Mu Shi'an held up the notebook in his hand to Song Nianchu.
Song Nianchu studied it carefully for a while but could only vaguely make out that it depicted some kind of tool.
"Is this a drawing of a loom?" she asked after a long pause.
"Not a loom, but close," Mu Shi'an replied with a smile.
"Then what is it?" Song Nianchu's curiosity was piqued.
"It's a machine for weaving fishing nets," Mu Shi'an answered without hesitation.
"Fishing nets? You know how to make something like that?" Song Nianchu exclaimed in surprise.
"The principle isn't complicated. Weaving fishing nets is much simpler than weaving cloth, and it requires far fewer steps," he explained.
"But will this thing actually work once you build it?" Song Nianchu didn’t quite grasp the technical details—she just wanted to know if it would function.
"Right now, it's just a design. Whether it works or not will depend on how the actual prototype turns out," Mu Shi'an said cautiously.
The concept was straightforward, but he had never attempted anything like this before and wasn’t sure how it would turn out.
"I think you’ll definitely succeed!" Song Nianchu declared with conviction.
"Why?" Mu Shi'an was taken aback.
"Because you’ve read so many books."
Mu Shi'an had expected a more substantial reason, but her simple reply made him burst into laughter.
"Reading a lot doesn’t necessarily mean I can do this."
"But I just know you can."
In her past life, Song Nianchu hadn’t been particularly studious—she’d struggled just to get into an average university—but she had a sharp mind for business.
She knew how to make even the most book-smart people work for her.
Mu Shi'an had initially lacked confidence, but under Song Nianchu’s unwavering gaze, he somehow felt more assured.
"Then you’ll be the first to test it once I finish," he said softly.
"Deal! Tell me what materials you need, and I’ll help you get them," Song Nianchu offered enthusiastically.
If Mu Shi'an could really invent an automatic fishing net weaver, their fishing village would thrive.
Even the county’s fishing gear factories didn’t have machines like this—most work was still done by hand.
As far as she knew, only the provincial capital had such technology.
"I’ll need some wood and a few woodworking tools," Mu Shi'an said. He had just been wondering where to find the tools when Song Nianchu asked, so he answered without hesitation.
"That’s easy. I’ll go look for them right away," she promised.
"Alright." Mu Shi'an’s expression softened.
He returned to sketching and refining his design. At first, he’d only planned a basic model, but now he wanted to perfect it further.
Seeing how absorbed he was, Song Nianchu didn’t disturb him and quietly went to prepare her pickled beans.
Making pickled beans was simple—just wash them and place them in a jar.
The jar already contained a brine solution she had prepared earlier. In a few days, they’d be ready to eat.
Paired with some salted pork and plenty of chili peppers, it would be the perfect dish to go with rice—so delicious she could easily devour three bowls.
After finishing with the beans, she noticed Mu Shi'an was still engrossed in his sketches, so she tiptoed out without interrupting.
She remembered that the original owner’s father had some woodworking tools stored in the utility room.
Rummaging through the clutter, she managed to find saws, planes, and other tools, though they were all rusted.
Unsure if they were still usable, she gathered them anyway and hauled them outside.
The backyard also had a pile of unused firewood, which she lugged out as well.
Soon, the courtyard was filled with materials.
When Mu Shi'an finally stepped out of the kitchen, he was met with this unexpected sight.
"Where… did you find all this?" he asked, stunned.
"These tools belonged to my father. See if they still work. The wood was just lying around—if it’s not enough, I’ll find more," Song Nianchu said, dropping the last few logs onto the pile.
"This is more than enough for one machine," Mu Shi'an assured her.
"Then check if the tools are usable," she replied, relieved she didn’t have to haul more wood.
Mu Shi'an inspected the tools carefully.
"They’ve been well maintained—just rusty. A good sharpening should do the trick. Do you have a whetstone?"
"Yes, I’ll get it." Song Nianchu hurried back to the kitchen and returned with a sharpening stone.
Mu Shi'an picked up the plane and began honing the blade. After his meticulous work, the once-dull edge gleamed sharp and deadly.
"It really works!" Song Nianchu exclaimed in delight.
"The others will too," he said, proceeding to restore the rest of the tools.
"Do you need anything else? I can borrow from the neighbors if necessary," she offered.
"No, this is plenty for now," Mu Shi'an declined.
"Alright."
Just then, the afternoon work whistle blew.
"Let’s go to work first. We can continue this tonight," Mu Shi'an suggested.
"Sure."
They left together, though Song Nianchu soon split off to join the villagers in cutting bamboo.
When Mu Shi'an arrived at the village square, Mu's mother and Mu Jingmei were already there, chatting and laughing together.
Assuming Mu Jingmei had calmed down, he approached to talk to her—but the moment he got close, she stood up and walked away without a word.
Mu Shi'an: "…"
He frowned as he watched her leave.
"An'er, your sister is still upset. You should apologize later," Mu's mother said gently.
"Why should I apologize?" Mu Shi'an asked, baffled.
"Because you made Jingmei angry, of course," she replied matter-of-factly.
"Mom, do you even know what happened?" His frown deepened.
"No matter what, you shouldn’t have upset your sister. You’re the older brother—you should take care of her," Mu's mother chided, growing displeased.
Earlier, Mu Jingmei had claimed that Mu Shi'an no longer cared about the family after getting married. Mu's mother hadn’t believed it at first, but now she was starting to wonder.
Mu Shi'an had so much to say, but hearing his mother’s words, he suddenly felt it was pointless.
She would only ask, "Then why didn’t you just give her what she wanted?"
