Chapter Fifteen: Anti-Stab Armor? The Beautiful Lady Diao Chan

Taking the wine pouch, Zhao Fan drank heartily.

Then, bowing his head and clasping his fists, he declared with ringing conviction, “From this day forth, I am willing to go through fire and water for you, my lord, without regret.”

Chu Feng gave a helpless smile, grasping Zhao Fan’s forearm in return.

“My lord,” Zhao Fan continued seriously, “I believe that what we lack most urgently is not only training, but also armor. In war, stray arrows abound—even if these three hundred men can each fight ten foes, they are still but flesh and blood.”

“I am well aware,” Chu Feng replied with a sigh. “But armor is too scarce. Not to mention scale armor—even ordinary lamellar armor requires a long time to produce, and we simply don’t have enough craftsmen.”

“My lord, iron lamellar is rare, but we could buy hides and have the women sew leather armor. Though the protection is inferior, if it’s stitched in several layers, it won’t be much worse than lamellar,” Zhao Fan pressed on. “And leather armor can be made quickly. No need for blacksmiths—just the womenfolk.”

Chu Feng’s eyes lit up at his words.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

Zhao Fan, puzzled, replied, “Leather armor is not inferior to lamellar…”

“The sentence before,” Chu Feng pressed.

“Stitched in several layers, not much worse than lamellar?”

“Haha! That’s it. There’s a material I want to try—lightweight, and perhaps able to defend against blades and arrows,” Chu Feng exclaimed, his eyes gleaming.

“What material?” Zhao Fan asked in surprise.

“Hemp cloth!”

“My lord, how could hemp cloth serve as armor?”

“The women’s workshop has already produced new spinning thread and looms. This thread, after improvement, is more resilient and stronger than plain hemp,” Chu Feng explained. “I hadn’t thought of it before, but your suggestion makes it clear: we can weave protective vests from this new thread. While the material isn’t on par with true anti-stab fabric, today’s weapons and arrows are not what they once were either. I believe it’s feasible.”

“Protective vests? Woven from thread?” Zhao Fan looked around, bewildered. Was it really possible for such cloth to stop knives and spears?

“Come, mount up—we’re going to the women’s workshop,” Chu Feng said without further explanation, spurring his horse forward.

On the way, the crack of Chu Feng’s whip filled the air. Sometimes, all that’s needed is a flash of inspiration.

Protective vests—while not as defensive as scale or lamellar armor—were light and flexible, inexpensive, and if mass produced, could outfit the entire army.

The principle was simple: use the resilience of fibers to stop blades, so long as the weaving was irregular and thick enough. Like stabbing a thick stack of white paper with a fruit knife—hard to pierce in one go. Later, he could line the inside of elite vests with an extra layer of leather armor.

The more he thought about it, the more excited Chu Feng became. He hadn’t tried it yet, but he’d seen the improved spinning process and results from the system; it would surely work as a foundation for protective vests.

...

In the women’s workshop, several dozen women were at work.

Chu Feng had recruited them with the promise of meals and wages.

Seeing Chu Feng arrive in such a hurry, the women timidly greeted him, “Master!”

“From today on, all of you will be under closed management. Families may stay together, you’ll be well fed, clothed, and paid, but your freedom is restricted. There’s no room for negotiation,” Chu Feng ordered briskly.

His words caused a momentary stir of anxiety, but soon expectation replaced fear—for hunger had long haunted them, and they dreaded being dismissed more than anything. Now, strict management only felt like a blessing.

“Now, set aside all your current work. Starting immediately, use the new spinning thread to weave close-fitting—well, like this—cloth armor,” Chu Feng described, sketching out the design when he struggled to articulate it.

“This cloth armor requires crisscross weaving in multiple layers, using the thread’s resilience to resist slashes and stabs. Whoever is first to create such armor will be rewarded with ten gold coins.”

“And anyone able to improve upon it will also receive ten gold.”

Chu Feng outlined the basic principle. He was no seamstress, so he didn’t know the exact process, but the idea was clear.

The women’s eyes burned with enthusiasm—ten gold coins was more than they could hope to earn in a lifetime, and with food, shelter, and clothing provided, this was as good as a guaranteed livelihood.

It was the closest any of them had ever come to wealth.

As for shirking or cutting corners, none dared try—it could mean death, and they knew well what was at stake.

With his instructions given, Chu Feng summoned Uncle Li to further enforce the closed management, and ordered a major recruitment drive. Once the armor was developed, it must be supplied to the entire army at once.

...

Summer, early May.

Xuzhou, the Lu residence in Xiapi.

In the rear courtyard, beside a pond, a young woman of about twenty was dancing gracefully, her long sleeves swirling. Her beauty was truly breathtaking—no less than a nation-toppling goddess, and even surpassing the famed Qiao sisters.

What set her apart was a touch of feminine allure in her every glance and smile—naturally seductive eyes, a flawless figure, and elegance that outshone all others.

This woman was Diao Chan.

Under the pavilion, Lu Bu reclined, drinking wine and watching her dance.

Life could not be more comfortable—fine wine and beauty by his side. What more could he desire?

Just then, a woman in martial attire strode over, sword at her side, posture upright and commanding. She exuded an air of heroism, truly a woman who could stand shoulder to shoulder with men.

Lu Lingqi glanced at Diao Chan, her brow furrowing in displeasure. Diao Chan, sensing this, bowed her head and retreated silently.

“Lingqi, show some respect!” Lu Bu scolded, displeased. His daughter’s only flaw was her disdain for Diao Chan, whom she often spoke harshly to.

Lu Lingqi turned to him. “Father, Master Gongtai has waited outside for some time. Why do you not receive him?”

“Enough about that.” Lu Bu took another drink of his aged wine.

He did not want his daughter entangled in the intrigues of court; he wished only to pass on all his martial skills. If only she were a son, she too could charge into battle.

Lu Lingqi was puzzled—her father and Chen Gong seemed estranged of late. She had no idea that Chen Gong had been the chief instigator when Hao Meng rebelled against Lu Bu.

Though Lu Bu had not punished Chen Gong, a rift had formed between them, and only in the face of Cao Cao could they truly unite.

“Father, Master Gongtai asked me to deliver this to you, and a message: He says Yuan Shu is gathering an army and may attack again soon.”

Lu Lingqi handed him a brocade pouch.

“Hmph, then why does he not open the city and surrender?” Lu Bu snorted.

He suspected Chen Gong had been bribed by Yuan Shu even before Hao Meng’s betrayal, for Yuan Shu had urged him to seize Xuzhou, and no sooner had he done so than Hao Meng, colluding with Yuan Shu, tried to kill him—despicable!

Thus, Lu Bu had taken in Liu Bei to oppose Yuan Shu.

Of course, neither Yuan Shu, Liu Bei, nor Lu Bu were easy men. Yuan Shu had always coveted Xuzhou, sending Ji Ling to attack Liu Bei in Xiaopei, Yu Province, aiming to join the Taishan generals to destroy Lu Bu and seize Xuzhou. When Lu Bu caught wind of the plot, Yuan Shu changed tactics and instead sought Lu Bu’s daughter’s hand in marriage.

“Father, what do you mean…” Lu Lingqi asked, confused.

“It’s nothing,” Lu Bu replied, taking the pouch.

“Master, Cao Cao holds the Emperor and commands the lords. He covets Xuzhou, and now you are isolated and vulnerable—how can you resist him? Liu Bei is ambitious; he will not remain a subordinate for long. You should send someone to release Yuan Shu’s general Qiao Rui and make peace,” Lu Bu read from the note, frowning in thought.

“Lingqi, take this jug of wine to Chen Gong, and tell him it is my gift,” Lu Bu instructed.

Lu Lingqi nodded, casting another glare at Diao Chan—this woman had turned her father’s heart from her mother, and even reduced the time spent teaching her martial arts. Diao Chan shrank back, and only then did Lu Lingqi leave with the wine.

Soon, Chen Gong’s voice rang out from outside the residence: “Gong thanks the lord for his gift of wine!”

PS: Don’t get hung up on whether Diao Chan existed—a historical counterpart did, as a concubine of Dong Zhuo!