American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Leila's breath hitched.

In that instant, she almost had the urge to rush over and hug him.

Her toes unconsciously moved forward half an inch, but then stopped.

She lowered her head, blinked her slightly sore eyes, and didn't dwell on the topic any further.

Tell me about yourself.

She took a deep breath, composed herself, as if to cover up her earlier lapse in composure:

"Your SAT scores were definitely high enough for Stanford or Yale... I thought you would go to the East Coast, but you chose the University of Arkansas instead."

She paused, her tone full of regret: "Isn't that too wasteful?"

"What's the waste?"

Fett stared at the furnace, poked at the coal with the fire hook, his expression calm as if he were telling someone else's story:

"My mother wanted me to wear suits and ties, to be a lawyer or a doctor. That's my mother's expectation, not mine."

"Now that she's gone, the old man is all alone taking care of the house."

"I don't have any grand ambitions. Compared to sitting in a skyscraper and scheming against each other in the future, I feel more at ease smelling cow dung."

This wasn't just something Fett said; the original owner's thoughts coincided with Fett's.

Of course, the fact that the family was poor was also the main reason why the original owner chose the University of Arkansas.

However, since Fett inherited his body, he naturally intended to be a good farmer and protect this land.

Leila stared blankly at Fett in front of her.

Since Fett went to high school and moved to a more distant place, the two have never seen each other again.

That outstanding Fett, who always got A's, soared higher and higher like a kite.

Over the years, she has repeatedly corrected her accent in front of the mirror, fallen and bruised in the practice room, and endured the scorn and ridicule of city dwellers.

It wasn't because she particularly wanted to be a star.

It was simply to catch up with Fett, who would become an elite in the future.

So that even when standing next to him in a suit, she wouldn't look like a wild girl who only deserves to roll in the mud.

But now, the kite has cut its own string and fallen back to the ground.

He said he liked it here.

A muffled thud.

Without warning, Lyra swung her fist and slammed it squarely into Fett's shoulder.

Fett was jolted by the punch, hissed, and grimaced as he rubbed his arm.

Why did you hit me?

"Are you jealous because I wasted points?"

Fett looked at the girl in front of him, completely bewildered.

Leila glared, her cheeks puffed out in anger, and she ground her back teeth:

"Never mind me! I just want to hit you!"

Fett glanced at her puffed-up chest and thought to himself: Oh well, consider this punch a bonus.

"Fine, I won't argue with you."

He turned around, grabbed the fire tongs, and pulled the thoroughly heated steel plate out from deep inside the furnace.

The steel plate now had a bright orange color, like a ripe persimmon, with some whitening at the edges, and the sweltering heat instantly distorted the air.

"The time is right, it's time to forge it!"

"Step back a bit, don't let the sparks hit you."

Upon hearing this, Lyra quickly took two steps back to make room for Fett, afraid of getting in his way.

Fett placed the steel plate steadily in the center of the anvil.

He picked up the three-pound square-headed hammer with his right hand and raised it high.

"Bang!"

The first hammer blow fell.

A dull, heavy thud echoed through the garage.

The originally curved spring steel was instantly flattened, and the dark red oxide scale shattered and scattered like a brittle shell.

Immediately afterwards, Fett adjusted his breathing and tensed his arm muscles.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The dense hammering sound rang out like a torrential rain, rhythmic and with a peculiar cadence.

He did not use brute force, but instead used the recoil of the anvil to his advantage.

The hammer was raised to the exact same height each time.

The hammer looked like an extension of his arm.

Each hammer blow landed precisely on the uneven parts of the steel plate, scattering a few red sparks and a small amount of grayish-black oxide scale.

The leaf springs, which were originally curved, quickly became flat and straight under his hammer.

He was completely absorbed in his work, his attention entirely focused on the hammer in his hand, and he didn't notice Lyra standing to the side, her eyes glued to him, unable to look away for even a moment.

Leila stared at Fett's pleasing movements.

With each swing of his hammer, the muscles in his forearms bulged and stretched like rocks beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

The dull thuds echoed through the garage, as if striking her chest.

Lyra's heartbeat quickened involuntarily, gradually aligning with the rhythm of the falling hammer, thump, thump, thump.

Although she didn't know how to forge, she knew that to tame a piece of iron, one had to be even harder than iron itself.

Looking at that stubborn, menacing piece of red-hot steel, which became unbelievably docile in his hand, her body went weak.

The air in the garage seemed too dry.

Laila's throat tightened, and she swallowed instinctively. In a panic, she grabbed the tea beside her and gulped down a large mouthful.

He tried to suppress the heat rising on his cheeks, whether from the fire or something else.

As he struck the ground, a thin layer of sweat appeared on Fett's body.

The bright orange of the steel plate gradually faded, and the sound of striking it changed from dull to crisp.

That's a sign that the steel is hardening.

Fett stopped what he was doing and put the steel plate back into the furnace.

"call--"

He let out a long breath, feeling as if his internal organs had been shaken and shuddered by the recoil from the hammer.

My whole body felt relaxed and my pores opened up, radiating a vibrant heat.

I've never felt this way before!

"Cool!"

Fett sighed, raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and looked down at his right palm.

Although the brain has experience, the muscles also have memory.

But after all, it was the body of a student who had never done heavy work.

At this moment, the delicate skin on my palms was red and burning from being rubbed by the hammer handle, and it was throbbing with pain.

Fett rubbed his hands together and continued to stare at the materials in the furnace.

"for you."

A fair hand reached out, holding a tissue between its fingertips, carrying a faint scent of jasmine, and squeezed into the garage filled with the smell of coal smoke.

Fett turned his head and saw Lyra standing beside him, her eyes sparkling.

Thanks.

Without any hesitation, he took the tissue and wiped his forehead haphazardly.

"Almost done?" Leila pointed to the long steel plate that was warming up in the furnace.

"It's still early."

Fett stared at the fire in the stove, crumpled up the paper towel, and threw it into the waste bin.

"That was correction, straightening it and slightly reshaping it."

"The real big deal is yet to come."

"You have to hammer out the distinctive planing tip of the Bowie knife, and then hammer out the base."

As they spoke, the steel plate burned orange-red again.

Fett quickly pulled out the steel plate. This time, instead of laying it flat, he placed the front end of the steel plate sideways on the right-angled edge of the anvil.

The hammer was tilted at a 45-degree angle, and using the sharp angle of the anvil's edge, it was smashed hard against the top corner of the steel plate.

"Clang! Clang!"

With each precise, heavy blow, the front corner of the steel plate slowly sags downwards, forming a smooth and highly aggressive arc.

This kind of blade tip curvature allows it to pierce like a spear and slice like a razor.

Although the curve of the blade tip has been achieved, the steel there has accumulated due to the lateral compression earlier, making it twice as thick as the blade itself.

Fett switched to a lighter flathead hammer.

"Ding, ding, ding."

This time, the hammer fell lightly and steadily.

He patiently pushed the clump of steel outwards little by little, stretching and elongating it like rolling dough, until the thickness of the blade tip was perfectly level with the spine.

The steel plate was cooled again and then reheated in the furnace.

A moment later, the orange-red knife blank was picked out.

For this first knife, it's best to be safe and make a full tang blade. Such a knife is sturdy and has a high margin for error.

Fett placed it horizontally on the right-angled step at the edge of the anvil, his gaze fixed on about one-third of the way down the steel plate.

When forging the blade base, the proportions must be carefully controlled.

If the blade is positioned too far forward and the blade is too short, the Bowie knife's ability to split rocks and cleave through mountains will be greatly reduced.

If the blade is positioned too far back and the base is too short, the center of gravity will shift forward significantly, making it as difficult to swing as swinging an iron rod.

Fett did not hesitate.

He gripped the tip of the knife tightly with his left hand, placing about a third of the knife blank on the anvil.

With a powerful thrust of his upper arm, he raised the hammer high and brought it down with a mighty slam!

"when!"

The selected blade root position instantly caved in, and the boundary between the blade and the blade root instantly became apparent.

Fett breathed a sigh of relief. This hammer blow was crucial. If he had hit it off-center or if the pliers hadn't gripped it properly, it would have been troublesome to adjust it later.

"Clang, clang, clang."

The hammer marks start from the dividing line and extend all the way to the end of the blade.

The thickness of the handguard remains unchanged, while the blade root is gradually extended and thinned by being hammered.

This ensures both structural strength and perfect balance of the center of gravity.

With the final strike, the outline of a sleek handle emerged.

Fett breathed a sigh of relief, tossed the somewhat cooled blade blank back into the furnace to heat it up, and then switched to a smooth dressing hammer.

The next hour or so was spent on tedious but crucial retouching.

He patiently removed the deep hammer marks, trimmed the spine of the blade, and hammered out the pre-beveled surface of the blade.

After being heated, hammered, and cooled several times, the knife blank gradually took shape.

"when!"

As Fett gently tapped the final hammer blow.

The once rough and rusted spring steel has been completely transformed.

A 15-inch-long Bowie knife blank, with smooth lines and a beautiful curve, lay quietly on the anvil.