In Liew Clan Village, there was a communal mill built by the villagers together, located on the flat land beside the ancestral hall.
Come harvest season, this spot was always the liveliest.
The open yard would be covered with drying grain, and the small millhouse was packed inside and out with people.
Each family had to queue for their turn to grind grain. The unspoken rule was: whoever arrived first got to use it first — latecomers had to wait.
Inside the mill, there were three stone mills. These mills ran year-round, 365 days a year, never idle for a single day. Someone was always grinding.
Because milling grain was an exhausting task, unless someone urgently needed to sell their grain, most people preferred to grind in batches, slowly over time. Or they'd wait until their storage jar was nearly empty, then grind enough to last a month or two.
Clara was in a hurry to grind because the family's grain was running dangerously low.
The last time they bought grain was back in late October of the previous year. After surviving the winter, the rice jar was now nearly scraped clean.
Using a stone mill to grind wheat didn't yield flour directly. It only crushed the outer husk. Afterward, a special sifting tool called a wind-fan was used to separate the husk from the grain, producing clean, edible wheat kernels.
Clara had no intention of relying on Lester for this task — that lazybones would be more of a hindrance than help. She left him at home to cook and carried the freshly harvested wheat herself to the mill.
When farmers gathered at the mill, the first question exchanged was always about harvests: "How much wheat did your family yield this year?"
Most replied, "Not bad," since weather had been stable. On average, each acre produced around 50 kg.
This kind of yield couldn't compare at all to modern harvests of over 250kg per acre, but for Willowridge County, 50 kg under traditional, rough farming methods was already considered decent.
Clara looked down at her own 40 kg of wheat and figured with her free-range farming style, 20 kg per acre wasn't half bad.
"Lady Clara! I'm done — it's your turn."
Someone inside called to her. Clara quickly carried her sacks in. Finally, it was her turn.
The previous user had already swept the millstone clean of husk. Clara had been watching at the doorway long enough to learn the ropes. She stepped up, gave it a try, and felt it was manageable.
Still, even for someone as strong as her, the process was painfully slow.
Grinding the entire 40 kg of wheat took Clara a full hour.
Onlookers were dumbfounded by her speed — which only showed how grueling the job was for normal folks.
As Clara walked home carrying her grain, she couldn't help thinking of modern rice mills that could polish grain in minutes. Surely there had to be a better way to improve this?
Even if it didn't boost efficiency, anything that saved effort would be welcome.
Using livestock to power the mill? Forget it. Every family in the village treated their cattle and mules like ancestors — there was no way they'd spare them for milling work.
Plus, livestock ate feed. That meant extra expenses.
As Clara crossed the village bridge, the sound of rushing river water gave her pause. She stopped.
The river flowing through the village surged nearly year-round — it was free, untapped power!
She'd worked on hydro-engineering projects back at her base. Designing a waterwheel suited to this river's terrain? A piece of cake.
And hadn't she been wracking her brain for ways to make money? If she built a water-powered mill, it would definitely catch on in the countryside.
Excitement surged in her chest.
The villagers didn't have much cash, but she could charge a small portion of their grain instead. Over time, even from Liew Clan Village alone, that would add up to a substantial store of food.
With only a handful of mouths at home to feed — and her own hunting skills — she might not even have to work the fields anymore!
Clara broke into a jog, dashing home with 40 kg of grain on her shoulders.
Lester had already borrowed the wind-fan from the old family estate. All he needed was Clara's ground wheat to start sifting.
"You're back!" he greeted her, carrying hot water like a doting husband. She hadn't made him grind today — she was the best.
Clara dropped the load, gulped down a bowl of hot water, and handed it back.
"The wheat's ground. You sift it. I'm heading to Carpenter Liew's place. Save me lunch — I might be late."
With that, she turned and left.
Carpenter Liew's house sat near the center of the village, close to Frank Liew's place. When the horse bandits had burned Frank's backyard, they nearly torched Carpenter Liew's woodpile too.
Thankfully, the villagers had put out the fire in time, so most of his timber survived.
Now that Clara wanted to build a waterwheel, that stash of wood was just what she needed.
By the time she arrived, the carpenter's family had just finished breakfast. Everyone was busy — either sorting wheat or laying it out to dry — except the man himself, who was still planning wood at his workbench.
Last time, Clara had given him blueprints for bunk beds. The man had been thrilled. Now, seeing her again, he guessed she probably had another new idea and eagerly ushered her into his workshop.
"What kind of furniture this time?" he asked cheerfully.
Clara stepped across the shavings-strewn floor to his drafting table, found his brush and ink, and sketched a rough diagram of the waterwheel on a scrap board.
She waved him over and explained, "I want to build a vertical waterwheel like this to power a millstone. I've checked the water drop near my gate — this size should work."
She gestured to a height about equal to her own.
Carpenter Liew had never seen anything like it. When she explained that the wheel would harness the water's downward flow to spin a heavy millstone, he simply couldn't picture it.
Fortunately, Clara had patience. She explained the principle over and over, then grabbed a few boards, poured some water, and built a small demo model right there on the floor.
The carpenter was quick-witted. As soon as he saw the water spin the wheel, he understood and exclaimed, "That's incredible! Where did you learn this, Lady Clara?"
"When I was little, I read about it in a book on hydraulics," she replied smoothly.
He gave a thoughtful "Oh," and didn't press further. Every artisan guarded their secrets; it wasn't proper to pry.
That's what Clara appreciated about him — he never badgered her with questions, which saved her a lot of hassle.
With the concept clear, she walked him through the diagram again. He immediately grasped what she wanted.
Aside from the wheel, they'd need a sturdy shaft to bear the force of the water and transmit it to the mill's crank.
"It doesn't need to be fancy," Clara said. "As long as the power system works, it's good enough."
The carpenter looked over the sketch and reminded her, "This will take quite a bit of good timber. You'd better be ready to spend some coin."
Clara wanted to wave her hand and say, "Money's no issue!"
But her coin pouch was painfully light. She could only ask for a rough estimate.
The carpenter, grateful for the clever ideas she kept bringing him, offered to waive the labor cost. But the materials alone would still run about one tael of silver.
Clara took a deep breath, clenched her teeth — and declared, "Do it!"
(End of Chapter)
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