Balance! This word is very important. Anything that wants to last must achieve a relative balance, otherwise it cannot be sustained. No matter how many years the Southern Song Dynasty has left before it collapses, Brian Carter is prepared to spend most of his life living here. He’s not just here to play a quick game and leave, so a sustainable, grassroots organization under his control is absolutely essential. This will be the spark for his future growth and expansion. Whether he can build a tall building on flat ground depends on how solid this foundation is.

“Kid, Grandpa is going into town. Are you really not coming with us to have a look?” While Brian Carter was still squatting by the side of the boat, using a small wooden stick dipped in coarse salt to brush his teeth, Ethan Brooks had already packed up the catch to be traded in Yacheng Town. Standing on the small boat, he looked at his odd godson, his face full of kindness.

“You go ahead. I’ll go take a look when I have time. Be careful on the road and come back early. Oh, right, did you bring the blueprint for the iron hook? Make sure to use the best steel, don’t worry about the cost.” Brian Carter really found it hard to call out the word “Grandpa.” He had already discussed it privately with Ethan Brooks, saying he would gradually get used to it and asking him not to mind if he didn’t often use that term. It wasn’t because he felt distant, just that he wasn’t used to it yet.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa isn’t your Uncle Fu—he’s neither stingy nor muddle-headed!” Ethan Brooks wasn’t annoyed by Brian Carter’s reminders. On the contrary, he felt quite proud to have a youngster care about him, and took the opportunity to poke fun at the old partner who always butted heads with Brian Carter.

“I’m coming with you too. There’s so much valuable stuff, I can’t rest easy!” Paul Foster wasn’t angry either. His stubbornness and conservatism weren’t new. Even before Brian Carter showed up, he was always like this. Hearing Ethan Brooks’s words, he simply jumped onto the small boat, showing he didn’t trust Ethan Brooks to go into town alone.

“You, you’ll worry your whole life. The kids are all grown up now, you don’t need to watch them all day…” Ethan Brooks didn’t mind his old partner coming along. With another person, there’d be more company for conversation. He started rowing the wooden oar, steering the small boat slowly toward the western river mouth, all the while trying to persuade Paul Foster.

“I’m not worried about the iron hook, but what’s the point of using so much Li cloth? You just agree to whatever your kid says—aren’t you afraid he’ll squander your whole family fortune?” Paul Foster wasn’t to be outdone, loudly arguing with Ethan Brooks. People of the sea always spoke loudly; if you spoke softly, the sea wind and waves would drown you out. And these Tanka people never gossiped behind others’ backs—good or bad, they’d say it to your face, not caring who overheard.

“Kid, don’t listen to that old man. He’s just hoping to save up a dowry for Amy Grant. Sooner or later, it’ll all be yours anyway, hahahaha! You guys, get moving—do you have to sharpen knives until the sun comes up?” Watching the small boat with Ethan Brooks and Paul Foster slowly drift away, the sound of the two old men’s bickering still drifting on the wind, Brian Carter paused his great tooth-brushing endeavor, feeling a bit of pressure as he squatted on the boat. Just then, another person who added to his stress arrived: Henry Hayes hopped onto the small boat, joking about Brian Carter and Paul Grant, while calling on the sons of the Huang, Bo, and Chen families to hurry up—they were heading up the mountain to cut bamboo for Brian Carter. Cloth, iron hooks, hemp rope—these things the Tanka couldn’t produce themselves and had to trade fish for with the Li and Han people, but bamboo was different. They had plenty of strength, so they’d just cut it themselves.

“Hehehehe…” The men, hearing Henry Hayes’s call, all grabbed their machetes and jumped onto the boat, occasionally turning back to grin foolishly at Brian Carter. The sons of these three families, even the oldest already over thirty, were as childlike as ever. Besides working and eating, they were all tight-lipped—kick them and you’d barely get a word. When they were happy, they laughed; when they weren’t, they just hung their heads in silence.

“Amy Grant! Time to get to work!” Even with his thick skin, Brian Carter felt a bit awkward being stared at by a group of grown men who kept chuckling. He gave up on brushing his teeth—the hemp rope was too rough, making his gums ache. Brushing his teeth had become his toughest task for now, so he could only do it gently, little by little.

All the good fishing nets from the three families had already been requisitioned by the cooperative and would soon be turned into fish traps. Only two or three tattered nets were left, not enough to go out to sea. So last night, during dinner and drinks, Brian Carter, as chairman, held a little meeting with the other board members to arrange the main tasks for today.