The Director of the Imperial Armory, a gruff old soldier named General Gao, arrived smelling of oil and metal. He kowtowed, confusion etched on his battle-scarred face. Why would the emperor, known for his agricultural whims, summon him?
"General Gao," Zhu Haolang began, not rising from his divan. He gestured to a plate of pastries. "Have one. They're excellent. Tell me, what is the primary weapon of our northern cavalry?"
"The saber, Your Majesty," Gao replied, cautiously taking a pastry. "And the composite bow. A fine weapon, accurate and powerful."
"Mm. And how long does it take to train a soldier to use one effectively? To become a true threat on horseback?"
"Years, Your Majesty. A lifetime, for the best. It requires strength, skill, and—"
"—and a cultural tradition of horsemanship and archery that we, the sedentary Ming, simply do not have in abundance," the emperor finished for him. "It is inefficient. We are trying to beat the Mongols at their own game, a game they have been perfecting for centuries. That is not lazy. That is stupid."
General Gao choked on his pastry. No one had ever called the Ming military doctrine 'stupid' to his face, least of all the emperor.
"The crossbow," Zhu Haolang stated. "Tell me about the crossbow."
"The crossbow? It is… a garrison weapon, Your Majesty. Useful for defending walls. It has power, but its rate of fire is slow. It is no match for a skilled horse archer in open combat."
"Why is its rate of fire slow?" the emperor pressed, his eyes sharp.
"The winding mechanism, Your Majesty. It is heavy. Cumbersome. It takes a strong man valuable time to crank it—"
"Make it lighter," Zhu Haolang interrupted. "Make it faster. I don't care how. Use better springs. Different metals. A different winding mechanism. A lever, perhaps. A repeating magazine. I don't know the specifics. You are the weapons master. Your task is to take a dozen of your best artisans and have them do nothing but improve the crossbow. I want a weapon that a farmer conscripted last week can fire accurately, and more importantly, quickly. I want to make skill obsolete."
General Gao stared, his military mind reeling. Make skill obsolete? It was a blasphemous, terrifying, and utterly brilliant concept. A volley of fast-fired bolts from a line of conscripts could decimate a charge of elite horse archers before they ever got in range.
"But… the cost, Your Majesty… the materials…"
"Which brings me to my next point," the emperor said, turning to the tax rolls Eunuch Xi had brought. "The southern maritime trade. It brings in silks, spices, exotic woods. Luxuries. It makes a few merchants in Fujian very rich, but it does little to strengthen the empire's spine."
He tapped the scroll. "We are going to redirect it. slightly. We will still trade for luxuries, but we will also specifically commission and import two things: high-quality steel from India and Europe for your new crossbow mechanisms, and something else." He leaned forward. "Saltpeter. In vast quantities."
"Saltpeter?" General Gao was lost. "For… for preserving meat?"
Zhu Haolang almost smiled. "For a different recipe. One that involves sulfur and charcoal. Let's just call it… 'loud fertilizer.'" He saw the incomprehension on the general's face and sighed. "Another project for your artisans. I will provide some… theoretical notes. The important thing is this: the Mongols' strength is their mobility. Their weakness is their reliance on tradition and their tribal structure. We will not meet their mobility. We will nullify it with weapons that require no mobility to be effective. We will not fight their chieftains. We will make their warriors question the very point of charging our lines."
He dismissed the bewildered general with a wave. "Start with the crossbow. The 'loud fertilizer' can wait. And General," he added as the man reached the door, "this stays between us. The court gossips like old women. I'd rather not have Minister Liu composing poems about the dangers of innovative weaponry."