The sound of the wheel was the only thing that made sense anymore. It was a deep, rhythmic thumping that I could feel in the marrow of my bones. Every time a bucket hit the river and the cams pushed the bellows down, the ground shook just a little bit. It was a mechanical heartbeat, and as long as it kept beating, I knew I was still in control. I sat by the furnace, my eyes red and stinging from the constant smoke. I hadn't washed in four days. The soot had settled into the cracks of my skin until I looked like I was made of charcoal myself.
Lao walked up to me, holding a piece of dried meat that looked like a strip of old leather. He didn't offer it with a smile. He just tossed it into my lap.
Eat, Lu. You're starting to look like a skeleton in a silk dress, Lao said.
I picked up the meat and chewed on it. It was salty and tough, but it was better than the millet paste. I looked at the tap hole of the furnace. The heat coming off the clay was so intense that the air around it was shimmering. This wasn't the failed mess from a few days ago. The water wheel was providing a constant, high pressure blast of oxygen that had turned the internal fire into a white hot sun.
It's time, I said.
Lao straightened up. He signaled to the two men who were standing ready with heavy iron bars. These were the strongest guys in the village, and even they looked terrified of the furnace. They had seen what happened to a piece of wood when it got too close to the intake. It didn't burn; it just vanished.
I stood up, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. I grabbed a long, clay coated rod and stepped toward the base of the tower. My 2025 brain was calculating the viscosity of the molten metal. I knew the chemistry was right this time. We had used the best charcoal, and the ore had been roasted twice to get rid of the sulfur.
The village was silent. Even the children had stopped playing in the mud to watch. They stood in a wide circle, their faces pale in the orange glow of the evening.
Lao, get back, I muttered.
I jammed the rod into the clay plug at the bottom of the furnace. I had to hit it three times before it gave way.
Then, it happened.
A stream of liquid fire burst out of the hole. It wasn't black and sluggish like the slag. It was a brilliant, blinding white gold that hissed and spat as it hit the sand channel I had prepared. The heat was so sudden and so violent that I had to stumble back, shielding my face with my arm.
The villagers gasped as one. They had never seen metal move like water. To them, it was magic. To me, it was the first real victory.
It's beautiful, Lao whispered, his eyes wide as he watched the glowing river flow into the molds I had carved into the earth.
It's not beautiful, Lao. It's useful, I snapped, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
We had carved the molds for simple things. Piston heads for a manual pump. Heavy gears for the next stage of the wheel. Long, thick bars that we could forge into better tools. As the metal hit the cold sand, it began to dim, turning from white to a deep, bruised purple, then a dull, solid red.
I sat down on the ground, the heat still baking my skin. I felt a weird sense of relief that made me want to cry. I had done it. I had bypassed six hundred years of slow technological progress in a single week.
But the silence didn't last.
The sound of horses hit the air before we saw the riders. It was a fast, rhythmic drumming of hooves on the wet road. Lao was on his feet in a second, his hand on the hilt of his sword. I didn't move. I was too tired to be scared.
Four men rode into the clearing. They weren't wearing the rags of the villagers. They were wearing lacquered leather armor and high silk hats. In the center was a man with a thin, sharp face and a mustache that had been oiled to a point. He looked like a predatory bird that had just found a nest of mice.
He was the District Tax Collector. A man named Feng.
He sat on his horse, looking at the glowing iron in the sand, then up at the massive wooden wheel that was still thumping away in the river. He didn't look impressed. He looked greedy.
Prince Lu, Feng said, his voice as smooth as oil. I heard rumors that you had found a way to talk to dragons. I see now that the rumors were half right.
I didn't stand up. I just looked at him from the mud. It's a wheel, Feng. Not a dragon. And unless you've brought a shovel to help, you're in the way.
Lao let out a small, nervous cough. Lu, don't, he whispered.
Feng's eyes narrowed. He looked at the cooling iron bars. This is interesting. The Governor was told that this province was too poor to pay its tribute. And yet, I see a prince producing high quality iron in the middle of a flood. This is a restricted resource, Lu. All iron belongs to the Emperor's foundries.
The Emperor's foundries are a thousand miles away, I said. This iron is for the pump. If we don't move the water, the rice won't grow. If the rice won't grow, there is no tribute.
Feng smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. That is a very logical argument. But the Emperor does not care about pumps. He cares about swords. And a wheel that can make iron this pure... well, that is a very valuable thing.
He climbed down from his horse, his boots making a disgusting squelching sound in the mud. He walked toward the water wheel, his hand reaching out to touch the wet cedar.
It's a magnificent machine, he said. I think the Governor will want to see it. In fact, I think he will want it moved to the capital.
The villagers started to mutter. They looked at the wheel, then at Feng. They had spent three days of back breaking labor building that thing. They had bled for it.
You can't move it, I said, finally standing up. My voice was low and dangerous. If you take it apart, it will never work again. The balance is specific to the current of this river.
Feng turned to me, his smile disappearing. I don't think you understand your position, Prince. You are an exile. You are here because nobody wanted you in the city. You have no authority to claim the resources of the land.
I walked toward him. I was half his size and I looked like a chimney sweep, but I had 2025 on my side.
Listen to me, you little bureaucrat, I said. I am the only person in this entire province who knows how to keep that fire burning. You can take the wood. You can kill the men. But you will never get a drop of iron out of that dirt without me.
Feng's guards stepped forward, their hands on their weapons. Lao moved too, stepping in front of me like a wall of meat.
There was a long, tense silence. The only sound was the thumping of the wheel and the hissing of the cooling iron. I could see the sweat on Feng's upper lip. He wasn't used to being talked to like this. He was used to people bowing until their foreheads hit the dirt.
You are arrogant, Lu, Feng whispered. Arrogance is a dangerous thing for a man in a shack.
And greed is a dangerous thing for a man in a silk hat, I replied.
Feng looked at the villagers. They were standing behind me now. They weren't cowering. They were holding their shovels and their heavy river stones. They had seen the iron. They had seen the miracle. They weren't ready to let a tax collector take it away.
Feng realized he was outnumbered. He stepped back and climbed onto his horse.
I will leave for now, he said, adjusting his hat. But the Governor will hear of this. He will send more than four men next time. He will send a battalion. And they will take whatever they want.
He turned his horse and rode out of the clearing, his guards following close behind.
Lao let out a long breath. We're in trouble, Lu. Real trouble.
I know, I said.
I walked over to the cooling iron bars. I picked one up with a thick cloth. It was heavy and solid. It was the first piece of real leverage I had in this world.
Lao, I said. Forget the plows.
He looked at me, confused. What?
We need to build a lathe, I said. We need to turn these bars into parts for a high pressure water cannon.
Lu, we need the pumps for the fields, Lao argued.
The fields won't matter if the Governor burns the village to the ground, I said. If they're coming for the wheel, I'm going to make sure they regret it.
I sat back down on my rock and pulled out my charcoal stick. My hands were still shaking, but the design for a basic fire hose and nozzle was already clear in my head. I didn't need gunpowder. I had the river. I had the weight of the water. If I could harness the pressure, I could knock a man off a horse at fifty yards.
I looked at the village elders. They were watching me with a mix of awe and terror. They realized that the world had changed. The prince wasn't a poet anymore. He was a builder of machines.
Go to the north grove, I told them. I need more cedar. And find me every scrap of leather you can find. We need to make hoses.
They didn't argue this time. They just moved.
I stayed by the furnace as the fire began to die down. The heat was still there, a warm pulse in the cooling night air. I looked at the blueprint on the silk. It was a mess of lines and numbers, but it was beautiful. It was the only thing that felt real.
I had come here to survive, but I was starting to realize that surviving wasn't enough. If I wanted to live in this world, I had to be the one who controlled the technology. I had to be the Architect.
Lao sat down next to me. You're going to war with the Governor, aren't you?
I'm defending my project, Lao, I said.
Is there a difference?
No, I suppose there isn't.
I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the wheel. It was a comforting sound. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was the sound of a world that was moving forward, whether the Emperor liked it or not.
I thought about my old life. I thought about the clean offices and the glass towers. None of it seemed to matter anymore. Those towers were built on the work of men who had died hundreds of years ago. Here, I was the one doing the work. I was the foundation.
I reached for a piece of cold iron and felt the weight of it. It was real. It was solid.
Tomorrow, I whispered. Tomorrow we build the lathe.
I fell asleep right there in the dirt, my head resting on a pile of charcoal. I dreamed of gears turning in the dark, of steam engines roaring across the plains, and of a world where the water didn't just wash us away, but gave us the power to stand our ground.
The rain started again, a soft patter on the roof of the furnace shed. But it didn't feel like a threat anymore. It just felt like fuel.
When I woke up a few hours later, the fire was just a bed of red coals. I stood up and stretched, my back cracking. I looked at the water wheel. It was still turning. It was always turning.
Lao was still awake, staring at the river. He looked at me and nodded.
We're going to need a lot of leather, he said.
We're going to need everything, I replied.
I picked up my charcoal and started to draw the valve assembly. My hands were steady now. The 2025 architect was gone. There was only the man in the mud, and he had work to do.