Recalling the chilling cold that year, Bai Qing couldn't help but sigh softly.
"The defeat in the border war was not my father's fault, but those scholars always blamed him. They felt an unbearable anger whenever they saw me."
Bai Qing chuckled lightly, "He's still just a kid after all."
"If this thing had been made when Father Emperor went to war that year, how could the soldiers on the border have frozen to death? How could our Southern Dynasty have suffered from food shortages?"
Consort Li asked in confusion, "What are these rotten pieces of wood you're talking about?"
But the girl gave a charming snort: "What rotten wood? This is a 'war chariot' I built for my father!"
Bai Qing laughed, thinking that his girl was still innocent.
"Mother, how many bolts of cloth can you spin in a day?" In the Southern Dynasties, men farmed and women wove, and even palace concubines would occasionally spin and weave themselves.
Consort Li said, "How many bolts? If your mother can spin one bolt in a whole day, I'll consider myself fast."
“But things will be different with this.” Bai Yan said, then installed one of the parts on the spinning wheel: “Mother, try spinning now.”
Consort Li sat on the spinning wheel chair and spun cloth under her daughter's guidance. At first, she was only half-understanding, but after a while, her eyes widened in surprise: "Good heavens! It's only been a short while!"
They've already woven half a bolt of cloth. If they could weave ten bolts in a whole day, wouldn't they?
Behind the pear blossoms, Bai Qing's eyes were already gleaming: Ten bolts of cloth a day, enough for the soldiers to keep warm, were sold to other countries for tens of thousands of silver coins!
The girl chuckled: "This is just the first version. If the craftsmen could improve it, the effect would be even better."
She stroked the spinning wheel: "If Father Emperor had it, then the Southern Dynasty would have it. The embroiderers of the Southern Dynasty could make in a year what would take twenty years to complete."
Bai Qing's heart began to pound wildly. One year, twenty years, one year, twenty years... money, money, money!
But then the girl sighed, "It's a pity that although this thing is good, I have no way to present it to my father."
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