Successful Firing

Chapter 24: Successfully Out of the Kiln

The simple pottery kiln stood quietly in the southwest corner of the small courtyard, like a silent and stubborn giant, bearing witness to Chen An's grueling labor over the past half month. The mud coating on the kiln walls was half-dry, showing a deep earthy yellow that blended with the surrounding rocks and soil. Only the crude smoke vent at the top and the fuel port on the side revealed its man-made nature. Over these fifteen days, Chen An had not just stacked stones and mud—he had poured his hopes, frustrations, and unyielding will into this primitive furnace of flame.

Today would be the decisive day that determined the fate of this kiln and the success or failure of his pottery-making endeavor—the first official firing.

At the first light of dawn, Chen An was already up. Instead of tending to his garden or checking the Safe Zone as usual, he went straight to the kiln. His mood was a mix of tension and anticipation; he hadn't slept all night, his mind repeatedly rehearsing every step of the firing process and potential problems.

First, he retrieved several well-preserved clay bodies from a cool corner. Aside from the first two failed ones he had discarded, he had made three or four more. This time, he was especially careful, learning from the lessons of his previous failure and striving for more regular shapes, though they still bore the clumsiness of handcrafting. He had also deliberately made two slightly larger open-mouthed jars, hoping to test the firing results of different forms.

He carefully moved the selected clay bodies to the kiln. The kiln door was already open, revealing the dark chamber inside and the fire pit lined with stones and coated with refractory mud. Following his pre-planned arrangement, he gently placed the clay bodies in the reserved spots inside the kiln, ensuring even heat distribution and avoiding crowding. The large jars went on the bottom layer, the small bowls stacked above. After arranging them, he checked thoroughly to make sure none were tilted or unevenly supported.

Next came lighting the fire pit. He laid a layer of dry tinder at the bottom, then stacked carefully chosen, highly flammable pine branches and dry grass on top. Taking a deep breath, he struck a torch, gently poked it into the fire pit, and the tinder ignited instantly, sending up a choking plume of white smoke. He quickly stepped back and closed the heavy stone kiln door, leaving only the fuel port and smoke vent open.

The real test began—fire control and temperature rise.

Chen An stood guard before the kiln like a devout priest, closely watching the changes in the flames. Through the fuel port, he continuously added dry hardwood splits. The flames shifted from initial orange-yellow to an increasingly white, searing heat. The heat conducted through the thick kiln walls, and the surface even began to feel warm to the touch. He knew this was only the beginning.

Firing pottery, especially to achieve sintering, required sustained high temperatures and sufficient time. He couldn't just blast it like a bonfire; he needed to patiently control the heat, letting the temperature rise steadily and maintain a high level for long enough.

He began to experiment with ventilation control. By adjusting the depth of a bamboo tube inserted into the smoke vent, he regulated the airflow inside the kiln. Too little air meant incomplete combustion, low temperature, and a tendency to produce thick smoke and harmful gases; too much air made the flame flow too fast, making it hard to stabilize the temperature, and the clay bodies risked cracking from sudden temperature changes.

This was an extremely patience-testing and experience-demanding process. Chen An spent most of his time by the kiln, sometimes adding fuel, sometimes adjusting the vent, sometimes peering through a small observation hole in the kiln door (sealed with a polished thin stone slab) to glimpse the internal firelight and changes in the clay bodies. Time crawled by in anxious waiting. Sweat soaked his hair and back; his eyes stung and felt dry from staring at the flames and smoke for so long.

He didn't know exactly how long he had been firing—it felt like an eternity. Finally, through the observation hole, he saw that the kiln chamber had become a blazing space of fire and scorching gas. The wood he threw in turned to ash almost instantly. He estimated the temperature inside had likely reached or even exceeded the critical point needed for firing pottery—around eight hundred degrees Celsius or more.

He reduced the frequency of adding fuel, focusing more on maintaining a stable fire and temperature. He knew that after reaching the peak temperature, a period of heat preservation was needed to allow the mineral components inside the clay bodies to fully undergo chemical reactions and complete sintering.

After another unknown stretch of time, he judged the moment had come. He stopped adding new firewood and began to gradually reduce ventilation, even temporarily blocking part of the smoke vent to create a relatively sealed, oxygen-poor environment inside the kiln, helping the clay bodies complete their final transformation and cool slowly. This cooling process was equally critical—sudden cooling would cause immense internal stress and cracking.

He closed the fuel port, leaving only a sliver of a gap for air. Chen An stepped back a few paces and quietly watched the kiln, which no longer spewed flames. It lay there like a beast that had fulfilled its mission, its surface no longer radiating scorching heat but still retaining the residual warmth of the day's sun and the heat stored within.

What followed was waiting—cooling. He dared not open the kiln door rashly, relying only on time and patience. He stayed by the kiln for most of the day, until touching the kiln wall told him the temperature had dropped to a tolerable level.

Finally, he decided it was time to open the kiln.

He walked to the kiln door, gripped the cold stone door panel with both hands, took a deep breath, and with all his strength, slowly pulled the heavy door inward.

A wave of hot air mixed with plant ash and high-temperature earth smell rushed at him! Chen An squinted instinctively. He leaned in and looked inside—

In the kiln chamber, his several clay bodies lay quietly, like spirits reborn from fire.

They were no longer the gray, soft, muddy forms they had been. Under the high temperature, they had taken on a deep, hard ochre color (or other shades varying slightly by temperature and atmosphere), their surfaces much smoother. Though they still bore the marks of handcrafting, the fragile, brittle feeling was gone. They stood there quietly, solid, stable, exuding a heavy, substantial aura belonging to "utensils."

Success!

An indescribable surge of joy and immense accomplishment erupted like a volcano, instantly washing away all the tension and exhaustion in Chen An's heart! He almost shouted out loud, but in the end, he only clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms.

Carefully, he reached in and brought out the still-hot pottery pieces one by one, placing them on the ground he had prepared, covered with thick straw. They were scalding to the touch, yet carried a reassuring solidity.

He picked up the largest open-mouthed jar. The shape was still far from perfect, even a bit lopsided, but the body was intact, with no cracks. When he tapped it, it gave a clear, solid "dong dong" sound! He turned it upside down—the bottom was flat, and it stood steadily on the ground.

He then picked up a small bowl. The rim was still not smooth, but the overall shape was regular. Held in his hand, it felt heavy and full of texture. This was no longer a clay figurine that could only be looked at, not used, shattering at a touch. This was a real vessel—one that could hold water, store things, and be placed on a dining table!

Tears, without warning, blurred Chen An's eyes. The days and nights of the past half month—digging mud, kneading clay, shaping, building the kiln, controlling the fire, waiting... all the hardship and effort had turned into the truest reward at this moment. This was no great artistic creation; it was merely mastering the most basic survival skill. But the meaning it carried was immense.

It meant he was no longer just a scavenger relying on natural containers. He had begun to use the resources around him to create his own tools for survival. This marked a solid step forward toward independent living, even toward rebuilding civilization.

He sat on the ground, placing the rough but brand-new pottery pieces beside him, quietly looking at them. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the gaps in the courtyard wall, coating these objects—bearing the scent of earth and the marks of flame—in a warm golden light.

With pottery, he could boil water more conveniently, reducing the risk of illness; store food more cleanly to prevent spoilage; cook more efficiently, perhaps even try making more complex dishes. Life would become more orderly and comfortable.

Chen An stood up, wiping the tears and dust from his face with his sleeve. He looked at the distant valley and the nearby courtyard, his heart filled with unprecedented strength and hope. The success of the kiln was just the beginning. More challenges lay ahead, but at this moment, he believed more than ever that with his own wisdom and hands, he could carve out his own world on this Primordial Land.

(End of Chapter 24)