Ben wasn't in the least bit flustered. He poured himself a huge bowl of water, gulped it down, and only then, under Adam's impatient stare, pulled out the thick bundle of papers he had been hiding in his arms and laid them proudly on the table.
Next, he reached into both trouser pockets and shook out a cascade of loose copper coins. Clink, clink, clink! The sound rang crisp and bright as the coins scattered across the tabletop.
Clara was stunned. Her first reaction was sheer horror—had her children actually gone around collecting protection fees?
She hurriedly picked up the papers to look them over. There were fifteen sheets in all, each covered in Ben's neat handwriting: lists of who had placed an order, how much deposit they'd paid, a promised delivery date before March, each marked with a bold fingerprint in ink.
They weren't bribes at all—they were hand-written orders.
Orders for none other than the Mighty Book Chests.
Clara glanced from the copper coins on the table to Ben's smug little face and burst out laughing in disbelief. "Not bad, Ben Liew! Don't worry, you'll get your sales commission down to the last penny!"
Ben had been waiting to hear exactly that. He grinned so wide his missing front tooth showed, leaving a little black gap. Chad and Deb immediately pointed and cackled, and he scrambled to cover his mouth with both hands.
Still, he couldn't hide the triumph in his eyes as he looked at his siblings. See? Didn't I say Mama wouldn't scold me for selling the chest?
Except the moment the thought crossed his mind, Clara's calm gaze slid toward him, her tone deceptively mild: "By the way… tomorrow it's going to rain."
Ben's smile froze. Rain meant paper and ink would be ruined if they got damp. His precious orders!
Too late to regret selling off his chest, he turned pitiful eyes on Adam. "Big Brother… lend me space in your chest for a few days?"
Adam kept a straight face and calculated aloud, "Daily rental fee: two coppers."
Ben glared at him in wounded outrage, but ground his teeth and barked, "Fine!"
Clara waved them all out of the hall to go finish dinner prep. Once the room quieted, she gathered up the scattered coins and counted them carefully—one hundred fifty coppers in total.
Fifteen orders. Each had paid a ten-copper deposit.
The total price wasn't listed, but since Ben's very first chest had sold for five silver coins, it was clear the going rate would be around that, maybe slightly more. The wealthy young masters and misses could afford it.
Clara decided she'd visit Carpenter Liew tomorrow after dropping the children off at school. Together they could settle on an official price.
And perhaps this time, they should actively push the product out to the market. Unlike the watermills, the book chests required no installation, had no after-service headaches, and cost next to nothing to transport.
Sure, the profit per chest was only two or three silver coins—but the market was wide, and the margins promising.
If only Gavin White had returned from the south. Another partnership with him, and the village might have a true pillar industry.
Best of all, book chests were far safer than quarrying stone. No more dragging men up the mountainside to hack at boulders. If she could shift her focus, she'd even free up time to tend their vegetable plots and wheat fields.
Already it was February, the days warming bit by bit. The winter wheat was nearly ready for harvest, and every household was knee-deep in farm work. The lanes were full of women weaving, men bent over their fields. In truth, peasants hardly ever had a real "rest season."
Clara knew: unless her little workshop with Carpenter Liew could secure steady orders, the villagers wouldn't spare the labor to come work for her.
Even if wages were higher than farming, food always came first.
Self-sufficient households meant grain wasn't freely sold on the market. Too few people growing food, and prices would skyrocket until no wage could buy enough to live on.
People were used to this life. Hard, yes—but steady.
Clara sighed. She worked hard to adapt, but she'd never truly belong to it.
Who actually liked farming?
She longed for modern conveniences: internet, electricity, hot showers, flushing toilets, smart appliances. At the very least, a tidy, comfortable countryside cottage with clean living.
Most of those dreams were impossible now, but she'd settle for that last one.
Which was why, in this dynasty, everyone longed to read, to study, to pass the imperial exams.
Labor taxes and corvée had improved since the previous dynasty, but for the common folk, life was still heavy with burden. Compared to modern farmers, the gap was immeasurable.
At least back then, you couldn't starve to death just because you missed a tax payment.
And in the future… well, there weren't even grain taxes anymore.
"Mama, dinner's ready!"
The twins came bouncing in, bowls and chopsticks clutched in their hands, dragging Clara back to the present with their cheerful voices.
She quickly strung the coppers together, tucked them safely away, and cleared the table. Lighting the oil lamp, she joined the children for supper.
Adam and Ben had cooked porridge, stir-fried greens, and a plate of sliced cured pork. The salty richness of the meat balanced with the crisp vegetables, and with a mouthful of porridge, it was simple yet satisfying.
By the time they finished eating, night had fallen. But they couldn't yet rest—tomorrow's breakfast and lunch had to be prepared for school.
Adam had already proofed dough for flatbreads during dinner. Now, after a short rest, the dough was perfectly risen.
Ben chopped a hunk of cured pork into tiny bits, soaked and diced some bamboo shoots they'd harvested and dried days earlier, then mixed them into a fragrant filling.
They wrapped the mixture inside rounds of dough, and Adam fried them in hot oil until the crust bubbled golden.
If Doreen had been there, she'd have cried bloody waste at the amount of oil.
But Clara never scrimped on food. The children had grown used to hearty, well-seasoned meals. Flavor came first—cost be damned.
Soon the rich aroma filled the house, wafting down the lanes. Clara, lying in bed and mulling over when to harvest their ten acres of wheat, nearly drifted off—only to be jolted awake by the mouth-watering scent.
She padded to the kitchen. The two older boys were at the stove, the twins craning their necks behind them, eyes wide and noses twitching.
Chad's mouth watered so badly he had to gulp it down. "Big Brother, Second Brother—it smells amazing~"
Ben pulled the first batch from the pan and set them on a plate. Chad immediately reached out, only for his hand to be smacked away.
"Idiot! You'll burn yourself!" Ben scolded.
Chad pulled back, pitiful as a kicked puppy.
Ben sighed. He couldn't help it—his heart was too soft. He set one pancake in a small bowl to cool and handed chopsticks to the twins. "Blow on it first, alright?"
"Mm-hmm!" They nodded eagerly and puffed air at the hot pastry.
When it was cool enough, Deb broke the pancake into pieces. She and her brother tasted a bit, then lifted a chunk up to Adam's mouth.
Still busy at the stove, Adam opened wide, catching the bite in one go. The crust crackled, the filling was rich and salty, the bamboo crisp with a hint of sweetness—absolutely delicious.
Maybe a bit too oily, though. The next batch, Ben would need to drain better, or tomorrow, cold and greasy, they'd be heavy on the stomach.
(End of Chapter)
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