Xiang Yun frowned as he looked at the charred gun barrel and asked, "You mean it explodes?"
Peng Ying didn't understand what "exploding" meant, so he hesitated and nodded, saying, "I've made pistols, rifles, and even cannons, but they just can't fire. Once they fire a shell, they end up like this. Some are a little better; they can fire three or four shells, and then they all end up like this!"
Peng Ying said with a bitter face, "So, Your Majesty, I really can't make any more."
Xiang Yun took the charred gun barrel, stared at it silently, his eyes slightly narrowed, and then paced back and forth, as if deep in thought.
In fact, Xiang Yun already knew the reason: the material was too brittle and lacked toughness, so it couldn't withstand the high temperature and pressure of the gunpowde
