There were five saws and five axes in total. Tools were chosen on a first-come, first-served basis. For small trees, axes were quicker; for large ones, saws were more efficient. Each had its strengths, depending on what one was familiar with.
Overall, the saws were more practical.
Sonny moved quickly and snatched a saw. Clara, a step slower, was left with an axe.
Foreman Tim Ding mainly patrolled the area, supervising and ensuring no one slacked off.
Before heading into the forest, the butler had explained that everyone's logging output would be tallied. The top three workers would receive bonuses, while the bottom three—especially those significantly below average—would have their wages docked.
So, the moment they arrived at the site, everyone raised their tools and got to work—motivated by reward and driven by fear of penalty.
Clara thought, "These ancient folks are sharp—no one's getting the short end of the stick here."
She noticed Sonny casting a pleading look her way, but she only gave him a hand signal: get moving. Then, hoisting her axe, she picked a medium-sized Chinese fir and raised her blade.
She hadn't felled trees before, but she'd seen it done many times. At worst, it was just like chopping firewood—except this log was bigger. The principle was the same.
Sonny had no choice but to play along—pretending to saw while secretly observing the others. Mimicking their movements, he managed to saw through half a tree by noon—miraculously avoiding last place.
The fastest worker was a burly man with a full beard. He went straight for the largest trees, sawing with vigor. Just before the lunch call, he finished one off. With a swift kick and a quick roll, he dodged aside—leaving only a sweat-soaked undershirt where he'd stood. With a massive thud, the tree collapsed.
Clara saw everything. The tree was initially leaning away from the bearded man but suddenly shifted and came down in his direction.
To avoid being crushed, the man had tossed his shirt down and rolled away in time. The tree landed directly atop the shirt.
Foreman Tim approached, puzzled, pointing to the shirt still lying under the trunk. "Why'd you leave your shirt behind while running?"
The bearded man—known to all as "Beardo"—dusted off the shirt and pulled it back on. "Trees have spirits. When they fall, they chase people. Leaving behind something soaked in my scent tricks them."
"Really?" Tim was skeptical.
Beardo grinned. "Try it yourself and see."
The foreman glanced at the thick trunk—twice the width of his thigh—and waved his hands. "I'll pass."
He then called everyone over and warned them to stay alert when trees fell.
Clara, holding a bowl of veggie soup and two coarse buns from the Ding estate, found Beardo's tale oddly intriguing.
She decided to test the theory.
Oddly enough, when she tried to control the fall, the tree toppled right in the direction she kicked it.
But when she stopped trying to control it, the tree nearly fell back toward her. If not for her quick reflexes, she would've been injured.
They were each logging in separate areas to avoid accidents, so if someone got hurt, no one would hear their cries for help.
"So... it's like Schrodinger's Tree Spirit?" Clara muttered, shaken. Best not to mess with nature.
Just before 5pm, everyone stopped felling trees. They used axes to cut off branches and trim the trunks.
At the stroke of five, the workday ended.
Clara had managed to fell two trees.
Sonny finally figured out the technique that afternoon. He brought down one tree using Beardo's method—without injury.
Beardo remained the champion: one tree in the morning, two in the afternoon—three total.
The least productive was one tree. With that, both Clara and Sonny stayed safe and earned their full ten copper coins for the day.
Whether they'd continue avoiding wage deductions would depend on their performance in the days to come.
Logging was exhausting work. The meager lunch hadn't filled Clara up. She hadn't brought any water either, and the Ding household didn't provide any. Parched, she and Sonny had to hike down to drink from a mountain spring.
That round trip wasted quite a bit of time. Tim seemed displeased, but since it was the first day, he let it slide.
Still, as they wrapped up, he reminded them: "Bring a water flask tomorrow."
"Of course, of course!" Sonny promised cheerfully.
Clara clutched her rumbling stomach, longing to dash home and devour dinner.
Riverbend Village was closer, but Clara couldn't tolerate Sonny's slow pace. She told him, "My home's farther. If I wait, it'll be dark and I won't see the road. I'll go ahead."
Sonny barely got out an "Ah?" before Clara bolted off—no chance to stop her.
She turned back briefly to add, "Don't wait for me tomorrow. I'll see you at the Ding Estate."
With that, she sprinted off, leaving Sonny far behind.
Traveling alone and unburdened, Clara made it back to Liew Clan Village in just over two hours—just as the last rays of sunset faded.
The four kids rushed to greet her. Clara gave a weary smile and collapsed into a seat in the main hall, ready to dig in.
Lester brought over half a pot of porridge warmed on the stove and a bowl of stewed melon and sauce.
Clara dumped the dish into the porridge, stirred, and slurped down a massive mouthful.
The five Liew members surrounded her, stunned at her ravenous pace—like she'd returned from the dead.
"Mom, didn't you eat lunch?" Chad asked, concerned.
Clara nodded vaguely. Only after finishing the entire pot of porridge did her gnawing stomach finally settle.
With a loud "clunk," she set down the empty pot and wiped her mouth. "Finally feel alive again."
"What kind of work did they have you do to make you this hungry? Didn't they feed you?" Lester asked from the kitchen as he scrubbed the pot.
"If it's this hard, I'll go next time. You should rest."
"No need!" Clara raised a hand to halt him. "It's just the first day. I wasn't prepared. Tomorrow will be better."
"Just get me a water flask. Fill it with cooled boiled water so I can take it with me."
Lester agreed and, after washing the pot, squatted in front of her curiously. "What kind of work do you do? And how's the pay?"
Clara kept it brief. "Ten coins a day, two meals included. Logging."
Lester's excited look immediately dimmed at the word "logging." He muttered an "Oh," then moved behind her and started massaging her shoulders.
"You've worked hard. Let me help you relax."
Clara responded with a soft "Mmm." The massage pressure was just right—he had decent technique.
But when had Lester ever been this attentive?
Something was definitely off.
(End of Chapter)
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