These spinning wheels were already ahead of their time. Making better ones would bring no benefit.
Leading by one step is genius; leading by ten is madness.
Nobody wants to associate with a madman.
Keeping some cards up his sleeve was wise.
The spinning wheels’ structure wasn’t complex. Even if the carpenter didn’t leak it, others would eventually copy them.
When someone did, upgrading then wouldn’t be too late.
After the shop assistants loaded the hemp bark, Jin Feng and the others visited a grain shop, buying several sacks of grain.
No choice, with dozens of mouths to feed at home, grain was consumed quickly.
Fearing the yamen runner would pester them again, Jin Feng didn’t even eat after buying, leading the group out of the county.
He overthought it. An hour after they left, the runner was only then released by the advisor.
At the yamen gate, where were Jin Feng and Liu Tie?
“Where are the two I was talking to earlier?”
The runner grabbed the gate servant and asked.
“Constable Zhang, they left right after you went in,” the servant replied.
“Damn it!”
The runner wanted to slap himself.
What a chance, slipped away again.
“Right, do you know what they came to the yamen for?” the runner asked.
“Seemed to be for a deregistration document,” the servant answered.
The runner turned and ran back into the yamen.
…
Back in Xihewan, the carpenter had just left, delivering five more spinning wheel parts, which Zhang Mancang was assembling.
A crowd of women waited at the gate, eager but not daring to enter.
Tang Dongdong had said anyone sneaking a peek at Mancang’s work wouldn’t work in the workshop.
So the women stopped gathering wild vegetables, guarding the smithy gate all day. Once Mancang finished a wheel, a woman would snatch it.
Jin Feng glanced at the shed, crammed with over twenty spinning wheels. Tang Dongdong and Runniang’s beds had no space, so they moved back to the east room, squeezing with Xiao E.
It was late spring, not a big issue, but in summer’s heat, so many people together would risk heatstroke, even without work.
Some women suggested taking spinning wheels home, but Tang Dongdong firmly refused.
The wheels were her treasure. She’d rather work slower, produce less, than let them spread.
The workshop had to expand.
But Jin Feng didn’t want another thatched shed.
They leaked in summer rain and winter wind, unsafe.
Since it was a long-term plan, he wanted sturdier buildings.
Forget multi-story buildings; at least some tiled houses?
But Xihewan had no brick or tile kiln, nor did nearby towns or Jinchuan County, as far as he knew.
Build a kiln just for a few houses?
Wait!
If there wasn’t one, why not build a brick kiln himself?
It’d be a money-making venture too.
Digging a clay kiln wasn’t hard.
With that thought, Jin Feng was full of energy.
Spring planting was done, and the village men were idle at home.
With a wave of his arm, the men gathered round.
In any era, economic status determined family standing. Before, farming made men the main labor, so they ruled the house.
Since the textile workshop started, women earned money, thirty copper coins a month, more than men’s farming, and began acting superior, eating breakfast without waiting for men, claiming they had to rush to work.
Two days ago, Sixth Brother beat Sixth Sister-in-law over this. She was late to work, and with an injured arm, spun too slowly. Tang Dongdong sent her back, picking a substitute from waiting women.
Normally meek, Sixth Sister-in-law nearly fought Sixth Brother. Even his parents, usually favoring their son, sided with her. The old man chased Sixth Brother miles with a hoe.
Worst was Third Aunt, who stopped washing clothes. Last night, Er Gouzi, up to pee, saw Third Uncle sneaking back from the river with a basin of clothes, like a thief.
Women grew bolder, and men, though furious, were helpless.
They idled at wall corners, sighing.
Hearing the village head say Jin Feng was hiring again, this time men, they sprang to life, sprinting to his house, fearing they’d miss out.
When Jin Feng said two meals and two copper coins a day, the farmers nearly wept with gratitude.
Finally, their turn.
Women earned one coin daily; they’d earn two!
That afternoon, the men took tools to wasteland by the river.
Jin Feng had scouted long to pick this spot, its soil best for bricks.
Some dug soil for the kiln, others felled trees in the back hills for carts and brick-firing fuel, and the rest made brick blanks under Jin Feng’s guidance.
Without modern machines, it was all manual.
Mud was dug from the riverbank, watered, kneaded with hoes like dough, then pressed into wooden molds, forming square brick blanks.
Blanks couldn’t be used right away; they needed air-drying.
By the time the kiln was dug, they’d be ready.
The men, driven by pent-up frustration, worked hard. Jin Feng thought the kiln would take seven days, but it was done in five.
Limited conditions made the clay kiln primitive, but for backward Dakang, it was advanced enough to fire basic red bricks.
Firewood was ready. Jin Feng directed villagers to move stacks of blanks into the kiln, sealed the door, and thick smoke rose from the chimney.
Turning soft blanks into solid bricks required over 800-degree heat for three days and nights.
With low-heat firewood and a new kiln, Jin Feng estimated longer.
He even prepared for the first batch to fail.
Besides firing, cooling with water was needed, taking ten days or more.
Jin Feng had villagers keep making blanks while waiting patiently.
But before the bricks were done, a group of uninvited guests arrived.
Over a dozen men, all on tall warhorses, led by a young man in a green robe, followed by burly men in helmets and armor.
Their faces were fierce, some scarred.
Children playing at the village entrance saw them, screamed, and ran back.
“Bandits are coming!”
