American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

Fett couldn't help but laugh when he saw her tense, precarious expression.

He pointed to the loosened electrode connector and showed it to Leila, his tone slightly mocking:

"I knew he wasn't a good person a long time ago."

"I was just pretending to be stupid to tease him."

"That old guy secretly loosened the electrode connector when I wasn't looking, creating a loose power connection, thinking I didn't see it."

"I was originally planning to play along with him a little longer before exposing him later."

"Who knew that this old fox had such poor mental fortitude? He couldn't withstand your pressure and ran away first."

"So that's how it is..."

Leila breathed a sigh of relief and stuck out her tongue a little embarrassedly.

"Meow~"

At that moment, Rosie, the cat who had been sitting aloofly on the railing, jumped down as soon as she saw Lyra, rubbing against her jeans and meowing sweetly.

Leila bent down, skillfully picked it up, and held it in her arms, stroking its fur.

Looking at his cat, who was usually elusive and indifferent to him, now behaving so obsequiously, Fett couldn't help but grumble:

"Hey, am I still your master or not?"

"I can't even catch a glimpse of you all day, but as soon as Leila arrives, you pop out like you've got radar."

"That's because you don't play with it usually."

Lyra smiled and pinched Rosie's soft belly, then rubbed her head, her face full of affection.

"Right, Miss Rosie?"

"Snoring~"

Rosie snored loudly in Lyra's broad chest, like a small motorcycle starting up.

Two furry front paws began to rhythmically stomp on Leila's soft sweater.

The tender pink pads opened and closed, the fingernails carefully tucked in, like a focused baker kneading the softest dough.

"Look, Fett! Rosie is kneading in my arms!"

Fett glanced at the curves beneath the knitted sweater that undulated slightly with the rhythm of the cat's paws. "She was probably scared by that dog earlier, and now she's feeling a mother's embrace."

"It certainly knows how to enjoy itself; it knows where the softest spot is."

Leila blushed slightly at his words and quickly changed the subject:

"By the way, why are you here fixing cars so early? How's your leg?"

Fett pointed towards the woods in the backyard, his tone tinged with a hint of helplessness:

"Our two fathers went out to clear out the wild animals before dawn. The gunshots kept coming and went, and they woke me up."

"I couldn't sleep even lying down, so I got up to check things out and make preparations, since we should have some guests coming in the next couple of days."

He patted the old pickup truck behind him:

"Since I have nothing else to do, I'll clean up this old car."

Seeing that Lyra was about to say something, Fett waved his hand and stretched his legs:

"My leg is mostly pain-free now, so you don't need to worry."

"I left you breakfast in the kitchen. I made fried eggs and toast. It's still warm enough to eat. Go and eat it, don't go hungry."

"Did you do this?"

Layla's eyes lit up, and she happily agreed, then picked up the cat and ran into the house.

After watching her go inside, Fett snapped out of his thoughts and started working.

He reconnected the wires and tightened the nut.

Then, he picked up a wrench and loosened the adjusting bolt on the side of the generator.

"Hey!"

With a low shout, Fett exerted force with both arms, pushing the heavy generator toward the engine side.

With a squeak of metal scraping, the belt loosened.

He easily removed the cracked and worn-out leather belt.

He limped into the warehouse, carrying an old belt.

The iron hooks behind the warehouse door were covered with old, black leather belts that looked like sausages. These were Old Frank's "trophies" over the years, salvaged from various tractors and lawnmowers.

Without looking closely, Fett took all the old belts off and spread them on the ground, comparing each one with the belts he had just removed.

They don't have to be exactly the same; as long as the length is about the same and the width matches, the V-shaped belts will be fine.

He quickly picked out a belt that was the right length, a little oily, but still had some elasticity.

"You're the one."

Fett carried the chosen belt back to the front of the car.

Installing takes a little more effort than disassembling; you need to maintain the belt with the right tension.

He first bent down and put the belt on the bottom crankshaft pulley, then hooked the water pump wheel along the groove, and finally laboriously pulled it into the groove of the generator pulley.

Because it was an old belt, it was a little tight, but I still managed to get it in smoothly.

Next, the tension of the belt needs to be controlled by adjusting the position of the bracket.

Fett found a long crowbar and inserted it between the generator and the cylinder.

He gripped the end of the crowbar with his left hand, and using the lever principle, gritted his teeth and pried the generator outwards, gradually tightening the belt.

Feeling that it was almost in place, Fett braced the crowbar with his shoulder.

With a wrench in his right hand, he quickly tightened the fixing bolt on the adjusting bracket.

"Done."

He took the crowbar down, reached out and pressed the middle of the belt; there was only about half an inch of downward pressure, the tension was perfect.

After tidying up his tools and closing the hood, Fett climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key.

"boom--!!!"

The engine roared, and the pulley spun rapidly without the slightest whistling sound of slippage.

When idling, the voltage supplied by the alternator to the battery is too low to determine whether the battery is charging.

But Fet had a way.

He turned on the headlights and stepped on the gas.

The engine roared even louder!

The two pale, dim spots of light that had been projected onto the barn door instantly transformed into two bright, dazzling white beams of light, illuminating even the dust particles in the air.

Fully recovered.

It's really great to be self-sufficient, turn waste into treasure, and fix broken things without spending a penny.

This is probably what men's romance is all about.

"Fate!"

Suddenly, Leila pushed open the main door, leaned halfway out, and shouted at him:

"There's a phone call! It's on the landline. Maybe someone saw the news and wants to book a tree. Come answer it!"

Fett turned off the engine, jumped out of the car, and ran into the house while wiping the oil off his hands.

"Feed? This is Carter's Farm."

"Would you like a Christmas tree?"

He picked up the receiver, his tone polite and expectant.

The voice on the other end of the line was young, deliberately high-pitched, making it hard to tell if it was friendly or malicious.

"Fate Carter?"

"Yes, that's me."

I saw you on TV.

The man paused, his tone becoming somewhat erratic:

"However, regarding your mother's car accident... do you really believe it was done by a so-called car thief?"

Fett's brow furrowed slightly.

As a time traveler who inherited his memories, his feelings for his mother, whom he had never met, were less grief and more sympathy and responsibility.

But the information revealed in that phone call made him sense a dangerous undercurrent.

"Who are you? What do you know?"

"Don't ask me who I am... I can't answer your question."

"I can only tell you that the perpetrator may be someone else."

"Who?!" Fett spoke rapidly.

"Beep...beep...beep..."

All he received in response was a series of cold, busy tones.