Clara glanced at the four children—Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb—and gently asked what they had done at home that day. Had they completed their morning training and schoolwork?
More importantly, had Lester lazed around or caused trouble in her absence?
Lester hadn't expected her to still have the energy to ask about these things. His fingers, still pressing lightly on her shoulders in a massage, gave a faint tremble.
He quickly shot pleading looks at the children.
Adam didn't even glance his way. "Auntie Clara, Father spent the whole day watching the field irrigation. He didn't weed the vegetable patch, and he didn't fix the waterwheel when it broke. Ben and I handled all three meals today."
The waterwheel was wooden, and every couple of days river debris like weeds would get tangled in it, requiring regular cleaning. If it got stuck, repairs were needed—otherwise it might not be usable when villagers needed it.
The water mill had become a stable source of income. In five months, it would break even. After that, it would be pure profit.
Only three months left to recover the initial investment. Clara had been maintaining good relations with their customer base.
So for Lester to let the mill stop running today—was he tired of living?
"How long has it been down?" Clara asked, frowning.
"Since midday," Adam replied. "It's still not running."
At some point, the hands massaging her shoulders had vanished, and the man himself had slipped toward the front door.
"Lester Liew, where do you think you're going?!" Clara's sharp voice pinned him in place.
He swallowed hard and plastered on a sheepish smile. "Wife, I'm going to fix the waterwheel."
Only then did Clara's fierce gaze relent. She let him flee the house with the repair tools like a scared rabbit.
With Lester gone, Clara's expression softened. She turned to the children and said warmly:
"Your father is like a frog by the roadside—he won't move unless you poke him. If you want him to improve, you'll need to keep prodding. If you see him slacking off, remind him."
"I'll be working in town for a while to earn money, so don't help him with the things he's supposed to do. If he refuses to listen, tell me, and I'll deal with him."
The children exchanged delighted glances. With Clara backing them, they suddenly felt much braver. Now let's see if their father dared act tough again.
It was getting late. They had to rise early tomorrow. Clara quizzed the kids briefly on their lessons, then turned in for the night.
Lester returned home just past 11 p.m. The familiar groaning creak of the mill's waterwheel could be heard from the riverside. It seemed the repairs were done. Clara finally relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.
By 4 a.m., she was up. Outside the window, it was pitch-black.
Clara dressed and walked into the main hall. On the table sat a freshly filled bamboo canister of cool boiled water. A small notch had been carved into its top, fitted with a loop of string to make it easier to carry.
Clara ran her fingers over the notch, clearly newly cut, and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Could Lester Liew really have been this thoughtful?
Then again… more likely he was feeling guilty and trying to curry favor.
"Flatterer," Clara muttered under her breath.
She slung the bamboo flask over her shoulder and slipped out of the house quietly, torch in hand, heading to work.
She left at 4:30, hiked for two and a half hours, and arrived at Master Ding's estate right on time at 7 a.m.
As a diligent worker, Clara had no intention of giving her boss even a second of unpaid labor.
The others trickled in a few minutes late. Without precise clocks, no one in Sheng Nation adhered to exact timekeeping—as long as you arrived in the general time window, you were considered punctual.
Breakfast was a bowl of millet porridge per person. Clara tried to ask for a second bowl but was met with a scornful glare from the kitchen maid and refused.
Watching Sonny and the others sigh, Clara made a quiet vow: if she wanted to eat her fill, she needed to outdo them all.
Yesterday was for learning. Today, Clara was ready to shine.
And none of the others—Sonny, Beardo, or anyone—knew what was coming.
Beardo, having ranked first in yesterday's tree-felling count, had been rewarded with a meat bun that morning—leftovers from the Ding family's young masters and mistresses, gifted to the laborers. Though leftover, it was untouched and stuffed with meat.
Beardo devoured it in two bites. Sonny watched enviously, swallowed hard, then followed Clara to the tool shed to collect his gear. He stuck with the same saw, and Clara took up her familiar axe.
Once at the forest, they split up. Clara circled the trees once, selected the straightest trunk, and got to work.
The "bang bang" of tools rang through the woods. Every twenty minutes or so, the rumble of a falling tree echoed from above.
Foreman Tim Ding heard it multiple times. At first, he assumed several workers had clustered together and dropped trees one after another. Sitting in the shade, he didn't think much of it.
But as noon approached and Clara rolled one log after another down the slope—five or six at a glance—Tim jumped to his feet.
"Clara, you felled all those yourself?" he asked in disbelief.
Clara rolled down the eighth log, hoisted her axe over her shoulder, and began trimming the branches with practiced ease.
Her hands moved like a blur, stripping twigs with crisp "snap snap" sounds, like she was scaling fish. Tim watched her for half a minute before snapping out of his daze.
"You felled eight trees by yourself this morning?" he asked again, stunned.
Clara nodded, finished the last branch, and turned just as the Ding servants arrived with lunch.
"I want to eat my fill today. Is that allowed?" she asked.
Tim nodded vigorously. "Absolutely! If you work at this pace again this afternoon, I'll make sure you get all the meat buns you want tomorrow morning!"
"Deal." Clara smiled, set down her tools, and clapped her hands clean, ready to eat.
Normally, the servants ate lunch with the workers. Today, to make sure Clara had enough, they gave her all the food and decided to return to the manor to eat later.
Sitting amid a clearing strewn with trimmed branches, everyone stared in shock as Clara devoured food meant for five people.
Beardo nudged Sonny. "Isn't she your sister-in-law? Why are you so surprised? Didn't you know she could eat like this?"
Sonny nodded blankly. "Today's the first time I've seen it…"
That afternoon, spurred on by Clara's example, everyone stepped up their game. Beardo felled four trees. Even Sonny managed two—three total with the morning's.
He was quite proud—yesterday, he'd only managed one.
Then he glanced over at Clara's pile. Another eight trees, bringing her total for the day to sixteen.
"Is she even human?" Beardo muttered, almost in despair.
Foreman Tim Ding's gaze toward Clara had completely changed. He now addressed her with utmost respect: "Madam Clara."
(End of Chapter)
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