As an outsider, Song Nianchu had witnessed Mu Shi’an’s two younger brothers being swept into the sea by the waves, yet she had thrown herself into the rescue without hesitation. She had even shielded them from his scolding, standing in front of them and speaking up on their behalf.

But their own mother had only heard about their mischief and hadn’t even cared whether they were hurt or why they had gone to the beach in the first place.

The memory of last night weighed heavily on Mu Shi’an’s heart—how Mu Haoxuan had clutched the hem of his sleeve with pitiful eyes, asking if he could go with him when he left.

Now, as Mu Shi’an stared at the half-finished contraption before him, a flicker of determination passed through his eyes.

He needed to finish this quickly. If it worked, he would have leverage to discuss the matter with Song Nianchu.

Song Nianchu had prepared breakfast but noticed Mu Shi’an hadn’t come inside. She stepped out to check on him, only to find him still tinkering with the wooden pieces.

“Why haven’t you washed up yet? I told you to come eat after,” she said, frowning.

“I’m not hungry yet. Let me finish this first,” Mu Shi’an replied without pausing his work.

Song Nianchu wasn’t buying that he wasn’t hungry after working all night. She strode forward and snatched the tool from his hand.

Mu Shi’an looked up at her, puzzled.

“Even if you’re not hungry, you still eat on time. Go wash your hands now. You can bathe after breakfast,” she said firmly.

Mu Shi’an opened his mouth to protest, but Song Nianchu raised her fist in warning.

“If you don’t understand my words, I happen to know a thing or two about using my fists.”

Mu Shi’an: “…”

Under her intimidation, Mu Shi’an obediently went to wash his hands and eat.

After breakfast, Song Nianchu shooed him off to bathe while she cleaned up.

Just as Mu Shi’an finished his bath, the work whistle blew outside.

Song Nianchu had just finished tidying the kitchen and stepped out.

“Perfect timing,” she said cheerfully, ready to head out for work. Mu Shi’an followed behind her.

“You’re not going. I’ll ask Uncle Zhengui to excuse you later,” she said, turning back to him.

“Why?” Mu Shi’an frowned.

“You stayed up all night. You must be exhausted—get some rest at home.” Song Nianchu didn’t want him collapsing in the middle of the square.

Otherwise, rumors would spread again, claiming she was mistreating her new husband.

“I’m fine,” Mu Shi’an insisted.

“Then stay home and work on this.” She gestured to the half-finished project in the yard.

Mu Shi’an paused.

“If you can get this working, it’ll be worth more than ten days of labor,” she added.

After a moment’s thought, Mu Shi’an had to admit she was right.

“Then I’ll leave it to you. Though, given my background, getting permission might be difficult.” In the end, he agreed to her suggestion.

“Don’t worry. Uncle Zhengui favors me. He’ll agree if I ask.” Song Nianchu smiled dismissively. “Stay here and focus on this. I’m off to work.”

“…Alright.” Mu Shi’an nodded.

After Song Nianchu left, Mu Shi’an didn’t go back to rest. Instead, he picked up the plane again.

He had to finish this as soon as possible.

That day, Mu Shi’an stayed home, working on the wooden pieces. Song Nianchu couldn’t make sense of it—how those long and short strips of wood could come together into some intricate little mechanism.

But even if she didn’t understand, it didn’t stop her from being impressed.

“My judgment was right—you’re truly impressive.” Song Nianchu never hesitated to lavish praise.

The capable people under her leadership had all flourished under her encouragement.

“These are just basic principles. Once you understand them, it becomes easy,” Mu Shi’an replied, feeling such trivial matters hardly deserved Song Nianchu’s admiration.

“Comrade Mu, excessive modesty is just another form of pride,” Song Nianchu chided with a stern expression.

Mu Shi’an paused, then smiled. “Understood.”

“Alright, keep working. I’m heading to bed.” Song Nianchu covered a yawn with her hand.

In this era devoid of entertainment, her sleep schedule had adjusted completely.

She now slept at eight and woke at five—healthier than ever.

“Alright,” Mu Shi’an responded softly.

As dawn tinged the sky, Song Nianchu opened her eyes, guided by her internal clock.

The bed beside her was cold—had Mu Shi’an pulled another all-nighter?

She threw off the covers and stepped out of bed, only to startle backward when she opened the door and found Mu Shi’an standing right outside.

Mu Shi’an reacted swiftly, grabbing her arm, but his strength was no match for Song Nianchu’s. Instead of steadying her, he lost his balance and tumbled down with her.

For a moment, they lay there—her beneath him, their eyes locked—the air thick with silence.

“S-sorry,” Mu Shi’an stammered, scrambling to his feet as soon as he regained his senses.

Song Nianchu sat up, equally flustered.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who pulled you down with my strength.”

“Anyway, the machine is ready. Do you want to test it?” Mu Shi’an awkwardly shifted the subject, eager to dispel the strange tension.

“You finished it already?” Song Nianchu’s attention immediately diverted.

“Yeah.” Mu Shi’an nodded.

If not for the less-than-ideal tools, the small device wouldn’t have taken so long.

“Let’s go, let’s go! I want to see it now!” Song Nianchu sprang up and hurried toward the courtyard.

In the center of the yard stood a neatly crafted, square machine. Song Nianchu circled it several times, admiring its smooth, polished surface—it almost looked like a work of art.

“Time was tight, so it’s a bit rough. This first version will have to do for now,” Mu Shi’an said apologetically as he caught up.

“You call this rough? Are your standards impossibly high?” Song Nianchu rolled her eyes but quickly reconsidered—geniuses always demanded perfection of themselves.

“Anyway, how does this thing work?” She brushed off the topic, eager to test the machine’s functionality.

“Do you have any fishing line?” Mu Shi’an asked.

“Yes, yes! I’ll get it for you.” Song Nianchu dashed to the storage room and rummaged through old supplies until she found some worn-out fishing line.

“Will this do?” She held it up to Mu Shi’an.

“For testing, it’s fine,” he confirmed after inspecting it.

“So, how do we use this?” Song Nianchu buzzed with excitement.

“This is the intake port…” Mu Shi’an explained the machine’s operation with a gentle smile, watching her enthusiasm with warmth.

“Alright, now just step on the pedal below, and the net will start forming.” After setting up the fishing line, Mu Shi’an began pressing the pedal.

Something magical happened—the fishing lines, passing through each pedal, gradually transformed into a fishing net.

Song Nianchu stared at the net in her hands, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

“It really can weave a net?!” Song Nianchu murmured in disbelief.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep