“Brother Kevin, is this okay?”

The young girl, as if presenting a treasure, brought it to Kevin Bolton. Kevin Bolton suddenly looked up and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Brother Kevin, is it not good enough? I’m just too clumsy!”

“Hahaha, of course it’s fine.” Kevin Bolton took the charcoal with a smile, leaned in and said by her ear, “Lucy, go wash up quickly, you look like a little tabby cat!”

The girl was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly covered her face in embarrassment and ran off. Behind her came Liam the Blacksmith’s laughter: “What a good girl!”

In front of the washbasin, peeking through her fingers, her delicate face was covered in dust and charcoal, black here, gray there—she looked just like a little beggar.

“So ugly, so ugly! I made Brother Kevin laugh at me again!” The girl quickly scooped up water to wash off the dust, and still not reassured, ran to the mirror to check herself from every angle, afraid there might be any flaw.

While the girl was admiring herself, Kevin Bolton had already used the charcoal to draw a three-dimensional diagram. It wasn’t anything mysterious, just the most common stove seen in later generations.

Although Liam the Blacksmith was illiterate, the drawing was so realistic that it immediately caught his attention.

“This, this thing is a stove, right?”

“Uncle Thompson, sharp eyes!”

Liam the Blacksmith immediately frowned and couldn’t help but say, “An iron stove may be smaller than a kitchen hearth, but it’s more expensive. I’m afraid no one would buy it.”

“Uncle Thompson, that might be true for Han people, but Mongols are different!”

“What’s special about it?”

“Think about it, Mongols move with the water and grass. They can’t possibly build a hearth everywhere they go, right? If they had a stove like this, they could load it onto a cart and take it anywhere—how convenient would that be? See, the firebox doesn’t need to be too big, just enough to fit a piece of dry cow dung. One or two pieces are enough to cook a meal. Give them a detachable iron rack, and they can even grill meat on it. Wouldn’t the Mongols buy it?”

The kind of stove Kevin Bolton described could still be seen at corn-roasting stalls in later times—utterly ordinary, but at this moment, it was an incredible invention: it could grill meat and cook meals, truly thoughtful and practical.

Liam the Blacksmith nodded repeatedly as he listened. “Good, really good. This thing will definitely sell. Uncle will go make it right away.”

“Wait!” Kevin Bolton said, “Uncle Thompson, I plan to go to Guangning in three days. How many can you make in that time?”

“That’s tough!” Liam the Blacksmith immediately looked troubled, his face drawn. “A stove like this takes at least ten jin of iron, and costs no less than one tael of silver to make. I have the iron at home, but I’m not sure I can finish it in time. I reckon I might not even finish one in three days. If my boys help, maybe we could manage two or three.”

Kevin Bolton also felt stumped. He wasn’t planning to do big business, but two or three stoves weren’t much better than nothing!

He rolled his eyes, thinking—how could they make more?

That’s it!

How could he forget such a basic principle! Kevin Bolton almost wanted to slap himself.

“Uncle Thompson, I have a way to make more stoves. Listen to me: split up the work, have each of your sons handle a different step, and assemble everything at the end. That’ll be much faster—you’ll definitely be able to make ten stoves.”

That simple?

Liam the Blacksmith looked doubtful and couldn’t help but say, “Will that work? The kids’ skills aren’t there yet, I’m afraid…”

“It’s fine, Uncle Thompson. Just set the specifications, and you handle the hardest parts yourself. They don’t need to be especially refined, just good enough! Make ten stoves, sell them for at least three taels each, and after costs, you’ll make two taels profit per stove. At seventy percent, you’ll get fourteen taels!”

“How much?” Liam the Blacksmith’s eyes widened. He could work all year making hoes and shovels and not earn that much, and now just ten stoves could bring in fourteen taels?

“Is… is it really that easy to make money?”

“Hahaha, Uncle Thompson, don’t worry at all. Fourteen taels is nothing—soon we’ll be making thousands, even tens of thousands. Get ready to get rich!”

Liam the Blacksmith clutched the drawing, his muscles trembling, his goatee bouncing up and down.

“Old Uncle will listen to you this time, I’ll get to work right away.”

……

Three days—neither long nor short.

Kevin Bolton’s injuries had mostly healed. He didn’t know if it was because his constitution had improved after transmigrating, or if Physician Clark’s medicine was miraculous, but the bruises had faded and the wound under his ribs had scabbed over, the flesh inside itching. Maybe three or five more days of rest and he’d be fully recovered, but now was not the time to rest.

Kevin Bolton got up early. His mother and Lucy were busy making breakfast, and a delicious aroma drifted in through the crack in the door.

Creak—the door opened gently, and a small head peeked in.

“Second brother, you’re up?”

Kevin Bolton saw it was his younger sister Emily, and immediately smiled. “The sun must be rising in the west—how come Little Lazy Pig isn’t sleeping in today?”

“Don’t call me Little Lazy Pig! Is there any pig as cute as me?” The little girl pouted, glaring at Kevin Bolton with puffed cheeks, and her two cold little hands went straight for his neck.

“Second brother surrenders.” Kevin Bolton laughed. “You must be here for something, right? Hurry up and say it, or second brother will go back to sleep!”