Chapter Seventeen: Is It Really Necessary to Burn Lime? (Hoping for a Few Votes)

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Working the kiln is no easy task, and one must also guard against the dust. Whether it’s quicklime or coal slag, both contain a significant amount of dust. Most importantly, water can’t be used, so the only protection is a mask. Buying masks costs money, and villagers never want to spend money on such things. It seems from now on, whoever owns the lime must come out themselves to tend the kiln. By taking turns, no one will easily develop pneumoconiosis. If a factory is ever established, dust prevention will truly need to be taken seriously!

Having made this decision, Qin Jun looked again at the crowd. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help? Were they all just slacking off over there?

“Xiao Jun, your family’s finished burning, the next kiln is mine!”

Suddenly, Qin Zhijiu approached Qin Jun, startling him with his abrupt words. A glance revealed him to be Uncle Jiu, clad in tattered clothes, his face darkened and weathered like an ancient gnarled tree.

Qin Jun was momentarily at a loss—his family’s finished burning? That sounded strange. Uncle Jiu really had no filter; no wonder he once insulted someone by saying they sold their daughter, causing the matchmaker to fly into a rage.

“Uncle Jiu, if you can’t talk properly, then don’t say anything!” Qin Jun retorted, mildly annoyed. What did he mean by ‘your family’s finished burning’?

“Well, your whole family’s done burning, so now it’s the village’s turn, right? Even the team leader’s family’s done…”

Qin Jun and Qin Zheng’s faces darkened. Qin Zheng, who had just caught up, spoke plainly, “Listen more, speak less!”

“You guys are so superstitious. Let me rephrase: your whole family’s done burning, so now it’s…”

“Better keep your mouth shut! With a tongue like yours, if you don’t change, your whole family’s doomed to remain single!” Qin Zhihe finally lost patience and snapped.

Fearing Uncle Jiu might say something worse, Qin Jun hurriedly said, “This kiln will only burn your family’s lime. Remember, it’s lime.”

“Heh, I’m not stupid. Do you think we don’t know what’s being burned?” Qin Zhijiu replied.

Everyone fell silent. They knew, but he had to say it out loud!

“I have money, don’t worry. That five hundred yuan is all ours, no borrowing. When we build the house, I want to see who dares say we’re poor!”

Qin Jun was stunned. If he said so confidently, it was probably true. Never had he imagined that a family dressed like beggars could save up five hundred yuan.

Uncle Jiu’s clothes were truly shabby—his current outfit looked like some old work uniform, cobalt blue, stained with grease and patched over in many places. The clothes were too small, pant legs rolled up to mid-calf, revealing shiny black cotton trousers that were also tight, exposing his ankles with no socks. His worn cotton shoes completed the pitiful, impoverished image.

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But such peasants were now common everywhere. Even Qin Jun himself wasn’t dressed much better. To be honest, Qin Jun’s only decent clothing was a cotton-padded jacket that at least fit well, though it was far from pristine.

Qin Jun glanced at his father, wondering how they managed their household. Their life wasn’t much better than Uncle Jiu’s, so why hadn’t they saved any money?

Qin Zhihe, feeling uncomfortable under the gaze, said brusquely, “Didn’t you all go to school for free before? Didn’t your eldest brother get married for free? Didn’t your nephews cost nothing to raise? Formula milk isn’t free! And if there’s no formula, at least porridge must be bought!”

“You guys were all big eaters and didn’t earn any merit points. How could we save money?”

“Don’t think your cotton jacket is new; that stuff isn’t cheap—fabric costs money, needles and thread cost money, cotton costs money!”

Qin Jun was speechless. Did he not know that food, clothing, and shelter all cost money? But their family was just too poor. Looking at the lime kilns smoking in the distance, he regretted that they couldn’t earn money from them.

There was no choice—they had to pin their hopes on the Little Yellow Saint to make their first pot of gold.

With a new plan brewing, Qin Jun stopped paying attention to the lime kiln and pondered whether he could extract some iron oxide after the kiln was emptied. Although he hadn’t purposely used iron ore to repair the kiln for their first batch, there must still be slag inside. After all, steel slag was abundant nearby.

Sure enough, once the kiln mouth was cleaned, among the coal slag, there were some small, rounded iron particles.

“Qin Han, help me pick out all the iron from inside.”

“Alright, but you’d better call me Da Han—it sounds better. When you need me, call me Qin Han; when you don’t, call me Da Han. Otherwise, it feels weird!”

Qin Han’s serious tone made many people around burst out laughing.

When needed, he’s baby; when not, he’s the big fool?

Qin Jun smiled. From now on, if anyone called Qin Han stupid again, he’d have to pay attention—only fools would say that.

Amid laughter and chatter, five tons of limestone had been neatly stacked, only the kiln sealing remained.

Qin Zhijiu had prepared well, so this kiln went quickly.

By the time they were nearly finished, it was almost noon.

Qin Jun was already hungry but wanted to observe his father’s behavior.

If his father kept his word, they’d have Three-Combination noodles and steamed buns for lunch, and it had to be at least a pound.

If he didn’t keep his word, Qin Jun would have to make other plans.

Counting on his family’s promises wasn’t vanity; the hunger was genuinely unbearable.

Work hard but eat poorly, then starve early at night!

If it weren’t for being woken by hunger every night at dawn, who would have the motivation to rise at four or five in the morning?

“Hey, young man, come look—is this the book?”

Just as Qin Jun was contemplating whether he’d get to eat buns at home today, Yu Aiguo approached again.

Qin Jun hadn’t noticed earlier that Yu had gone to the commune and was now holding a copy of “One Hundred Thousand Whys.”

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Qin Jun felt awkward. Such initiative? But wasn’t this overkill? It was just burning lime—was all this necessary?

Taking the book, he found it was a 1973 edition of “One Hundred Thousand Whys,” which wasn’t quite what he expected.

Most importantly, the book mainly covered steelmaking, with no basic chemistry or physics related to lime burning.

“This book wasn’t expensive—only forty cents. Unfortunately, it’s the only one they had, and it doesn’t explain how to burn lime.”

Yu Aiguo looked regretful.

At this, Qin Zheng came over. “Didn’t you find anything at the commune’s Xinhua Bookstore? Maybe check the other communes?”

Yu shook his head: “No need. The useful books were bought up by those preparing for college entrance exams. I heard some people used this book to study and got into university.”

Qin Jun suddenly recalled similar events in his memory. Now his earlier lies were finally covered up.

“This one’s not bad—it teaches us how to make steel!” Qin Jun said with a smile.

“Pfft!” Qin Zheng spat disdainfully. “Who doesn’t know how to make steel? Look at the stuff we’ve made—all piled up here!”

“Heh, you’re just messing about. Look, this book has detailed explanations! If you’d followed it earlier, you could’ve made qualified steel.”

Qin Jun’s earnest tone caused Qin Zheng to hesitate. “Really?”

“Of course. Didn’t the village used to have a blacksmith? His tools are still around, right?”

That was Qin Jun’s goal. The little blast furnace was useless; it was poorly built back then. Besides, he couldn’t afford to tinker with it.

“They’re all in the village warehouse! But those things aren’t related to steelmaking.”

At that, Qin Zheng slapped his thigh. “If you want to talk steelmaking, the ladle tools are useful—there’s even a crucible.”

A ladle? Qin Jun was startled, then suddenly understood.

Sand casting molds, crucibles for melting iron and pouring—these were the old village methods for making iron pots.

Though crude and simple, cast iron pots were not easy to make and remained indispensable even in later times.

Especially favored by rural elders and those accustomed to cooking over open fires.

But making iron pots required first making sand molds.

To make any item, a sand mold matching its shape was necessary.

This technique was primitive but essential for ironwork.

The village still had iron pot making tools, so making small items would be much easier.

Qin Zheng had truly surprised him. Now that the tools, materials, and fuel were ready, could work begin?

Though this morning yielded nothing, it had weighed on Qin Jun’s mind.

Now, with the tools at hand, he could manually craft an air rifle.