Yuanxiang was quite pleased with their first attempt, but if she wanted to improve the success rate, the small fire pit they were using simply wouldn’t suffice. She also wanted to make items other than bowls—after all, their home was lacking just about everything. She figured building a simple earth kiln would work much better than an open fire.
She scouted around their home and finally settled on a spot behind the hut, a little distance away so the black ash and debris from firing wouldn’t pile up in front of their door and create a mess. Plus, the area was still overgrown with weeds, so they could clear a space in the middle and keep what they were doing more hidden. Yuanxiang had a feeling she didn’t want too many people knowing about this—she’d just have to explain everything to them, which would be a hassle.
Following what she remembered from survival shows, she built the kiln by first digging a pit in the ground for the firewood and fuel. Above that, she added a layer with air holes for ventilation, and on top she constructed a half-person-high mound of mud, built up layer by layer with coils of clay. The pottery would be placed inside this mud mound to fire.
From a distance… well, the kiln looked a bit like a… grave mound. She imagined it would be quite spooky if someone saw it at night.
Firing other pottery items wasn’t particularly smooth. Things like jars were much larger than bowls, so the difficulty naturally increased.
Crack! Yuanxiang, who’d been watching carefully from the side, knew another piece had split apart inside the kiln—another failure. She sighed and crouched down to knead more clay. Erguo and Sanxi followed suit without a word, rolling clay coils even though their legs were numb from squatting and their hands ached from kneading.
They could tell their sister was serious and quiet after so many failures, which made them nervous. For a while, none of them spoke, leaving only the sound of their work and the sight of broken pottery shards scattered across the ground.
Erguo glanced at Sanxi, pointed at the sky, then at Yuanxiang. Sanxi understood his signal—even though her sister looked stern and unapproachable with her brows furrowed, she still padded forward on her small legs and shook Yuanxiang’s hand softly. “A-Jie, it’s getting dark. Let’s come back to play with mud tomorrow.”
Yuanxiang snapped out of her thoughts, looking down at Sanxi’s timid face. She realized she must have been wearing a cold expression—her friends back in her old world had always said her serious face was quite intimidating. Seeing how late it was, and knowing she wouldn’t figure anything out by staying longer, she carefully extinguished all embers in the kiln and the three of them headed home.
The next day, they returned to work behind the hut. Looking at the pile of red and black shards from the previous day’s firing, Yuanxiang reasoned that since they’d successfully made usable bowls, the river clay must be suitable for pottery—so raw materials weren’t the problem. She went over each step in her mind: drying the clay to remove moisture, placing the pieces in the kiln… she’d done everything she could with their limited tools.
The issue must lie in temperature control inside the kiln. The previous cracks were likely from overheating. So she shaped a new jar—half the height of her arm—smoothed its surfaces as much as possible, dried it thoroughly, and carefully placed it inside the kiln opening. This time, she kept track of how much wood she added each time, reducing the amount gradually to control the temperature if pieces continued to crack.
Finally, after their fifth attempt, a terracotta jar emerged from the kiln—when tapped, it rang out with a clear, solid sound. All three beamed as they looked at their hard-won intact jar; now they just needed to test if it actually worked.
Erguo filled it to the brim with water and waited—no leaks appeared. He held the jar carefully. “A-Jie, it works!”
Yuanxiang felt a wave of relief—it had been so difficult! To confirm her method worked and wasn’t just luck, she used the same process to fire a clay basin. After figuring out exactly how much wood was needed, she finally had a usable basin too.
Like she’d caught a fever for it, she went on to fire more small items: bowls, cups, even a lid for the new jar… As dusk fell, they packed up to head home, Yuanxiang satisfied as she watched Erguo and Sanxi carrying their pottery wares.
Just then, a voice called out from the direction of their hut, sounding unusually urgent: “Yuanxiang! Yuanxiang…”
Erguo stood on his toes to look, muttering, “Sounds like Granny Zhao. Yeah, definitely Granny Zhao.”
Granny Zhao? Why would she be here?
Yuanxiang washed her hands and brushed off wet and dry clay from her clothes. As she prepared to go meet her, she saw the familiar figure hurrying toward them through the weeds.
Granny Zhao had run all the way over, completely out of breath. She’d called out several times outside their hut but gotten no response, so she’d followed the smoke to find them. Only when she saw they were all safe did she stop to catch her breath.
“You three…” she panted, “what on earth are you doing?” She patted her chest—she’d been so worried on the way over.
Seeing how flustered Granny Zhao was, Yuanxiang had Sanxi fetch water in one of their new clay cups. After Granny Zhao drank and calmed down, she explained: “You had me so scared! I saw all this smoke and fire over here and thought your hut was burning down, so I rushed right over.”
Now that she was closer, she saw the three of them covered in dirt—Erguo and Sanxi especially, with mud all over their hands and faces. Turning to look at the mound on the ground, plus the pile of successful and failed pottery pieces and broken shards, she looked surprised and confused.
“Is this… a kiln you’re firing?”
Yuanxiang smiled apologetically, feeling nervous inside. She’d just managed to fool Erguo with her story about their father—what would she say if Granny Zhao asked questions?
While she hesitated, Granny Zhao examined the clay cup in her hands closely, then squatted to look at the broken pieces on the ground.
“I’ve only ever heard about kiln-firing, never seen it done in person! I had no idea you had such a skill, Yuanxiang!” She ran her fingers over the pottery’s surface—still warm from the kiln. Looking at the finished bowls, jars, and basins, she noted they were rougher than what you’d buy at a shop, but more than usable for household needs.
She didn’t ask how Yuanxiang had learned to do this—she just assumed it was a family skill. After all, Yuanxiang’s parents had been known in their old village for being capable and hardworking.
“That’s right! A-Jie knows so many things!” Sanxi brightened immediately when she heard someone praising her sister.
Granny Zhao looked at the pottery, then suddenly had an idea. “Hey Yuanxiang—have you thought about selling these? You might be able to earn some money!”
“Sell them?” Yuanxiang had only started making pottery because they needed things and couldn’t afford to buy them. Her handcrafted pieces were uneven and less attractive than commercial wares—she’d never considered selling them. She hesitated. “Would anyone actually buy them?”
“Of course they would!” Granny Zhao’s eyes were full of certainty. “The appearance is… well, a bit rough, but you can just sell them cheaper. Not everyone knows how to do this work, and people who can’t afford fancy ones will be happy to buy yours!”
She added as a reminder: “Oh, I heard the neighboring village has a big market every seven days—this time it’s the day after tomorrow, and there’ll be lots of people there!”
The original Yuanxiang had rarely interacted with outsiders, so she’d known little about the area.
“Is the neighboring village far?” Yuanxiang asked.
Granny Zhao pointed west. “From what I’ve heard, you just leave the village and head straight west—you’ll see it when you get there. They say it’s a much bigger village than Xu Village.”
Yuanxiang was tempted. Pottery-making had almost no cost—just labor, which was the cheapest thing they had, plus mud and firewood. And right now, what they needed most was money. Trying to sell them was definitely better than sitting around waiting for their savings to run out. She began to calculate the possibilities in her mind.
When Granny Zhao saw she was considering it, she sighed, her expression darkening slightly. “If only Dashan’s leg wasn’t still healing, I’d ask him to take you there.”
Yuanxiang knew Granny Zhao’s son had a serious leg injury and spent most of his time in bed.
“What if I ask your sister-in-law Jinfeng to go with you?” Granny Zhao thought for a moment. “I don’t feel right letting a young girl go alone, especially since I’m the one who told you about it—I couldn’t live with myself if something happened. Plus, market goods are cheaper than what peddlers sell, and we need some things for our home too.” She was insistent.
Yuanxiang felt bad about troubling them. “But Sister Jinfeng needs to stay home and take care of Brother Dashan, right? I’ll be fine on my own.”
“If you decide to go, take Jinfeng with you—two people are better than one. She could use the chance to get out and learn the way too, instead of staying cooped up at home like she’s blind to the world outside. And like I said, the market has better prices.”
Seeing Granny Zhao was set on it, Yuanxiang agreed to let her know in advance if she went, so they could go together with Jinfeng.
“Alright then—just glad you’re all safe. I should head back now.” Before leaving, Granny Zhao reminded them to be careful with any remaining embers. “This place is close to the woods—if a fire starts here, it’ll be a disaster!”
As she turned to go, Yuanxiang quickly picked out two clay bowls to give her.
“No, no—I can’t take a young girl’s things like this!” Granny Zhao refused, pushing the bowls back toward Yuanxiang.
Yuanxiang smiled. “I can make several in one firing—it’s not like they’re valuable. Please take them if you can use them.” She was truly grateful to this kind neighbor. Ever since she’d nervously knocked on Granny Zhao’s door that day and left with cornmeal buns, she’d been thinking she’d repay her kindness when she could.
Hearing this, Granny Zhao realized refusing would seem rude, so she accepted with a smile. All the refugee families were struggling and short on everything—buying new wares would cost money, and while these bowls were rough, they’d be perfect for her home.
As she walked back, she noticed the weeds that had once reached their knees had been cleared away, and a small vegetable plot had been planted. Her heart swelled with joy. She’d worried about the three children after their parents passed, especially with their uncle being so unreasonable—but now that Yuanxiang had a skill, plus the land they’d soon receive, she was certain she’d be able to raise her brother and sister well. As long as you had the drive to keep going, you could always make life work.
Thinking of her own son Song Dashan—once the most admired young man in their village, now withdrawn and irritable after his injury—her eyes grew moist with sadness. She rubbed her eyes and hurried home before full darkness fell.
As night settled in, Yuanxiang extinguished the kiln and carried their finished pottery back to the hut, her mind turning over the possibility of selling their wares. It really could be a way forward.