Clara first dropped the four siblings off at the village well, which was bustling with activity.

  Earlier that afternoon, as she’d predicted, officers from the County Office had come through, officially announcing the complete extermination of the bandit gang.

  Though the officers came and went in a flash, the villagers continued to discuss the news excitedly long after.

  Now that every household had finished dinner, people were still gathered together chatting.

  The officers had even gone out of their way to visit Clara’s home and greet her personally. To the villagers, this was a huge honor.

  After all, their village had produced a hero who helped defeat the bandits—so notable that even the authorities came by just to pay respects.

  Somehow, talk began among the villagers: should they gift Clara a plaque of honor or something similar?

  Luckily, Clara had overheard this chatter while dropping off the children and immediately put a stop to it. Otherwise, she would’ve died of embarrassment.

  Being in the spotlight was fine, but there were limits. A few compliments and respectful nods when passing by were enough.

  A plaque?

  Even the village chief and clan head hadn’t received such an honor.

  This balance was just right. People now praised her as humble and uninterested in fame or profit.

  But Clara wasn’t one to hide in the shadows as a mysterious powerhouse. The credit and reward she earned—she would never let others take it.

  Nor would she quietly let someone else wear her crown just to avoid criticism.

  If you want the crown, you bear the weight. Her neck was strong enough to handle it.

  Old Walter Liew was now thoroughly impressed. Over dinner, he remarked to Martha, “That boy Lester must’ve saved the heavens in his past life to marry such a treasure of a wife!”

  Martha nodded repeatedly, though her thoughts ran differently.

  To her, Clara was a huge win for all the womenfolk!

  Just look at the two wives from the eldest and second son’s households—they walked with their backs noticeably straighter these days.

  Meanwhile, Clara had made her way to Carpenter Liew’s home. His family was mid-dinner but warmly invited her to join.

  She waved them off, saying she’d already eaten, and followed Carpenter Liew—who brought his rice bowl with him—to check on the water mill they’d be delivering tomorrow.

  It was even smaller than the standard compact model. The client’s household wasn’t by a river, but they had a mountain spring behind the house. Water flowed steadily year-round, and they’d rigged bamboo pipes to bring it directly into the home.

  They’d nearly given up on installing a mill, but Clara had visited and determined it was indeed feasible.

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  It required an ultra-compact version, with lower power output and less grain capacity, but still sufficient for household needs.

  Because it was the first of its kind, both Clara and Carpenter Liew took it seriously.

  If this worked, it could open up new markets—bringing water mills to countless homes.

  Villages with natural springs or small waterfalls wouldn’t need to rely on major rivers anymore.

  The ultra-compact model might solve the terrain and hydrology limitations in many areas.

  “Are we only visiting this one client tomorrow?” Clara asked.

  She’d been out of town recently and wasn’t up to speed on the delivery schedule.

  Carpenter Liew nodded. “This one’s far. We’ll only have time for this household tomorrow. The other two are in the same village, so we can handle both the day after—one in the morning, one in the afternoon.”

  “Let’s ride then,” Clara said. “I’ll borrow a cart frame from the village chief to hitch to the horse. Much easier.”

  Carpenter Liew agreed. After finalizing details and taking the ledger home to tally accounts, Clara turned in early.

  They set out at four in the morning—just before dawn.

  The four kids were still sound asleep when Clara left. She left a note on the hall table letting them know she’d return in the evening.

  The ox-cart frame wasn’t quite suited for a horse—too low—but the speed was double that of a regular ox-cart.

  Even pulling two people and a heavy stone mill, Old Yeller galloped at full tilt.

  Clara winced at the thunderous rattle of wheels beneath her, half-convinced the cart might fall apart on them. On rougher roads, she slowed the horse down to play it safe.

  They arrived at the client’s home around ten in the morning.

  If they’d walked, they might not have arrived even by noon.

  Clara was surprised they’d heard of the Liew Clan Village water mills from so far away. Turned out, a woman from their village had married over here, and she’d brought the news back during a visit home.

  Households willing to invest in a water mill tended to be relatively wealthy. This one had a large courtyard, wide front gate, and no threshold—perfect for bringing the horse cart straight in.

  They’d diverted spring water into the home and even dug a large pond to grow lotus. Though most of the flowers had already bloomed, two or three stood tall among the lily pads.

  Clara had been a little envious on her first visit—their yard was huge.

  Too bad her own home sat on limited flat land—no room for ponds, just vegetables.

  The owners had cleared a spot beside the pond, right where the mountain spring flowed down.

  The water volume was strong enough. Clara had tested it—plenty of force to turn the wheel.

  She and Carpenter Liew were already masters of installation. In just half an hour, the setup was complete.

  They requested a bit of grain from the family to test it out—and it worked beautifully.

  A standard water mill could grind around 25kg of grain per hour; this ultra-compact one needed an hour and a half. But for household use, that was more than enough.

  Carpenter Liew had measured the household’s baskets—they matched those commonly used in Liew Clan Village. So Clara’s estimate held up.

  She also guided the owner through hands-on operation. They were thrilled—the speed exceeded expectations, and the effort was minimal.

  Harvest season was just around the corner, and the timing couldn’t be better. Their smiles said it all.

  “No problems, then let’s settle the balance,” Clara said with a smile.

  The client laughed and went inside to fetch the payment.

  Total price: three taels of silver. One-third had been paid as deposit. The remaining two taels were due.

  Carpenter Liew had brought a small scale to weigh the silver. Clara issued a receipt—payment completed.

  As they left, villagers were already flocking to the client’s home—curious to see the water mill.

  Clara and Carpenter Liew exchanged knowing looks.

  Sure enough, new orders would follow.

  Indeed, after they installed the last two compact mills the following day, it only took a day before a stranger appeared at the Liew Clan Village entrance.

  The man looked around, clearly lost, and asked someone nearby, “Where does Madam Clara, the water mill builder, live?”

  Rosie, ever sharp-eared, darted over before anyone else could reply and shouted, “I know! I’ll take you!”

  Unfortunately, the man waved her off. “Run along, little girl. Don’t cause trouble.”

  Before anyone else could speak, the nearby villager laughed and pointed, “That’s Clara’s niece. Just follow her. I’ve got to check my fields—might be ready for harvest soon.”

  The visitor flushed with embarrassment.

  Luckily, Rosie didn’t mind. She waved grandly for him to follow.

  In her heart, she wondered—what tasty treat might Third Auntie give her this time?

  (End of Chapter)

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