Chapter Nineteen: It’s Already Done (Please Continue Reading)

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Yang Yuanyuan said, "Isn't your lime still unburned?"

"So what? It's burned today. Where's the steamed bun?" Qin Jun asked.

"I already prepared it for you. Come eat! We've all eaten earlier because we have to go dig stones this afternoon."

Looking at the white steamed buns brought out from the kitchen, which were clearly not made from the local three-grain flour, Qin Jun was a bit surprised.

Since when did his father become so generous? Something felt off.

"Is this really all there is? Are you expecting me to eat it all?"

Soon, Qin Jun figured out the truth.

These buns must have been brought from his sister-in-law’s family home. He had eaten plenty before.

Though only taking small bites each time, frequent eating added up.

He hadn’t seen his two nephews and niece for days—obviously, they were at their maternal grandmother’s place.

Thinking about what his sister-in-law had been doing, Qin Jun’s expression grew strange.

He hadn’t paid much attention before, thinking she was normal.

But now, thinking it over, was she really normal?

If this were the modern era, most people would be like Voldemort, but his sister-in-law was more of a parasite on her parents.

Being a seventy-year-old “boomerang kid” was quite trendy.

Not only did they eat at their maternal home, but they also brought food back—truly living off their parents.

That wasn’t all. Because the house was cold, every winter his nephews seemed to stay at their grandmother’s for a long time.

“When will my eldest nephew and the others come back?” he asked.

Yang Yuanyuan replied casually, "We’ll pick them up close to the New Year."

She said it with such confidence—as if the three kids could eat through to the New Year without a care. They really didn’t spare a thought for their maternal family’s food supply.

Qin Zhihe wasn’t quite right either—using his daughter-in-law’s family’s resources to deal with his own son? He clearly didn’t value him!

It was truly better to rely on oneself than to ask others.

At this moment, Qin Jun realized his father was unreliable; from now on, he couldn’t count on him.

Actually, he had been thinking this way for a while, especially because of the lime burning.

Though private business was forbidden, collective ventures were allowed.

He couldn’t take all the profits, but taking a salary was fine, and it would solve his food problem too.

Having made up his mind, Qin Jun suddenly felt even hungrier.

His pride wasn’t thick enough, so as usual, he just tore off a small piece to taste, letting his sister-in-law put the rest away.

Holding a steamed bun about the size of half a fist, he also pulled out five or six pancakes from a wooden box at home and returned to the table.

After looking around, he couldn’t find any vegetables—not even pickled ones.

“Sis, didn’t anyone cook any vegetables for lunch today?”

Qin Jun was puzzled. No matter how difficult things were at home, they always managed to cook some vegetables.

In the dead of winter, it was usually cabbage or potatoes—not tasty, but something.

What was going on today?

His sister-in-law hesitated as she came out of the kitchen again, saying, “Dad said we don’t need vegetables if we’re eating steamed buns!”

“Fine, I get it. Old Qin will regret this sooner or later,” Qin Jun said, almost laughing with frustration.

If there were no vegetables, then so be it. Qin Jun hungrily ate the steamed buns and pancakes, finally getting a full meal.

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At this moment, he had already decided that even with his own father, everything must be accounted for clearly; otherwise, Old Qin would keep scheming.

He hadn’t even crossed the river yet, but he was already thinking about dismantling the bridge. He hadn’t even climbed the roof, yet he was pulling away the ladder—Old Qin’s vision was shortsighted.

After all, it was his biological father; he couldn’t call him narrow-minded.

But from now on, free construction work was probably out of the question.

After eating, Qin Jun felt more motivated; after all, he needed to work hard and be self-reliant.

Thinking over various things, he quickly prepared everything.

Though he had never used such rudimentary tools before, he was a steelmaking professional—he had done it for several years before rebirth.

There was no choice; neighboring countries like India, Pakistan, and Afghanistan had plenty of dirty workshops always in demand.

Making guns was basic; reloading various rockets, assembling drones, these were routine tasks.

Other unusual jobs involved repairing all kinds of war equipment, including special vehicles.

From engines to tires, there was nothing they couldn’t fix.

Not only could they repair excavator buckets blown up by landmines by hand, but even special vehicle axles broken by blasts were welded back together.

During this time, special alloy materials were indispensable.

If something was missing, they had to find ways themselves.

One way was finding used parts as substitutes; the other was self-manufacturing.

Buying new parts was impossible—too expensive and unprofitable.

In such conditions, as a raw material supplier, Qin Jun had made a good profit.

Now, with simple tools in hand, he needed to make some simple tool steel; the easiest was high-carbon steel.

With high-carbon steel, perhaps he could cast chisels, files, and drill bits directly.

Having these three tools, he could handcraft a simple airgun without a cylinder with ease.

Simple tool steel was not difficult to make if the proportions were known.

Of course, higher purity raw materials would make it easier to control the elemental ratios precisely.

At first, it was impossible because the raw materials he had now were incomparable to those decades later.

For now, he was experimenting by melting previously discarded steel slags.

These slags were refined iron ore, though still containing impurities, but easier to handle than raw ore.

Now, by melting at high temperatures, he could remove most impurities; completely purifying was impossible for now.

Though somewhat wasteful, it still yielded usable material.

After all preparations, Qin Han also came to help after eating.

With his help pumping the bellows, the furnace fire soon glowed bright red.

At this point, the crucible inside the furnace was glowing red and translucent, as if about to melt.

Of course, the crucible wouldn’t melt, but some steel slags inside started glowing red, softening, then turning into shiny liquid.

Among this molten iron, the easiest impurities to remove were high-melting-point minerals, which could be scooped out with an iron ladle and discarded.

The villagers who enthusiastically made steel had no idea how to actually smelt steel.

Some who thought they understood were merely clever without true knowledge.

Moreover, even the village’s small blast furnace, though tiny, needed about ten tons of iron powder each run.

Heating so much iron powder was troublesome; even with a blower, it wasn’t very effective.

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Temperatures often fell short, so much of the iron powder in the small furnace never fully melted.

Hence, there was a large amount of so-called waste steel slag.

Now, by using a small crucible, Qin Jun could naturally control the temperature.

Once the ideal temperature was reached, these waste slags would easily melt into molten iron.

Of course, this molten iron couldn’t be used directly for steelmaking; Qin Jun needed something more specialized.

The first batch of molten iron weighed around four or five pounds.

Qin Jun thought for a moment and poured it into an iron pot to observe.

Since the iron pot mold was ready-made, he could use it directly.

Making his own mold would require sifting sand and, after molding, pouring, casting, and polishing.

Experienced craftsmen used standardized iron pot molds that could be reused multiple times, avoiding remaking molds every time.

The one Qin Jun held was a common village iron pot mold, 49 centimeters in diameter.

After carefully cleaning the mold, he clamped it together, leaving an opening.

Then, using tongs, he held the crucible and poured the molten iron into the mold.

Of course, many technical points were involved, such as the temperature of the molten iron, impurity removal, and avoiding air bubbles.

Failure in these areas would result in poor-quality iron pots.

After casting, Qin Jun poured the leftover molten metal into a nearby water trough.

Then came the waiting—casting an iron pot for the first time required caution.

Fortunately, it was winter and cold; after about half an hour, he could open the mold.

He carefully tapped and loosened the iron pot stuck to the mold, then pried it off.

Though still hot, Qin Jun quickly inspected it.

He checked for any cracks while gently tapping.

The sound was clear and crisp, and the pot was intact.

A thorough examination revealed no sand holes.

The pot was uniformly dark, gleaming with the unique metallic luster, and most importantly, the iron was even, with no bumps or tiny holes.

This indicated the molten iron had melted well, with no trapped air bubbles or obvious impurities.

No impurities meant guaranteed quality.

No bubbles meant no sand holes.

A good cast meant no defects, such as missing the two ears, which were the most vulnerable parts.

If defective, the pot would be substandard.

Now it was perfect—only the practical use remained to be seen.

Judging by the sound and appearance, the iron was fairly pure; the only unknown was the carbon content.

That required checking the molten iron poured into the trough earlier.

“This... this is really made... a big iron pot?”