At the entrance of Xie Guang’s small courtyard, a carriage was parked, loaded with large boxes and small cloth bags, brimming with goods.
Jin Feng inspected it and nodded with satisfaction.
As expected of the marquis, the iron ingots purchased were far superior to those bought by the old blacksmith.
New sets of tools for the blacksmith and carpenter were also acquired.
What delighted Jin Feng the most was that the steward had managed to find saltpetre and magnesium powder.
With these materials, Jin Feng could attempt to create more powerful weapons.
This was his true lifeline, a secret he had never shared with anyone.
However, when he previously visited Jinchuan, he searched every shop in the city but couldn’t find these two items.
Xie Guang’s house was already small, and with Qing Huai, the guards, and the steward living there, no spare rooms remained, so Jin Feng had the guards set up a military tent in the courtyard, unloading the goods into it.
The area was guarded around the clock, making it much safer than his own home.
After eating and drinking his fill, and with the supplies purchased, Jin Feng selected some items to use and carried them back home with Man Cang.
Looking at the small furnace by the wall, Jin Feng felt a bit frustrated.
The furnace was too small and rudimentary, with very low output.
But there was no other way, building his ideal furnace, even with Qing Huai’s help, would likely take months.
There simply wasn’t enough time.
Qing Huai’s guards had already taken a family letter to Bianjing, and if reconstruction began, the furnace might not even be finished before the transfer order arrived.
“Forget it, I’ll make a batch for urgent use and rebuild the furnace later,” Jin Feng could only console himself.
From that night on, the clanging sounds in the blacksmith shop never ceased.
Jin Feng, Man Cang, and the Zhang Liang brothers took turns working, producing about two hundred metres of iron wire daily.
For this, Zhang Liang stopped going to the county office, temporarily entrusting the delivery tasks to Liu Tie.
After seven or eight days cooped up in the shop, the village head suddenly came by, saying the brick kiln had cooled and was ready to be opened.
“Goodness, I’ve been so busy I nearly forgot about this,” Jin Feng said, slapping his forehead.
As the investor and designer of the kiln, he had to be present for the first firing.
Kicking awake Man Cang, who was snoring in the corner, to take over, Jin Feng followed the village head to the riverbank.
After a few days’ absence, the riverbank was filled with neatly stacked brick blanks.
“I was just scolding those lazy workers, all thinking about earning a few more days’ wages, not considering you’re only building one house. Where would you need so many bricks? I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t,” the village head said, pointing at the brick blanks. “Don’t worry, Feng, I won’t pay those workers for the bricks you don’t need.”
“Why stop?” Jin Feng said with a smile. “Village head, once this batch of bricks is pulled out, split the brick-making team in half and dig a new kiln. Problem solved.”
“But aren’t you just building one house? Why fire so many bricks?”
“I may not need them all, but others can use them to build houses,” Jin Feng said. “Village head, tell everyone later that after my house is done, anyone wanting to build a brick house can bring firewood here to exchange for bricks.”
“Really?” The village head stopped in his tracks.
“Of course,” Jin Feng thought for a moment and said, “One jin of dry firewood for five bricks. In the future, help me keep an eye on the brick kiln, and I won’t charge your family for bricks.”
People can be lazy, initially, whether it was the women in the workshop or the men at the brick kiln, everyone worked eagerly, but over time, some started slacking.
The workshop was better, with Tang Dongdong keeping watch, but the kiln was worse, with some men already idling.
Jin Feng’s focus was on the blacksmith shop, leaving him no time to manage the kiln, so he had to rely on the village head.
If the villagers still didn’t behave, he’d have to switch to piece-rate pay.
“Don’t worry, Feng, if anyone dares to slack off or bring damp firewood, I’ll break their legs,” the village head said, thumping his chest, his beard trembling with excitement.
His thatched house, lived in for over a decade, was rotting in many places, leaking during rain, and might collapse in a few years.
Seeing the brick houses in the county, the village head always envied them.
Brick houses don’t rot, and with good maintenance, they’re like an heirloom for future generations.
He never dared dream of living in such a house in his lifetime.
“I trust you to handle things,” Jin Feng said, smiling as he patted the old village head’s shoulder.
One jin of dry firewood for five bricks was basically cost price, possibly even losing a bit on labour.
But he hadn’t built the kiln to make money, so losing some wages was fine, it would make things easier in the village.
Sure enough, when the village head announced the news, the riverbank erupted.
“Tomorrow, I’ll send my kids up the mountain to gather firewood.”
“Feng, you pay us wages and let us trade firewood for bricks. If you need anything, just come to Old Ox.”
“Feng, I’ll work hard for you from now on, no more slacking.”
“Feng, you’ve given my family a way to survive, you’re our benefactor!”
The muddy men excitedly crowded around Jin Feng, eagerly pledging their loyalty.
Once everyone calmed down, Jin Feng directed the villagers to remove the earthen wall sealing the kiln.
This was the kiln’s first batch of bricks, and Jin Feng was prepared for failure.
To his surprise, the firing was a great success, with hardly any cracked bricks.
A bountiful harvest always brings joy, even if it’s not grain but stacks of bricks.
The villagers were even more excited than Jin Feng, rushing into the still-warm kiln to start moving bricks, heedless of the lingering heat.
Meanwhile, Zheng Fang and Liu Qiong, after days of travel, arrived in Bianjing with Qing Huai’s family letter.
Riding to the Duke of Qing’s residence, they presented Qing Huai’s token and requested to see Steward Chen.
With their status, they couldn’t directly meet the duke, only passing the letter through this steward close to Qing Huai.
“Please follow me to the gatehouse to rest, I’ll inform Steward Chen,” the gatekeeper said, recognising the third young master’s token and quickly inviting them in.
But before Zheng Fang and Liu Qiong could step forward, Qing Huai’s older brother, Qing Zheng, walked out carrying a birdcage.
“Young Master!” Zheng Fang and Liu Qiong quickly bowed and stepped aside to clear the way.
“You two aren’t in Jinchuan protecting the third brother, what are you doing in Bianjing?” Qing Zheng asked, glancing sideways. “Don’t tell me the third brother was killed by the Dangxiang, and you’re here to report his death?”
