Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 47: A New Design 2

Mr. Dai Zi, though not yet fifty years old, had already spent over thirty years in the firearms manufacturing industry. He started out as an apprentice at a state-owned armory in Hubei Province—back then, his job was converting matchlock guns into flintlock guns. Thanks to his diligence and eagerness to learn, he was quickly promoted to a full-time employee. He was quick-witted and had some unique ideas of his own regarding firearm design. However, state-run armories prioritized production volume and quality; once a design was finalized, for the sake of logistical support and cost considerations, no improvements would be made to a firearm model until at least 100,000 units had been produced. Old Dai (the name “Boss Dai” sounds a bit sinister, so let’s just call him Old Dai) had terrible luck. The several improved firearm designs he worked on were all submitted shortly after the standard-issue weapons had been finalized. By the time he finally got another chance to submit a design, a revolutionary upgrade of the firearms had already begun, so Old Dai’s designs naturally failed to catch the government’s eye. Although Old Dai held several patents and had even received a bronze medal from the Scientific Society for them, these patents did not bring him sufficient wealth or honor; they certainly didn’t qualify as the “profitable patents” the Scientific Society constantly touted. This left him, who was deeply passionate about firearm design, extremely dissatisfied. So, while everyone else was bending over backward to secure positions in state-owned factories, he seized the opportunity to “go into business for himself.” As a gunsmith, Old Dai could finally give full rein to his understanding of firearms. There were always officers—dissatisfied with their standard-issue weapons or distrustful of procurement officials—who paid out of their own pockets to purchase Old Dai’s designs. Others, impressed by his craftsmanship, would hand him sketches of their ideas (or, occasionally, even without sketches, simply describe them to him) and ask him to bring them to life. He didn’t make much money—getting rich was out of the question—but it was enough to settle down and build a life. What delighted Old Dai most was that he was constantly exposed to all sorts of quirky ideas and designs. Some ideas were quite good. For example, the day before yesterday, a field army officer asked Old Dai to install a small sleeve inside the chamber of his new standard-issue rifle (a standard feature on the Chassepot rifle in this world’s France) to protect the firing pin, which was alarmingly fragile. Other designs were downright ridiculous. For instance, an adventurer once gave Old Dai a blueprint for a rifle with five barrels arranged vertically on each side, each with a separate primer pocket on the outer end of the barrel, allowing the bullets in each barrel to be fired sequentially. The designer believed this would enable “rapid fire,” and a prototype was indeed built—though Old Dai was very curious whether this designer had any Huqiang ancestry to be able to handle such a heavy weapon (not to mention how long it would take to reload). Whether it’s a great design or a funny idea, Old Dai loves them all. He believes they help broaden his horizons. So these days, Old Dai rarely gets involved in the day-to-day operations of his shop; he’d rather leave the business that actually brings in revenue to his son to manage, while he spends his days focusing solely on firearm design—whether his own or others’. This has become his greatest passion. Today was no different. That humorous design sketch of a ten-barreled rifle had given Old Dai some inspiration; he’d recently been considering several ways to increase a rifle’s rate of fire, with the goal of creating a true “automatic rifle.” Although the Field Army’s standard-issue rifle selection process had just concluded, experience suggested that the Armaments Bureau wouldn’t accept any modifications to the Republic Model 28 in the coming years. But there are exceptions to every rule—after all, the Ministry of War isn’t the only purchaser of weapons in this country. This time, Old Dai hoped to carve out a niche in the market catering to adventurers’ needs. The profession of “adventurer” emerged almost simultaneously with that of the gunsmith. Senior members of the Scientific Society are brimming with curiosity about the world—plants, animals, magical beasts, terrain, mountains, rivers, minerals, culture, and so on. As long as you can discover something unknown to others, write a paper about it, and have it verified, a wealth of points and high-level badges will be within your reach. Unfortunately, most of the young scions of noble and wealthy families interested in science badges couldn’t spare the time to travel thousands of li in search of unseen flora and fauna (nor did they necessarily possess the talent for it), while many of those with the time weren’t particularly interested in badges that couldn’t be eaten or drunk. Consequently, the Scientific Society introduced a patronage system. Young people from prominent families who lack either the talent or the time need only invest in talented, time-rich youths from poorer backgrounds. Suppose there is a paper worth ten credits (paper credits vary in value, much like merit; the current imperial court is very fond of using numbers to evaluate every aspect of the nation). An investor can claim one credit, and it’s not impossible for them to take the entire amount for themselves. How points are allocated depends first on the original author’s preference. The author (including co-authors or the creative team) can claim up to half of the points, or may choose to forgo them entirely. The remaining points go to the investors; if there are multiple investors, they are distributed according to their respective investment shares. This has given rise to the peculiar profession of “adventurers”—a kind of private militia. They might venture into the primeval forests of the malaria-ridden South Seas in search of a rare, unseen plant, or set sail to protect members of the Scientific Society’s Geography Division in order to prove that the Earth is round—though, unfortunately, no one has yet returned alive. Every year, thousands of adventurers lose their lives overseas, which is why they place extraordinary importance on their weapons. Often, the dangers adventurers face differ from those of regular troops—for example, in primeval forests, they frequently find themselves inexplicably confronted at close range by large, ferocious beasts or outnumbered by savage tribes. In such situations, the rate of fire and firepower of a self-defense weapon are far more important than the range and cost-effectiveness prioritized in standard-issue rifles. Of course, there are exceptions where range is of paramount importance—such as at sea, or when dealing with magical beasts that fly at extremely high altitudes. However, that wasn’t Old Dai’s current concern; for now, he was solely focused on making a breakthrough with the “rapid-fire gun.” Lao Dai’s current approach is inspired by the revolver. Simply put, it involves scaling up a Republic Model 22 revolver in proportion, adding a stock, and firing more powerful rifle rounds. This isn’t difficult to build—Old Dai has already crafted several prototypes—but testing revealed that the traditional flaw of revolvers—gas leakage—remains unsolved for now. While this issue is present in current breech-loading firearms, it’s particularly severe in revolver rifles. Moreover, with the switch to high-powered rifle cartridges, this level of gas leakage could seriously jeopardize the shooter’s safety. Just as he was racking his brains over the problem, Xiao Dai—the son who ran the family gun shop in the front room—ran in excitedly clutching a piece of paper, followed by Ou Yang and Zuo Hengbai. Xiao Dai’s real name was Dai Jing; he had just turned thirty this year. As Old Dai’s eldest son and chief apprentice, he had already made a name for himself in the trade. For him to rush over from the front shop to find his father like this, it meant either the note came from someone he couldn’t afford to offend, or the note was of exceptional importance. The former was unlikely. Although Zuo Hengbai was considered a standout among the younger generation, Old Dai was also a guest of honor at his father’s military governor’s residence. Wearing his bronze insignia, he could even address the provincial governor and the education commissioner as equals. Ou Yang, with his military badge hanging from his waist, came from a family of far less distinguished lineage. So the only possibility left was that the paper was extremely important. Without waiting for Xiao Dai to speak, he first gathered up the several revolvers lying on the table. Then he took the blueprint and quickly became engrossed in it. “Father, what do you think of this design…?” After quite a while, when Xiao Dai figured his father had grasped the key points of the drawing, he finally asked. Old Dai ignored him, simply turning to look at Ou Yang—he knew that Zuo Hengbai had never designed a firearm on his own, nor had he ever designed any parts. “Was this designed by this gentleman?” “I’m just a first-class craftsman; I’m not worthy of being called ‘sir.’ Master, you may simply call me Ou Yang.” Ou Yang had always held great respect for these veteran craftsmen, even from his previous life. He bowed deeply: “This blueprint was indeed drawn by me.” Old Dai waved his hand. “I’m a gunsmith, not a scholar. You don’t need to go through all these formalities. I called you ‘sir’ purely because I think your design is excellent and very innovative. Do you expect an old man like me to call you ‘master’?” “Um…” Ou Yang was taken aback by Old Dai’s bluntness and didn’t reply for a while. “Then, Master, you might as well call me by my courtesy name, Qubing.” “Just call me Old Dai. That’s what Zuo Zhengming calls me, too.” Old Dai nodded, his speech as straightforward as ever, without a hint of beating around the bush: “Enough small talk. Your design is excellent. You write the thesis and draw the blueprints; I’ll build the actual prototype. I won’t take a single coin, but you must list me as the co-designer.”