First Pottery-Making Attempt

The excitement of discovering high-quality Pottery Clay was like a stone tossed into a tranquil lake, sending ripples surging through Chen An's heart that took a long time to settle.

It was more than the joy of finding a material. It was like glimpsing a path toward a more comfortable, more civilized future along the barren road of survival.

The idea of firing pottery was like a tender sprout breaking through the soil. Brimming with vitality, it rapidly took root and grew in his heart.

He knew that a journey of a thousand miles began with a single step. His grand pottery-making blueprint had to start with the most basic, primitive tasks: obtaining raw materials and practicing how to shape them.

He returned to the riverbank downstream from the creek where he had discovered the Pottery Clay.

This time, he had a clear goal—large-scale collection. He made a broad-bladed stone shovel and reinforced its wooden handle with tough vines, turning it into a crude but effective digging tool.

He carefully began digging along the edge of the clay layer. The grayish-white clay was extremely thick, and large chunks could be dug out with ease.

He was not greedy, mainly collecting the relatively pure surface layer with fewer impurities.

To Avoidance bringing in too much grit and affecting the quality of the finished products, he used a fine bark sieve he had prepared beforehand to perform a preliminary screening of the excavated clay.

The process was tedious and time-consuming, but Chen An carried it out meticulously.

He piled the screened, fine clay on a level patch of ground that he had cleared in advance, far from the water source. He let it dry in the natural breeze, evaporating excess moisture until it reached a moderate hardness that would make it easier to process later.

After several days, he had collected enough clay in good condition to serve as pottery blanks.

He cut down several sturdy branches, removed their twigs, and polished them smooth to use as a workbench for kneading the clay.

With everything ready, he welcomed his long-awaited yet nerve-racking first attempt.

Chen An chose the simplest forms to make—a small bowl and a wide-mouthed pottery jar.

Recalling vague impressions, he began his first pottery-making attempt.

He sat beside the workbench and took out a fist-sized piece of dried clay.

The clay was cool and soft, carrying the distinct fragrance of earth. Following the image of a potter in his memory, he repeatedly kneaded and slapped the clay.

This process was crucial. Its purpose was to expel air bubbles from within, make the clay's texture more even and dense, and prevent it from cracking during firing.

"Thump, thump, thump..."

The dull pounding echoed through the quiet courtyard. Chen An clenched his teeth and poured all his strength into his palms as he repeatedly kneaded and pressed the grayish-white lump of clay.

At first, the lump refused to cooperate. It kept falling apart in his hands or retaining deep finger marks. He had no choice but to slow down, feel the clay's nature, learn how to use leverage, and figure out how to make the lump obediently rotate and spread in his palm.

Gradually, he grasped some of the technique. The lump grew smooth, pliable, and elastic in his hands, like well-kneaded dough. He shaped it into a smooth, round disk to serve as the base of the bowl or jar.

Making the bowl was relatively simple.

He placed the round base on the workbench, then took out a small piece of clay and rolled it into a strip of even thickness.

He tried coiling the clay strip upward, one ring at a time, stacking it on top of the base. This was the most primitive "coil-building method." In practice, however, it was a hundred times more difficult than he had imagined.

* The clay strips broke: The strips he rolled were either too dry and prone to cracking or too wet and prone to collapsing, making it difficult to maintain consistent thickness and strength.

* The joints were unstable: The stacked strips did not connect firmly to the layer beneath them and came apart at the slightest force.

* The walls leaned: Lacking support and experience, the walls he built were always crooked and twisted, making it difficult to keep them vertical and maintain a smooth curve.

* Fingerprints and flaws: His fingers inevitably pressed deep marks into the clay, leaving the surface pitted and uneven.

Making the little jar was an even greater disaster. He tried pinching the jar's body directly with his hands, and the result was predictable. The clay blank kept changing shape in his hands, either collapsing in places or warping as a whole. In the end, even though he barely managed to form it, it was a deformed monster that was wider at the top and narrower at the bottom, with no sense of proportion whatsoever.

Sweat soaked through his clothes. His fingers were stained dark gray by the clay, and grime filled the spaces beneath his nails. He failed again and again, kneading each misshapen blank back into a lump and starting over. Frustration surged over him like a tide, nearly making him give up.

"Why is this so difficult?" he panted, looking at the heap of crooked failures on the ground and feeling utterly powerless.

But the stubborn refusal to admit defeat buried deep in his bones was roused. He remembered the courage he had shown when driving back the Demon Wolf outside the Safe Zone. He remembered the hardships of reclaiming the garden plot. What did this little difficulty amount to?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He no longer pursued success in a single attempt, instead focusing on solving one specific problem at a time. He tried using a damp wooden strip as an auxiliary tool to help press and shape the clay. He paid closer attention to the moisture and thickness of the clay strips. While coiling them, he gently pressed the inner wall with his fingers, trying to make the vessel wall more even.

After several days of nearly obsessive practice and countless failures, Chen An finally completed his first batch of "works."

One was a vessel that could barely be recognized as a bowl. Its walls varied in thickness, with one side noticeably thinner than the other, causing the rim to slant. There was a small depression in the center of the base, clearly left behind during kneading. Fingerprints and tool marks covered the rough, uneven surface. Its overall form was so crude that it resembled a child's scribble.

The other was the jar, whose shape was even stranger. The upper half seemed to be trying to narrow toward the opening but did so without any smoothness, while the lower half appeared bloated. Its proportions were unbalanced and its center of gravity unstable, as if it might topple at any moment. Miraculously, after repeated repairs and pressing, it ultimately managed to stand and did not completely collapse while drying.

Looking at the two crooked, flawed pottery blanks, Chen An was not disappointed. Instead, he felt a complicated mixture of relief, accomplishment, and intense frustration.

His sense of accomplishment came from the fact that he had done it! He had transformed a chaotic lump of earth into two objects with basic forms. This was a qualitative leap—the first practical attempt by humanity to transform a natural material!

His frustration came from the enormous gap between the finished products and the ideal state. These crude, ugly, defective objects were nowhere near the light, clean pottery he had imagined. They looked more like totems of some primitive faith than practical vessels.

He carefully placed the two "works" in a cool, well-ventilated corner and let them dry naturally in the shade. He knew this was only the first step on a long journey, an awkward but necessary exercise. Through it, he had felt the temperament of the earth, learned how difficult shaping was, and accumulated valuable experience.

As the pottery blanks dried in the shade, their color darkened and their texture hardened, but they remained fragile. Chen An gently tapped them with his finger, producing a dull "thump, thump" that was completely different from the crisp sound of stone. This sound was the prelude to the clay's rebirth.

He gazed at the two crooked creations, his eyes showing no disdain, only focus and thought. Next time, he would do better.

He needed to find better shaping methods and solve the problem of irregular forms. Perhaps he could try using molds. Or perhaps he could start by making simpler, elongated objects.

His first pottery-making experience was like a painful yet immensely rewarding baptism. It tempered Chen An's patience and willpower, and made him deeply understand that every step toward civilization required the most primitive and arduous exploration and accumulation. The trial of fire still lay ahead, but at least he had taken the first step toward shaping the earth.

(End of Chapter Twenty-One)