Making Furniture

Chapter 28: Making Furniture

The Safe Zone's barrier still stood in silent guardianship over everything. The vegetables in the garden grew increasingly lush under the nourishment of Primordial World's spiritual energy, and the kiln had successfully produced its first batch of vessels—rough, yet sturdy and usable.

After solving the most basic needs of food, drink, and safety, Chen An's life began to show signs of a slow but steady return to "living" itself. He was no longer just a survivor scrambling to stay alive; he was actively, bit by bit, shaping the outline of his own "home."

Yet one fundamental issue, one that touched daily comfort and dignity, remained unresolved—sleep. Ever since crossing over, he had spent most nights on the cold stone floor, with a layer of soft thatch cut from the garden beneath him and a few thick furs of unknown origin, scavenged from outside the Safe Zone, covering him.

It was far better than sleeping in the wilderness, but over time, it was still a torment. The chill of the stone, the itch of the thatch, and the lack of support for his lower back often left him tossing and turning before dawn, unable to get proper rest. He knew it was time for a change.

Once this thought took hold, it quickly took root in his mind. He would build himself a real bed—for his own sake, and for any future needs.

Not just that: a table, a few chairs (or stools, rather), would greatly improve his life in the small courtyard.

He needed a flat surface to place his pottery for cleaning and drying, a place to sit and eat, or even read. Saying goodbye to sleeping on the floor was a key step toward a more comfortable, more "home-like" life.

Chen An had no blueprints and knew nothing of complex mortise-and-tenon joints. All his designs came from the simplest pragmatism and a consideration of the materials at hand. He first set his targets: one bed, one table, two stools.

Bed: The core need was a platform raised off the ground, relatively soft yet with some support. He envisioned using several thick logs as legs to support a rectangular frame, then laying wider planks across the frame as the bed base, topped with thick thatch and furs as a mattress.

Table: Needed a stable surface. The plan was also to use several logs as legs, connected to one or more thick planks joined together as the tabletop.

Stools: Simpler—several logs as legs, with a flat board nailed (or tied with vines) on top as the seat.

Material selection was crucial.

He reviewed the leftover wood from his earlier logging and foundation clearing.

Most of it was small tree trunks and some thicker roots and stumps. He preferred wood that was relatively uniform and not prone to cracking.

The straighter pine and birch had mostly been used for building the house; what remained was likely more mixed wood, but among it were some hard, dense stumps that could serve as table and bed legs for better support.

Chen An picked out a few suitable logs and stumps.

The biggest challenge was processing them into usable parts. He had no saw; his only tools were a heavy stone axe and a wooden-handled knife ground relatively sharp from a flint shard (barely qualifying as an axe or adze).

Cutting and rough shaping: For longer logs, he needed to cut them to the right length. This was hard labor. He swung the stone axe, chopping repeatedly at the trunks.

The axe's edge wasn't sharp enough; each strike jarred his palm, and progress was slow. He had to resort to a "grooving" method—chopping a deep notch at the cut point, then snapping the wood by force.

This process was time-consuming and exhausting. Stumps were easier; he could hack them into rough columns with the axe.

Splitting and smoothing: He needed wider planks for the bed base and tabletop. This meant splitting tree trunks or thick branches. He used the axe's edge, following the wood's grain, struggling to split it.

Sometimes the wood would crack along the grain; other times it would veer off, requiring constant angle adjustments. After splitting, he used the axe and knife to smooth both sides of the planks, removing bark and burrs. This was extremely tedious; every barely usable plank came at the cost of endless sweat and patience.

Primitive sanding: To keep the wood surface from being too rough or splintery, he scraped the planks repeatedly with flint shards or sharp stones to remove obvious burrs and uneven spots.

The effect was limited, but better than nothing.

This process lasted several days. New blisters formed on Chen An's hands, and his shoulders ached from the constant axe swings. More than once, flying wood chips got in his eyes, or the rebounding axe numbed his arm.

But he didn't give up. Every time he finished rough-shaping a part, he felt a small sense of progress and satisfaction.

With the rough parts ready, assembly began. No nails, no planes, no chisels—Chen An could only rely on the most primitive methods.

Bed assembly: He placed the four shaped bed legs upright, roughly setting their spacing. Then he laid the prepared planks (narrower boards) horizontally between the legs as crossbeams.

He tried twisting vine fibers into thick ropes to tightly bind the crossbeams to the legs. For the bed planks themselves, he used vines or sharpened wooden wedges to barely fix them to the crossbeams.

This process was full of uncertainty—the tightness of the bindings, the sturdiness of the wedges—all affected the bed's stability. He checked repeatedly, pulling hard to ensure the structure was solid enough.

Table assembly: Similar method. He fixed the four table legs, then placed the joined tabletop (likely a simple assembly of several wider planks) on top, binding and fixing it with vines and wedges. He especially reinforced the joints between legs and tabletop to ensure it wouldn't collapse under weight.

Stool assembly: Simpler. He bound the stool legs in place, then laid a smoothed plank across the top as the seat, tying it tight with vines.

At all joints, he tried to smooth things out as much as possible, avoiding sharp splinters. Though these pieces of furniture still looked primitive, clumsy, and even a bit wobbly, Chen An knew they were his own creation—safe, and his.

When the last vine was tied, when the last plank was fixed to the stool seat, Chen An stepped back and looked at the three "works" that had cost him so much effort—a slightly crooked but sturdy wooden bed; a similarly rough but stable wooden table; two solid, clunky wooden stools.

They were anything but beautiful; they could even be called crude. But they were no longer cold, raw materials from nature. They had been given form and function—tools serving a person.

Chen An's heart was filled with an indescribable sense of achievement. This wasn't just finishing a task; it was another big step toward the concept of "home."

He imagined lying at night on a bed raised above the ground, covered with thick thatch and soft furs, instead of cold stone. During the day, he could organize his pottery on the table, or sit on a stool and drink a bowl of hot soup from a clay bowl.

He moved the bed and table into the main room, placing them in a corner near where a hearth (if he could make one) would go.

He put the stools by the table. The small house's space immediately felt different with these pieces of furniture. Still crude, but now carrying a sense of human order and warmth.

He sat on the stool he had made with his own hands, stroking the rough tabletop, feeling its solidness. Outside the window, the last rays of sunset spilled over the small courtyard. The vegetables in the garden swayed gently in the evening breeze.

Beyond the Safe Zone's barrier, the Primordial World remained full of unknowns and dangers, but inside this little stone house, Chen An had used his own hands to create a sliver of genuine, human comfort and peace.

He knew this was just the beginning. In the future, he might make more things, or improve these rough furnishings. But for now, he just wanted to sleep well—sleep on a real bed, one he had made himself.

(End of Chapter 28)