Chapter Forty-Two: A New Plan—Combining Energy and Fist

Weapons in this era refer to blades, swords, spears, and halberds, which are especially crucial for a nation’s army. A few days ago, Liu Tan inspected the entire production process at the Armory and noticed many inadequacies—one could even call them flaws.

Firstly, though the Armory functions as a single entity, it is actually organized by workshops. A skilled blacksmith with several apprentices forms a workshop. While there may be some exchange or learning between these workshops, the connections are not particularly strong.

For example, a master with refined technique might forge thinner blades that still meet requirements, while another with less skill would, based on experience, make his blades thicker to satisfy the standards. This disparity extended to the production of spearheads and halberd tips—Liu Tan found that the sizes produced by each workshop varied.

He even noticed that throughout the Armory, there was nothing resembling a ruler. Masters simply relied on visual estimates or measured with their hands.

The result of such shortcomings is the impossibility of mass, assembly-line production. Each blade or sword requires a matching wooden handle and scabbard; each halberd tip must have a suitable wooden shaft. If any component is damaged, finding a replacement that fits swiftly becomes nearly impossible. Often, all the parts have to be returned to the Armory for re-matching.

If the dimensions of these components could be standardized, all these troubles would vanish. The Armory would only need to manufacture parts according to the specified sizes—much like the auto parts factories of his previous life, each producing components specifically for their own vehicles. If a part broke, one only needed to order the replacement by its designated specification.

Compared to car parts, the components for blades, swords, spears, and halberds are much simpler. If produced to a unified standard, the savings in material and the increase in efficiency would be tremendous.

Therefore, Liu Tan’s first proposal was to establish standardized rulers and distribute them to every workshop, instructing them in their proper use.

Next, Liu Tan sketched the shape of a straight ruler. After some thought, he also drew a tape measure and a vernier caliper, adding annotations beside each. The tape measure could be made from silk; the vernier caliper would have upper and lower scales, with instructions on how to calculate measurements.

As for the current units of measurement, Liu Tan made no changes. They were too entrenched and systematic for easy alteration. In this world, one chi was equivalent to about 24 centimeters in his past life. A chi comprised ten cun, each cun about 2.4 centimeters. So, a “seven-chi man” of old would stand around 1.7 meters tall—meaning any healthy adult male could claim the title.

Second, he proposed establishing standards for size—detailing the dimensions for blades, swords, spears, and halberds, and requiring strict adherence during production. At first, this would slow the process, but once the craftsmen grew skilled, the effect would be unprecedented, akin to how the First Emperor of Qin unified axle widths and scripts.

Third, he recommended increasing the number of forging and quenching cycles. By repeated forging, the carbon content in iron would be reduced—as the saying goes, “steel is made by a hundred refinements.” Steel is far harder than iron.

Fourth, he suggested improving the quenching solution. It needn’t be just water; adding a little salt or vegetable oil could improve the quenching effect. Though Liu Tan didn’t fully grasp the principles from his previous life, he offered the idea in general terms, leaving the craftsmen to test its efficacy in practice.

Finally, Liu Tan introduced the concept of the assembly line. Human energy is limited—when someone devotes years of concentration to a single task, mastery is within reach. Imagine a blacksmith not only forging iron but also worrying about how to make the handle once he’s done, or which wood to choose—naturally, his focus and efficiency would suffer.

By having each artisan specialize in one task—though repetitive—it would foster expertise. This was the proven method of the assembly line from his past life, where specialization led to mastery.

If dimensions were strictly standardized, handles, scabbards, and halberd shafts could all be made by dedicated workers; in the end, everything would be assembled together. In times of peace, when war was not pressing, they could produce more of the easily damaged components, such as blades or shafts, while the rest could be recycled and reused. Damaged weapons could be reassembled, saving both effort and resources.

Four entire rolls of silk were densely covered with Liu Tan’s writing and diagrams. He tried to provide detailed explanations for each proposal, describing practical methods and the effects they would produce. He had no choice—if things weren’t clear, he might be able to explain once, but the actual implementation would fall to his subordinates, and he couldn’t be expected to clarify everything to everyone. He wanted to solve as much as possible in one go, even if it meant more work now—it was worth it.

Thus, Liu Tan spent an entire afternoon in the hall, pondering, writing, and sketching.

The Empress and her two companions had long since returned to the hall. Seeing the emperor deep in thought, frowning as he worked, none dared disturb him. They only quietly ground more ink when his supply ran low.

Sometimes, when the brush dried up, Liu Tan would forget to dip it in the inkstone and instead moisten it on his tongue before continuing, only returning to the inkstone when the ink grew faint.

The three women exchanged glances in silence.

Some ideas were simple to imagine but required real mental effort to express clearly on paper. Such was Liu Tan’s state at this moment.

Only when he finally put down his brush, stretched his arms, and rose with a lazy yawn did the three women relax.

The Empress offered a cup of tea and said, “Your Majesty, have some to moisten your throat.”

Liu Tan took it and drained it in one gulp.

Lady Wang said, “Your Majesty, I sent someone to my father. He replied that he would work through the night, and all the tools will be delivered by morning.”

“Good.” Liu Tan glanced at the sky—it was nearly dusk. “Tomorrow morning, you need not tend to the backyard. The initial steps for the two types of paper are much the same. Have the servants chop and boil the bamboo as before. Once I finish my exercises, we can proceed to the next steps.”

The three women all assented.

After supper, the night passed without incident.

The next morning, having already practiced martial arts for nearly an hour in the backyard, Liu Tan faintly heard a commotion from the front—likely the Empress and her companions had begun their tasks.

He put aside stray thoughts and continued to focus on his internal energy, now attempting to combine his breathing with the movements of Tai Chi.

At first, the flow of energy in his body would scatter the moment he moved. But gradually, it persisted a little longer after each movement. This gave Liu Tan hope—his idea was feasible.

Since it was possible, he resolved to keep trying. He practiced again and again.

Gathering his energy, initiating a Tai Chi posture—his breath dissipated, lasting only a second.

Again—gather energy, begin movement—this time, the breath lasted longer!

Wait—a fresh ache flared in his body. Clearly, there was an effect.

Good. In a few days, he would seek out Zhao Yun to ask what this meant.