Ever since Granny Zhao had casually mentioned her handmade pottery might be sellable, Yuanxiang had kept the idea in mind. She’d been quietly calculating—this clay made sturdy, durable wares, and once she’d mastered the temperature control and technique, she could create a wider variety of shapes.
Most villagers bought their bowls, jars, and basins at markets or in town, spending several wen per piece. If she could make them herself, she’d not only save money on their own household needs but also earn some extra cash by selling at the market. Every single wen mattered greatly to her right now. Best of all, it was nearly a no-cost venture—pure profit, perfect for their current situation.
The next morning, the three of them were up at dawn. After a quick wash, Yuanxiang went inside to gently feed medicine to the still-unconscious man. Seeing his forehead was cool and his temperature stable, she felt reassured. Then she took Erguo and Sanxi to the riverbank, digging several baskets of wet clay to carry back home.
Today, she entrusted the tasks of washing and sieving the clay entirely to her siblings. When brought back, the river clay was mixed with weeds, small stones, and gravel—they poured it into wooden basins and rinsed it carefully with water. As the clay dissolved into murky yellow water, they stirred and kneaded it by hand, fishing out every last stone and piece of grass root.
The washed fine clay settled at the bottom of the basin, which they then scooped into a sieve to filter again. The smooth, paste-like clay dripped through the sieve and down the basin’s edge with soft plopping sounds, while rough impurities were left behind and discarded.
The work was dirty and tiring—the water was bone-chilling cold, and clay covered their arms and sleeves, leaving a sticky mess. Yet it was a crucial step; poor preparation would result in coarse, uneven pottery. Erguo and Sanxi knew their sister was doing this to sell wares and earn money, so they’d never have to go cold or hungry again. They worked especially hard—Erguo even stood on the edge of the sieve, bent over until he was sweating profusely, while Sanxi’s small face was flushed red from the cold as she ladled clay into the sieve without pause.
Watching them, Yuanxiang felt both heartache and pride. Life was hard, but at least the family was pulling together.
From day to night, the three barely left the kiln, taking turns adding firewood and tending the flames, staying by it the entire day. Smoke stung their eyes, and firelight flickered across their faces, leaving them streaked red and black. Their sleeves and hair carried the scent of burnt wood.
This time, Yuanxiang paid extra care to shaping the clay blanks. She held each piece on her lap, turning it slowly to inspect every angle. Any uneven spots were smoothed gently with water-dampened fingertips; any raised edges were kneaded flat until the lines were smooth and the surface felt comfortable to the touch.
Once fired and formed, she washed each finished piece in a wooden basin to remove ash. Without sandpaper, she found smooth river stones and polished the rims and bodies, the gentle rustling of stone against clay gradually bringing out a warm, subtle sheen.
With more firing experience, she’d begun to understand the craft: dark spots meant uneven heating or overheating; if the flames turned purple-black, she’d quickly adjust by removing some wood or splashing cool water on the kiln top, making the heat hiss and dissipate. She paid close attention to every adjustment, terrified of ruining all their hard work at the last moment.
The meticulous process took time, but despite some pieces being ruined, by day’s end they’d made quite a haul: over ten plates and ten bowls, four lidded jars, five basins, and five handled cups. Though still somewhat clumsy in shape, they were far more regular than their earlier attempts.
This being their first time selling at market, she wasn’t sure what would be most popular, so she prepared a little of everything.
“They look so much better!” Sanxi squatted on the ground, holding a freshly polished small bowl in both hands, her eyes bright with wonder. Having watched every step from shaping to polishing, her admiration was genuine.
Erguo held a polished bowl too, turning it over in his hands with obvious pride. Compared to the rough blanks of the day before, these were neat and well-formed, with rounded rims and smooth surfaces—nice enough to sell to customers.
Yuanxiang had a clearer frame of reference. She’d seen the precision of modern crafts—smooth lines, even glazes—and knew her current pieces would be considered half-finished and rough by modern standards. But given their tools and conditions in this era, she’d done her absolute best. Besides, these weren’t just for their own use now—they’d be sold for real money, so there was no room for carelessness.
She boiled a large basin of hot water and soaked each piece to see if they’d crack or leak under heat. It was her makeshift “pressure test”—if they couldn’t handle hot water, selling them would only damage their reputation. Steam rose from the water, and through the mist, the bowls and basins revealed their fine texture.
By the light of the kiln fire, they worked from dawn to dusk. The fire stretched their shadows long across the dirt wall beside the kiln as they moved finished pieces, added firewood, and checked on the firing. Only when night fell and the embers dimmed did they sort and stack the pottery they’d take to market—plates, bowls, jars, and cups all neatly piled, a sight that filled them with quiet satisfaction.
The next morning, Yuanxiang carefully packed the sorted bowls, basins, cups, and jars. She laid a thick layer of soft leaves at the bottom of her basket for padding, then placed more leaves between each piece to prevent them from clinking together during the journey. Finally, she covered everything with another layer of leaves to shield the fragile pottery completely.
The load didn’t look heavy, but when she lifted the basket onto her shoulders, the weight made her stagger backward a few steps. Erguo caught her arm quickly, his brow furrowed with worry. “A-Jie, are you alright?”
Yuanxiang shook her head, glancing at her thin arms with a silent sigh. This body was still that of a malnourished young girl with little strength—she’d clearly overestimated herself. Besides, she’d barely rested these past two days, either shaping clay or firing and polishing wares, staying up late each night. Their meals had been simple: mostly dry rice or porridge made from their grain, with steamed wild vegetables as a side—enough to fill their bellies, but not nutritious.
That morning, for convenience, she’d simply mixed leftover rice with wild vegetables, added a pinch of salt, and steamed it for breakfast. It filled her up, but she knew something was missing.
Protein!
She made up her mind then and there—no matter how much money they made from the pottery, she’d buy some meat on the way back. People couldn’t survive on thin gruel forever; they needed nourishment to have strength for work. Just thinking about oily braised pork gave her a burst of energy, and the basket on her shoulders suddenly felt lighter as she walked steadily forward. The larger pieces that wouldn’t fit in the basket were carried by Erguo and Sanxi.
With Erguo ahead and Sanxi behind, flanking her protectively, the three set out together. In the cool morning air, the pottery in the basket clinked softly against each other.
They’d barely left the village when they saw a figure standing by the dirt road ahead, looking their way. It was Sister Jinfeng, who broke into a smile and hurried over as soon as she spotted them.
Her mother-in-law had told her the day before to accompany Yuanxiang to the market and help her sell her goods. Being young and new to selling, Yuanxiang would need someone to advise her and make sure she wasn’t cheated. Granny Zhao hadn’t said what Yuanxiang would be selling, so Jinfeng had assumed it would be common items like eggs or wild vegetables. Seeing the clay jars, bowls, and basins Erguo and Sanxi were carrying, she paused in surprise—since when could Yuanxiang make pottery?
The thought barely crossed her mind before she remembered her mother-in-law’s meaningful words from the night before: “Don’t ask about things that aren’t your business.” She swallowed her question, silently marveling that Yuanxiang was becoming more and more of a mystery.
Walking up to them, she greeted Yuanxiang with a smile, then bent down to take the heavy lidded jar from Erguo’s arms, carefully placing it in her own basket. “You little ones shouldn’t carry something so heavy—you’ll drop it. Let me take them all.” She reached for the basin Sanxi was holding too, moving gently to avoid damaging anything.
The sky was just beginning to brighten, with eastern clouds tinged pale gold, but the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, and the air still carried a damp chill. Yuanxiang, carrying her heavy basket, breathed out a puff of white mist and rubbed her hands inside her sleeves to warm them slightly.
Turning to Sister Jinfeng with a sincere smile, she said: “Thank you so much for coming with me—this must be a bother.”
Jinfeng waved her hand dismissively, laughing: “Bother? Nonsense! I was going anyway—it’s on my way. Having company is nice, and we can chat to pass the time.”
The morning breeze at the village entrance carried the scent of grass and distant cooking smoke. Yuanxiang turned to tell Erguo and Sanxi a few last things before waving goodbye. “When I get back, I’ll bring you something good to eat!” she promised with a smile.
She’d wanted to take them along, but someone needed to stay home and look after the sick man, and with it being her first trip to the neighboring village, bringing the children would be too inconvenient.
The two women walked side by side toward the village entrance. This was Yuanxiang’s first time taking this road to the market—the dirt path was bumpy and uneven, with thin frost still gleaming white on the clods of earth. They walked carefully with their pottery loads, afraid a slip would shatter everything they’d made.
Crossing the old wooden bridge that split Xu Village in two, they could hear the river flowing slowly beneath in the morning mist. On the other side lay the main part of Xu Village, where houses were much neater and sturdier—roofs covered with thick tiles, walls showing signs of age but no signs of collapse. A few large brick houses with upturned eaves stood by the road, impressive in their grandeur.
Yuanxiang couldn’t help staring, thinking to herself that these must be the homes of the village’s wealthy families—living in such houses would surely be warmer than their thatched hut in winter.
“That’s the village chief’s home,” Jinfeng explained when she noticed Yuanxiang’s gaze. It was only natural for anyone to be curious about such grand buildings.
“The village chief’s?” Yuanxiang searched the original Yuanxiang’s memories but found nothing—apparently, she’d never interacted with them before.
It was still early, so there were few people on the road, only the occasional crow of a rooster or call to livestock from a courtyard.
Leaving Xu Village behind, they headed west along the winding dirt road. The morning mist gradually lifted under the sun, and the fields beside the path glistened with moisture. After walking for more than an hour, they reached Chen Village next door.
The market was set up in an open area at the village entrance, with paths leading in from all directions. Already, many people had gathered with baskets and wheelbarrows—shouts, laughter, and the whinnying of animals filled the air, bustling enough to chase away the morning chill.
Granny Zhao had been right—this place was far livelier than Xu Village.