# CHAPTER 31: THE JOY OF CRAFTING
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To recap the structure of the water press for a clearer picture: the machine consisted of four parts. The bottom section was for filtering and holding the liquid; the top section was the compression mechanism, meant to be pulled up high.
Here was how it worked. The storage container sat on the ground, and above it sat the filter container — a vessel punched through with small holes at the bottom, lined on the inside with something like a fishing net, woven from finely stripped monster tendon fibers. The top section had two parts: a heavy block of wood — call it the counterweight — bound with monster tendon so it could be hoisted up, and finally the pulley, which made hauling that heavy log upward easier. Once released, gravity would let the weight drop and crush the freshly cut blood grass, turning it into liquid and leaving only dry pulp behind.
In theory, it was perfectly sound. In practice, it was bad enough that he could barely stand to look at his own crude machine.
The filter container sitting on top had been struck dead-on the moment the weight dropped, shattering off a large chunk — roughly half of it broken clean away, effectively ruined. Worse, after clipping the rim of the filter container, the weight hadn't stopped; it kept falling, punching straight through the bottom of the filter basin and driving down into the storage container below.
First things first, Subject 198 decided he should examine the wreckage properly before even thinking about how to fix it.
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He walked over to the fallen tree, where the branches he'd already cut lay scattered beside it. He looked them over, then picked up the one that seemed sturdiest.
Approaching the spot where the monster tendon used to haul the counterweight was anchored, he set the branch down, picked up the tendon, and began pulling it backward.
He felt his back growing hot, a dull ache spreading along the muscles.
*Damn, why is this thing so heavy. Should've picked the lighter log — except the lighter one doesn't press hard enough.*
Hauling it up a stretch, he raised the wooden counterweight just high enough that if it dropped, he'd still have time to throw himself clear before getting flattened. Marking the position where he was pulling, Subject 198 began lowering it slowly, letting the weight settle back down at the old spot, only gentler this time.
You know how it is — doing pull-ups or push-ups fast looks a lot more impressive, sure, but slowing the motion down is what actually taxes the muscle harder. And if it strains the muscle harder, naturally, it also hurts more.
Step by step, until the log finally settled all the way down.
*Thud.*
It clipped the side of the filter container slightly on the way down, but no harm done — it had landed.
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He returned to roughly the same marked spot, standing a bit closer this time, leaving some clearance. Taking the sturdy branch from before, he used his bare hands to dig a hole about fifty centimeters deep — though that was just an eyeball estimate; who could really be sure.
Gripping the branch with the thicker end pointing down, he drove it straight into the earth. Then, using the blunt end of the fruit mallet, he began pounding it, forcing the branch deeper into the ground.
*Thud, thud, thud.*
The branch, originally standing fairly tall, sank down a bit further with each strike. He packed extra dirt into the remaining gap.
He was about to go grab the tendon to tie it to the stake and test the machine, but he stopped himself.
*Wait a second. What if this post breaks too, or shifts out of place? Hmm... better to make it properly solid.*
Subject 198 wandered around, gathering large, heavy chunks of glass stone, wedging and packing them tightly around the branch. Once finished, he looked over his work and gave his assessment.
*Not bad. Death odds dropped from high to... still high, but acceptable enough, by feel.*
Only now did Subject 198 pull the tendon over to the freshly planted stake and begin tying it off.
*I'm getting a lot more skilled at this knot now. If I ever end up hanging myself for real, at least I'll be practiced — no more fumbling around.*
*Wait, hold on... could I actually die this way? Hanging like this cuts oxygen to the brain. Looking at the symptoms, chances are I'd still die — but my body's illogical like this, so who knows for sure. Maybe the brain would just go without oxygen for a while and that's it. Might be worth trying sometime.*
Joking with himself — and which line had actually been the joke, which one had been serious, even he wasn't sure anymore — Subject 198 finished tying the knot and looked up at the stake, still standing tall and proud.
*Is my vision off, or does that post look a little crooked to my front eyes?*
Ignoring the sensation, he could finally examine everything properly.
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From the outside, the shell around the filter container was shattered — half of it gone; the right and left sides each carried a smaller chip out of them. Looking deeper, the entire bottom of the filter container had cracked open, dropping straight through into the container below. Even the mesh he'd woven for filtering had been torn to shreds. Even the bottom of the receiving container beneath it was riddled with cracks — meaning the blood grass water would likely seep straight out through them.
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He'd originally planned to salvage it, but at this point it was thoroughly finished. Time to build a new one.
The next problem: how to design the new one so it wouldn't repeat the old mistakes.
The most obvious issue was the drift in the falling counterweight. His guess was that it came down to the elasticity of the monster tendon. Normally, using rope or cloth cord already introduced some margin of error from stretch; monster tendon had even better elasticity, which meant an even larger drift — somewhere between three to five centimeters off-target.
*Hmmm...*
*I could borrow the frame structure of the French guillotine — that machine ancient humans used to behead nobles, during the uprising in France. Apparently it was designed to make executions more humane. I could repurpose its frame: the inner faces of the twin posts have sliding grooves to reduce friction, and a crossbar is fitted through them. Hmmm...*
*What if I carved matching sliding grooves, then drilled two holes on either side of the weight, fitted small wheels into them, and slotted those into the grooves?*
*No good. Not efficient — it wouldn't fit inside the filter container. To make it fit, I'd need to carve out an additional channel for it to slide through, which is both difficult and a waste of effort.*
*How, then. How...*
Subject 198 muttered to himself without noticing.
*That's right — I don't need to copy the structure, just the principle. I can turn the filter container itself into the guide frame.*
*If the weight always stays inside the filter container as it's raised, the drift problem solves itself. But if it can't be pulled high enough, there won't be enough force — so I just need to raise the walls of the filter container higher.*
Following that train of thought, Subject 198 kept branching outward. *What if I changed the shape of the filter container's floor? Instead of a flat, level circle, give it a curve. That way the liquid would naturally pool toward the center — I'd just need to drill four drainage holes. A curved floor like that would also be thicker and sturdier than the original — just have to reshape the counterweight to match.*
*On top of that, the filter container could use one more hole, positioned lower than the maximum height the weight gets raised to. That hole is where the blood grass gets loaded in.*
*But how do I get the spent pulp back out after pressing? Think, think...*
*Carve another hole lower down to reach in with my hand? No good — the water would just leak out through that hole during pressing. Keep thinking.*
*Remove the filter mesh entirely so the pulp falls through underneath? No good either — the mesh really should stay fixed in place. Constantly removing and reinstalling it would wear it out fast, and letting it drop straight into the container below defeats the whole purpose.*
*Hmmm... I could make a hook to fish the pulp back out through the same hole it went in through. Slower, but doable.*
As for the cord — if a single strand torn from tendon wasn't durable enough, twisting several strands together would surely make it stronger.
The base needed attention too — it should rest on something raised, rather than sitting straight on the ground. He could prop it up on a few extra wood blocks, drill a hole through, and plug it with something cone-shaped, like a wine cork. Whenever he needed to drain the liquid, he'd just pull the plug and let it flow.
Next was the pull-cord — really just the tendon itself — which could be carved into a grip resembling the handle of a cable machine at a gym.
*Wait, what's a gym? Where is that information even coming from???*
Never mind. When not in use, the loop meant for gripping and pulling with the back muscles could be threaded around the post to lock it in place, or released whenever it was needed again.
The stream of thoughts gradually slowed. Thinking was doing — without further hesitation, Subject 198 got straight to work.
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Looking over the newly finished machine, now loaded with blood grass and ready for a fresh trial. The sky had already turned to full midnight — from noon until now, the process of carving, adjusting angles, going back and forth over the final details, had finally come together. Time to test it.
Gripping the V-shaped handle, Subject 198 began to pull.
*Heh. This basically counts as a back workout too.*
*Thump.*
The sound of the weight dropping rang out. Instead of shattering apart like last time, the machine held together smoothly this time — the liquid container hadn't been punctured, and the water had already started flowing out.
Confirming success, he hung the handle back on the post.
Subject 198 walked over to where his pillow lay, lowered himself down, and closed his eyes. Working nonstop for hours — likely having lost track of time entirely while absorbed in the crafting — it was already night by the time he finished. Only now did the exhaustion truly catch up with him, and Subject 198 sank slowly into sleep.
*Guess tomorrow I should expand the camp to match the amount of water this thing can produce. Also still need to make charcoal, and lay the groundwork for building a vehicle.*
*Ah, whatever. Later.*
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