American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Every ten minutes, Fett would take it out and check it.

The pattern gradually appeared over time, and forty minutes later, Fett used tweezers to remove the blade.

Under the influence of coffee, the originally silvery surface turned into a deep, matte blackish-gray.

He used extremely fine 2000-grit sandpaper to gently sand away the surface color.

A miracle occurred.

The dark gray background faded, revealing clear wavy blade patterns.

Start assembling!

The polished tool holder liner, the tool stop post, the spindle screw... he neatly arranged each tiny part on the table, like soldiers waiting for inspection.

He applied a drop of lubricant to each rotating part and then began assembling.

First install the spindle, then install the cutting tool, and finally close the tool holder.

"Click".

With a final soft click, the antler-handled folding knife closed perfectly.

Fett held it in his hand and weighed it; the weight was just right, and the center of gravity was perfect.

He pressed his thumb against the specially carved curved groove on the back of the knife and pushed it outwards with a little force.

The blade spun smoothly out, tracing a silver arc without the slightest hesitation.

When the blade is fully extended, the locking spring at the bottom makes a crisp, pleasant "click" sound, and steadily springs in to hold the blade root, locking the blade in place.

It opens and closes smoothly, locks securely, and doesn't wobble at all.

Fett placed the two knives side by side, admiring his masterpiece.

Fett placed the two knives side by side on the workbench, stepped back, and admired his masterpiece.

The kitchen knife on the left, with its dark brown walnut wood handle, gleamed warmly under the light, its flowing wood grain, like a landscape painting, clearly visible.

The three mosaic pins on the handle are like the finishing touch, and the small golden flower made of copper and iron wire on the cut surface is exquisitely crafted.

The blade is long and straight, with a mirror-polished edge that gleams coldly, exuding an air of elegance.

The folding knife on the right is completely different.

The rough, gray-white antler patches retain their original texture, with a touch of roughness, full of wild tension.

Although the blade is small, it has a deep, matte blackish-gray finish after being acid-washed with coffee. Upon closer inspection, the wavy blade pattern on it appears like a veil of clouds, mysterious and captivating.

"Perfect!"

These two knives are in no way inferior to the 'King'!

Having barely moved all afternoon, Fett's back was a little sore, so he stretched and his joints cracked a few times.

He walked out of the garage. The sky was still overcast and pale. A cold wind blew, and Fett involuntarily shrank his neck.

He habitually glanced in the direction of old Johnny's house next door.

In front of the tall, tightly sealed shed, old Johnny was bent over, busy working in the back of his pickup truck.

The truck bed was piled with several bags of unknown contents, covered with a layer of dirty black tarpaulin.

Old Johnny was holding the hemp rope, tightening it round and round until it was secure, and even tugging on it to make sure it wouldn't come loose.

After securing him, Johnny didn't waste any time and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Boom!"

The old Ford spewed out a plume of black smoke and hurriedly drove out of the farm gate, quickly disappearing around the corner of the road.

Fett squinted, a thought creeping into his mind.

It's freezing cold, almost evening, and it looks like it's about to rain. Where is this old man going with a cart full of things that are completely covered up?

but……

This could be an opportunity.

An opportunity to find a loophole in Johnny's scheme.

Without hesitation, Fett grabbed the newly made antler folding knife from the table and put it in his pocket.

He casually avoided the few guests in the front yard and quietly slipped into the woods in the backyard.

Although the backyards of the two farms are separate, the dense woodland is connected.

The two sides were separated only by a simple, waist-high wire fence, which served as the boundary.

Upon reaching the border between the two houses, Fett crouched down and looked around.

The barbed wire in front of us was rusty and covered with dry, tangled wild vines, which intertwined densely, forming a natural barrier that blocked our way.

If his leg were fully healed, jumping over that height wouldn't be difficult; for now, it's better to forget about it.

After confirming that no one was around, he took out the folding knife, pinched the blade and pulled it outward. With a "click", the blade was fixed in place by shrapnel.

Fett grabbed an old vine as thick as his wrist and swung his knife to chop it down.

"hiss--"

With a soft crack, the sturdy old vine snapped as easily as tender tofu, leaving a smooth and clean break.

He deftly cut off a few of the most tightly entwined vines, tearing out a hole.

Fett widened the opening with his hands, took a deep breath, and slipped through like a nimble cat.

Upon entering Old Johnny's territory, the feeling of desolation and ruin intensified.

The ground was covered with waist-high withered grass and thorny brambles, and the neglected woods were piled with all sorts of garbage: rusty iron buckets, broken tires, rotten furniture... The air seemed to be filled with a smell of decay and ruin.

Fett carefully avoided the thorn bushes and, using the trees as cover, made his way to the backyard.

After walking for a while, he stopped when he passed a large iron pot on the side of the main house.

It was a diesel refueling tank for farm machinery, and it looked quite old. The fuel nozzle was hanging haphazardly outside, with a pool of dark, sludge underneath.

Fett crouched down and took a closer look at the nozzle of the oil gun.

On the edge of the nozzle and on the ground below, there was a distinct, indelible stain of dark red dye.

"Red oil".

Based on the knowledge provided in the "Basic Tax Avoidance Guide", Fett immediately figured out what the situation was.

This red diesel is a tax-free diesel fuel specially subsidized by the federal government for agricultural machinery. Red dye was added to distinguish it from other types of diesel.

According to the law, this thing is strictly prohibited from being installed in private cars that travel on highways.

Considering Johnny's pickup truck that frequently drove into town, belching black smoke, the old man had clearly been evading fuel taxes.

"Tap, tap."

A few drops of something cold suddenly hit Fett's face, causing his skin to shrink.

He looked up, and fine raindrops began to fall from the gray sky.

The raindrops fell on Fett's dark jacket, but instead of spreading out as usual, they instantly froze, turning into a thin, shimmering ice shell.

Freezing rain has arrived.

This is the most troublesome weather in Arkansas during winter.

These raindrops may seem insignificant, but once they fall to the ground, they can immediately cover the entire world with a layer of ice.

"We need to hurry."

Fett glanced at his feet. The ground was only slightly damp. If the ice crust thickened later, not only would the path be difficult to walk on, but his footprints would be so clear that they would be impossible to deny.

He lowered his center of gravity, quickened his pace, and carefully stepped on the dry grass on the ground as he made his way toward the tightly covered shed.