There weren’t any tasty snacks today, but there was something fun.

  With some free time on her hands, Clara made a few bamboo dragonflies for the four kids at home, who didn’t have many toys.

  Rosie was over the moon as she cradled hers—happier than if she’d been given candy—and immediately ran off with Deb to play.

  Ben was inside reciting texts, living up to his title as the most studious in the household.

  Adam and Chad were at the mill, watching Old Yeller bathe in the river while keeping an eye on the mill’s cash box.

  Business was booming. As long as villagers could get in line, they all opted for the water mill. Those without money offered homegrown vegetables instead. Afraid of produce getting stolen, Adam made a round every so often to bring it back home. The villagers had even started calling him “Little Manager.”

  Clara led the visitor into the main hall, poured him a glass of water, and sized him up while chatting casually.

  The man looked to be in his forties. He sported a popular style—small moustache, simple gray hemp robes, hair tied neatly with a gray cloth strip. At first glance, he looked no different from the villagers.

  But Clara noticed sharp details: thick-soled, hand-stitched cotton shoes on his feet, and hands far smoother than his sun-tanned face—clearly not the hands of someone used to hard labor. His complexion hinted at long travels in the sun.

  “Here’s some water,” Clara handed him the cup and smiled as she sat across from him. “How should I address you? Thinking of getting a water mill installed at home?”

  “I’m White, just Gavin White.” He picked up the cup and gulped it down like he hadn’t had water in ages.

  Clara raised an eyebrow and reached to refill his cup, but he held a hand over it. “No need. That’s enough.”

  She nodded and sat back, inviting him to speak plainly.

  Gavin White first asked the price of a compact water mill. After hearing it, he paused, did some quick mental math, and nodded slightly. Then he reached inside his robe—and with a crisp thud, placed two large silver ingots on the table. Each weighed twenty taels. Forty taels total.

  “I want to order fifty compact mills. No need for you to install them—I’ll send workers to learn from you. If they sell well, I’ll place more orders.”

  “But I have one condition: while fulfilling my order, you’re not to take others.”

  “If you agree, we can talk price and delivery. If not, I’ll take my money and leave. Pretend I was never here.”

  Those two silver ingots clanked against the table, catching Clara off guard, though her expression stayed calm and composed.

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  Gavin noted her poker face with a frown—this girl looked young, but she was clearly seasoned. Anyone else would’ve at least looked excited seeing that much silver.

  Since he’d been direct, Clara didn’t beat around the bush either. After a brief pause, she offered a wholesale discount.

  “Fifty units? I can give you 20% off. If you order a hundred, I can do 32% off. Want to consider upping your quantity?”

  “There’s plenty of labor in the village, and we’re only busy during harvest season. We can definitely finish a hundred units before year’s end.”

  Gavin shook his head. “That’s too long. I’ll take the 20% off for fifty units. Deliver by mid-October.”

  Clara’s mental calculator went into overdrive. It was mid-seventh month, right in the middle of farming season. She’d barely be able to produce anything before late summer.

  That left August, September, and October—three months. She hadn’t even stocked up on wood or stone yet. Averaging sixteen units per month with expected losses factored in... it’d be tight.

  She countered carefully, “Can we say November 1st for full delivery?”

  “No,” Gavin said, wagging a finger. “October 15. Three months is enough.”

  “That really won’t do. Harvest season means we’re short-staffed.” Unless he was willing to pay more, Clara thought to herself.

  Seeing no wiggle room, Gavin stood and picked up his silver.

  Clara didn’t stop him.

  He reached the courtyard gate, hesitated, then turned and muttered through gritted teeth, “No later than October 20. We’re shipping south. There’ll be snow in December—if we don’t get the goods out by then, the whole thing’s a bust.”

  So that was it—he planned to sell the mills in the south. Clara’s mind lit up. That was a brilliant idea. With so many water-rich regions down south, the demand could be huge.

  But she had her own constraints.

  She waved him back to the table to renegotiate. “How about this: I deliver at least thirty units by October 15, and the rest by November 1. That’s sixty percent of the order up front.”

  It was just like a production line—things started slow as the factory was set up and workers trained. The real speed came in the final weeks.

  Clara glanced at Gavin’s padded robe. She could tell the funds to build that factory were right there on him.

  He considered it, then added, “If you can’t deliver thirty by the 15th, cancel the remaining twenty. Still pay you at the 20% discount.”

  “No problem!” Clara stood immediately to grab ink and paper.

  Her swiftness startled Gavin. He suddenly felt like he’d made a bad deal.

  But Clara’s professionalism soon reassured him. The contract took nearly an hour to finalize.

  Just then, Adam returned with Old Yeller from its bath. Clara sent him to fetch Carpenter Liew.

  He arrived with a basket full of wild bayberries. The kids were thrilled. They begged Clara to let them use their pocket money to buy rock sugar from Peddler Liew so they could make bayberry juice.

  Ben, Chad, and Deb were bouncing with excitement. Adam, however, was already thinking ahead—once autumn harvest came, he could make something nice for the adults to cool off.

  Clara left them to it. She introduced Gavin White and Carpenter Liew and had them both sign the contract.

  Carpenter Liew barely glanced at the total—120 taels of silver—before his hands started trembling. He pressed his fingerprint down with a shaky hand, nearly too excited to speak.

  After Gavin left, Carpenter Liew leaned against the doorframe and plopped down on the threshold. “Let me sit... I need a moment.”

  “It really said one hundred and twenty taels?” he asked again, incredulous.

  Clara clanged the two silver ingots together with a “thunk-thunk.” “See for yourself.”

  They’d already received one-third of the payment. What was there to doubt?

  Carpenter Liew gasped. “Easy! Don’t chip them.”

  With the strength Clara had, she could flatten the ingots into pancakes. His worry wasn’t unfounded.

  She nodded and pocketed the silver. The two of them—one sitting, one standing—looked out over the golden rice fields below, already tasting the joy of a good harvest.

  (End of Chapter)

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