The forge fire burned brightly in the early morning.
Su Li gripped the hammer handle and struck a rough iron blank for a farm tool at an even pace. The hammer landed with perfect precision, each blow spaced so evenly it could have served as a timer.
Behind him, the bellows roared. The man working them was bare-chested, his muscles rolling with every movement, the lines of his shoulder blades like two iron shovels embedded in his back.
Thirty-year-old Little Stone stood more than half a head taller than Su Li.
"Dad, do these hoes need to be rushed?" Little Stone's voice was booming; even shouting across the furnace took no effort.
Su Li did not look up. "What's the rush? The greenhouse expansion won't start until next month. You're a beat too slow on the bellows—the heat's off."
"Got it." Little Stone adjusted his rhythm, and a gust of hot air surged forth with the push and pull of his powerful arms.
When the hoe blade took shape, Su Li picked it up with tongs and inspected it for two seconds. No problem. He tossed the finished piece into a bucket, and white steam rose with a hiss.
"Call it a day. Go help your mother move the vegetable baskets."
Little Stone grabbed the coarse cloth shirt draped over a wooden post, pulled it on, and sprang out of the workshop in a few long strides.
Su Li wiped his hands and walked to the door. The sunlight fell squarely across his face.
In the kitchen, Saina was chopping radishes.
The knife fell crisply against the cutting board. It was the sense of rhythm honed through decades of practice—she could have done it with her eyes closed without cutting even half an inch off target.
After the final