grinned, “Boy, you guessed wrong again.”

Shi Yi was momentarily stunned.

Zhang Changlin spread his hands, unwrapped the cloth, and revealed the firearm for him to see.

Shi Yi could finally observe it up close; he leaned in, examining from stock to barrel, scrutinizing every inch.

Zhang Changlin abruptly withdrew it, wrapped it again in red cloth, and glanced at him, “Have you seen enough now?”

Shi Yi scratched his head, grinning, “If I could hold it, that would be even better.”

“Rascal, don’t push your luck.” Zhang Changlin shot him a glare. “If you’ve seen enough, get down. Stop pestering me.”

Shi Yi pretended not to hear, continuing, “Honored Elder, if I’m not mistaken, your musket is a self-igniting one—but shorter.

This is precisely the model targeted for improvement, and since the reign of the first Emperor, it’s been standard in the Firearms Corps, Imperial Guard, and some frontier troops. Commoners know it well, its name ordinary as can be.

Zhang Changlin now looked at him as if he were a fool, staring fixedly.

Seeing his calm demeanor, Shi Yi grew uneasy—had he gotten it wrong again?

Zhang Changlin sighed, “Boy, leave me be!”

This time, his tone was less stern, almost as if pleading.

Shi Yi persisted, “Honored Elder, don’t be hasty, allow me one last word.”

Zhang Changlin snorted, “Make it quick.”

Shi Yi said plainly, “Compared to the old firelock musket, though this improved the ignition method, it still loads powder from the front chamber. Its flaws are obvious: low firing rate, poor accuracy, still inferior to a bow’s range.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” Zhang Changlin said irritably.

Shi Yi thought for a moment, then tentatively offered, “I might have an improvement; would you care to hear it?”

“Oh?” Zhang Changlin was intrigued, twirling his beard, “Go on, then.”

Shi Yi frowned, “To advance further, the firing mechanism must be improved—replace flint with a firing pin, shifting from flintlock to percussion. This would not only increase loading efficiency, but also allow for breech-loading…”

“That’s enough.”

He was abruptly interrupted.

Zhang Changlin smiled, “Boy, you do have some knowledge, but what you describe—the Westerners have already invented. Their guns use a firing pin for percussion, and load ammunition from the breech.”

He shook his head, sighing deeply.

Shi Yi’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

Even that had already been invented?