Chapter Fifteen: Visitors from the Commune (Seeking Continued Reading)

At that moment, recalling Captain Qin Zheng's idea from the previous night, Qin Jun felt a surge of admiration.

“We’re targeting him specifically. Tomorrow, when we go over, it’ll be to cause a scene—plenty of excuses to justify it!”

“Accountant Feng has made enemies left and right. Tomorrow, let everyone in our village who wants to build a house go buy lime. If they refuse to reserve for us or won’t let us queue, Grandma!”

“Tomorrow it’s our turn, the day after that the Eleventh Team, and then the Twelfth Team after that.”

“Every day we make a fuss. I want to see if Accountant Feng still has anyone to protect him.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong; we’re just buying lime.”

“If the commune has lime kilns, why shouldn’t they sell to us?”

“We understand if production is insufficient, but if they don’t even let us queue to buy, then don’t blame us.”

“As for getting beaten, who made that foul-mouthed insult? Who said he couldn’t understand human speech? Do they think we’re all animals?”

“If we’re animals that don’t understand human speech, then beating him to death is justified!”

Qin Zheng grew more and more excited as he spoke.

Every action needs to be justified.

With righteous indignation, when there are a hundred or so strong men from their village, can they really be afraid of one refined scoundrel?

They certainly weren’t afraid, and indeed they fought today—but it was all for nothing!

Qin Jun listened with pleasure and felt the cold less as he worked.

Next, he witnessed what it meant to concentrate strength to accomplish a big task.

A village’s able-bodied men numbered over a hundred; with so many digging stones, they could gather four or five tons in less than half a day.

Of course, they helped each other out—no matter whose turn it was to receive help, it was a favor owed in return.

Now, Qin Jun didn’t need much per kiln—only about five tons.

At most, they used five hundred kilograms of coal dust mixed with water to make coal cakes, about a thousand jin.

These limestone and coal cakes were carefully layered.

Especially the coal layers, which burned layer by layer; naturally, the bottom wouldn’t be entirely burned before the top caught fire.

This ensured the temperature inside the kiln was uneven.

The key to firing kilns is controlling the combustion of the coal layers to regulate the kiln’s temperature.

If done well, not only could a batch of lime be fired smoothly, but some coal could be saved.

Ordinary lime kiln masters typically consume 120 kilograms of coal to fire one ton of lime.

For five tons, that’s 600 kilograms, or 1,200 jin of coal.

By this calculation, Qin Jun saved about 100 kilograms of coal per kiln.

This was for personal lime production. In a fair market, this alone could squeeze out several surrounding commune lime kilns.

After all, 100 kilograms of coal equated to 2.50 yuan. Spread over five tons of lime, that’s a saving of 0.50 yuan per ton.

For building a house, a family would use at least three tons—that’s 1.50 yuan saved.

Even for such a small amount, many would push a wheelbarrow ten kilometers over mountain roads just to save it.

After all, 1.50 yuan is roughly equivalent to 150 centimeters of labor wages—and even if a strong laborer earned 10 centimeters daily, it would take 15 days to make that much.

A full day’s work equals fifteen days’ worth of labor wages—what do you think the masses would choose?

However, this technology couldn’t be fully utilized yet, so Qin Jun could only help the villagers secretly save a bit of coal.

Once a kiln was sealed and smoke rose again from the top, Qin Jun’s day’s work was done.

Compared to yesterday, he had placed many specially selected waste iron ores into the kiln, hoping to obtain some high-purity iron oxide.

Back when they were smelting steel, their commune had once worked feverishly here.

But limited by technology, many times they only produced slag.

From Qin Jun’s current perspective, he didn’t blame them.

One reason was the temperature wasn’t high enough because the coal was substandard.

Another was the small blast furnace was poorly built and inadequate.

The final problem was the ore’s low iron content and the presence of sulfur.

Furthermore, the coal here also had a high sulfur content.

To produce qualified steel ingots, desulfurization was essential.

Besides, when smelting iron ore, one should at least know what elements it contains.

Ignorantly rushing to make steel with nothing but enthusiasm led to poor results.

But for Qin Jun now, this was actually advantageous.

At least the large amounts of leftover smelted waste iron ore had some value.

Even waste iron ore was made from carefully selected iron powder.

At that time, iron was not cheap, let alone steel.

Qin Jun recalled that the current price of steel wire rods was 550 yuan per ton.

By 1984, the price would rise by 100 yuan to 650 yuan per ton.

By 1988, prices suddenly surged to 2,400 yuan per ton.

There was plenty of waste iron here—if handled properly, it could be a huge fortune.

Compared to the skin of the Great Immortal Wong, this batch of waste iron and ore seemed more promising.

This was Qin Jun’s thought after starting lime production.

So returning to 1979, with a bit of brainpower and initiative, opportunities to get rich were everywhere.

Of course, one needed skill and a bit of imagination.

After a busy day, Qin Shi again invited Qin Jun to his home for dinner.

They ate catfish stewed in an iron pot—a whole five-jin catfish inside.

Underneath were thick layers of potatoes and cabbage hearts, so tender that Qin Jun nearly bit his tongue eating both the fish and the vegetables.

But eating like this made Qin Jun uneasy; he knew these foods should have been saved for the New Year, yet he was eating them now.

No choice—both Qin Zheng and Qin Shi were too hospitable.

A couple of shots of wine later, Qin Jun felt dizzy and slept soundly.

The next three days were the same.

According to the Qin family’s rules, anyone who helped others had to be treated to drinks.

So, over these days, Qin Jun wandered around his home, treated to meat and wine by his grandfather Qin Dashan and two uncles.

On November 27th, Qin Jun woke early again—today was busy.

He first checked the traps, but after four or five days of harsh conditions, the weasels no longer fell for them.

Only one was caught today, a small weasel.

It was too small to sell, so he released it.

By now, Qin Jun realized it was unlikely the weasels would trap themselves anymore.

Still, he had caught twenty weasels over the past days, which would fetch about a thousand yuan if all went well.

His luck wasn’t great these days; only this little catch, no rabbits at all.

So morning meat broth and cornmeal pancakes were gone; he could only eat a bowl of pig feed at home.

After eating, he went to the village’s small blast furnace on the west side, where quite a few people were already waiting.

“Start firing the kiln; today it’s for Qin Zheng’s family,” Qin Zhihe said hurriedly as Qin Jun arrived.

Qin Jun looked at a limestone kiln no longer smoking—it had been idle a day and was due to be opened.

“Even if we wait ten more days, the result will be the same.”

Unable to convince Qin Zhihe, Qin Jun could only command Qin Han again and help Qin Zheng’s family with the work.

They had already treated him to a meal, and it seemed tonight would be free.

While working, Qin Jun glanced at his own father, who appeared to have never eaten the steamed buns and noodles at noon.

He couldn’t let that continue; Qin Jun decided to pause everything.

Once the kiln was successfully fired again, Qin Jun sat down to rest.

Opening the kiln required little skill—did he really need to do it himself?

He found a sheltered hillside with thick grass, sat down, hands tucked into his sleeves, leaning against the slope, basking in the sun, feeling a warm, indescribable comfort.

After a long while, sun-dazed and nearly asleep, he felt someone nudging him.

“That’s enough. You just need a little rest—why are you falling asleep now?”

Opening his eyes, Qin Jun saw Qin Zhihe’s frustrated face.

He was a bit groggy but quickly sobered.

“The commune people have arrived, all waiting to see you open the kiln!” Qin Zhihe said again.

Qin Jun was fully awake now—so it wasn’t resentment.

True enough, if he wasn’t working, Qin Zhihe wouldn’t be so upset.

“Let them watch! What are they going to see?”