Chapter 14

Compared to stone and wooden tools, pottery offers many advantages: it can be crafted in various sizes and shapes to suit different needs. The only drawback is that it requires firing first.

Bai Shuo recalled the entire firing process in his mind, noted down the necessary materials, and then realized that the first step was to dig up some soil.

The quality of soil varies by region. The soil beneath their mountain differed greatly from that near the mountain where they had made tools a few days earlier. Bai Shuo decided to test the soil from their own area first.

The top layer of soil was definitely unsuitable—it was mixed with many large sand and gravel particles. Pottery made from this kind of soil tends to crack easily during firing and, even if successfully fired, often leaks water.

Bai Shuo needed soil from a deeper layer, and for that, he needed his parents’ help.

“Amu, could you help me dig some soil?” Bai Shuo pointed to the ground. “But we need the soil from beneath the surface.”

Bai Yun didn’t refuse but looked puzzled. “What do you need soil for?”

Bai Shuo replied, “I want to mold a basin and dry it in the sun to store things.” He didn’t explain the entire pottery-firing process—after all, he wasn’t sure if it would succeed. If it failed, telling others now would only bring false hope.

“A basin?” Bai Yun was surprised but, since there was nothing urgent at the moment, he nodded and called his partner over to help.

They knew better than to dig soil in open spaces, which could be a hazard if someone accidentally fell into the pit. After some discussion, they began digging not far from where Bai Shuo planted red berries.

Watching from the side, Bai Shuo saw that after removing the topsoil, the layer beneath contained much less sand—this was the clay he needed.

“This is it, Father, Mother. I also want soil from the mountain where we smashed stones last time.”

“I’ll dig it for you,” Bai Xun agreed at once. It was still early, so he grabbed a hoe and headed over.

Bai Shuo took two woven baskets, lined them with leaves, and filled them with the soil he thought usable, planning to carry it to the riverbank.

Of course, Bai Xun and Bai Yun wouldn’t let him carry the baskets himself—one dug soil while the other transported it. Before long, they had moved quite a lot.

The younglings often played by the river, where many pits of varying depths dotted the banks. Bai Shuo chose two relatively deep ones, poured in the two types of clay, added water, and began mixing.

Light impurities like grass roots floated to the surface, which they skimmed off. The rest was left to settle naturally.

Back at the cave, Bai Shuo consulted with Bai Xun and Bai Yun. “Father, Mother, if you come across soil that’s different from ours outside, please bring some back.” In theory, any clay with low sand content could be used to make pottery or porcelain. However, different clays require different firing temperatures, and the unfired pottery must be glazed. Bai Shuo planned to make his own glazes from soil, experimenting with several kinds to increase his chances of success.

Though they didn’t understand why their youngling needed so many types of clay just to mold a basin, Bai Xun and Bai Yun agreed to the request. After all, their child prepared food for them daily, often introducing them to foods they had never eaten before; he had also taught them how to cultivate red berries and weave tools. He rarely asked for favors, and most requests were for the good of the family or tribe. This small soil request was an easy one to grant.

...

The next morning, when Bai Shuo checked, only clay remained in the pits; all the water had drained away. Saving the trouble of scooping water, Bai Shuo scraped off the top layer with impurities, scooped out the clean clay, and placed it on a nearby stone, repeatedly treading it with his feet.

Curious, Bai Le followed and, seeing Bai Shuo “playing with mud,” immediately wanted to join in.

Bai Shuo let him. Though young, Bai Le was strong and could be of help.

There were two kinds of clay, slightly different in color—the clay near their dwelling was reddish, while the soil from the other mountain was whiter.

After some thought, Bai Shuo set aside a portion and mixed the rest in different proportions, forming five lumps of clay ranging in color from white to red. Once sorted, he began pounding and kneading them to expel air bubbles.

Their activity soon attracted other younglings.

Playing with mud was familiar to them, but seeing Bai Shuo’s large lumps of clay stirred envy. They usually only had small amounts to play with, but Bai Shuo had so much!

“Bai Shuo, can we play together?” they asked.

Bai Shuo considered it. Since the pounding was laborious and time-consuming, having help seemed a good idea. He pointed to the nearby river. “Wash your hands and feet clean, then come over.” Large impurities must not be mixed into pottery clay, or it would crack easily.

The younglings, never so meticulous before, found this intriguing and threw themselves into the work with even more enthusiasm.

...

By nearly noon, Bai Shuo took a lump of clay to start crafting.

He used the coil-building technique, first shaping a flat base, then rolling clay into uniform strips and stacking them in circles, smoothing each layer. The vessel gradually transformed from a flat disc into a jar.

The others watched and copied his movements. There was plenty of clay, and after pounding, the younglings could reuse any scraps, avoiding waste.

Once finished, Bai Shuo placed a vessel in the shade and started on the next.

At first, he squatted, but soon, caring little about appearances at eight years old, he sat down on the ground and continued.

Pottery work demanded great patience. Bai Shuo tried to keep the vessel walls uniformly thick, as uneven thickness caused uneven heating and cracking during firing.

The younglings, after a while, lost their initial excitement and gathered around Bai Shuo, watching him work. His vessels were much larger and shaped differently than theirs—some resembled barrels, others bowls, though smaller than actual barrels or bowls. Some younglings reached to touch them but were quickly stopped by peers.

“What if you break it?”

Hearing this while rolling a clay coil, Bai Shuo looked up and said, “Don’t touch. Wait a few days until I fire them.”

“Fire the mud?” the younglings gasped.

Bai Shuo nodded. They didn’t know what firing meant, so he said casually, “After firing, the mud hardens. It won’t deform when touched and can last a long time.” This was just to satisfy their curiosity—dry clay already hardens quite well without firing, but firing makes it more durable.

Most younglings accepted this explanation, except Bai Su and Wu Yan, who looked at the clay and suspected Bai Shuo had other plans.

One youngling held up a piece they had molded. “Can mine be fired?”

Bai Shuo examined it. It was small and took little space, so he agreed. “Yes, anything smaller than this can be fired. So remember to gather plenty of thick branches. When these dry, we’ll fire them.”

This was a new kind of game. Excited, the younglings rushed to find their creations and handed them to Bai Shuo.

He marked each with a thin twig, writing their names. To others, this was just a label, but only Bai Shuo could read the writing.

Knowing their works could be fired thrilled the younglings. Though they didn’t understand what firing would do, they happily went to collect branches.

Watching their joyful retreat, Bai Shuo sighed softly, “So easy to please.”

Bai Su told his brother and joined the group. Wu Yan had wanted to gather wood behind the mountain, but Bai Shuo saw he wasn’t mingling with the others and asked, “Wu Yan, do you want to stay and help?”

Bai Shuo needed someone to pass clay and carry finished pieces. He had planned to ask his older brother, but since the older brother and Cai Hong needed to watch the other younglings, and Wu Yan seemed to dislike crowds, Bai Shuo wasn’t sure if Wu Yan would get used to it.

“Okay,” Wu Yan agreed.

With help, Bai Shuo resumed working. To compare the effects of different clay mixes after firing, he made several spoons and plates of the same size from different clays—uniform pieces would make it easier to judge quality.

Bai Shuo stayed by the river most of the day until all the clay was used. He stretched and moved his legs. With Wu Yan assisting, he hadn’t stood up much, and the work went much faster than he’d expected; he had thought he’d be busy until evening.

Finished pottery pieces were moved to a cool, ventilated place. Some were stored in the cave where the tribe kept food, left to dry naturally. Others were placed by the cooking fire to be roasted for two days as a trial. Natural drying took over ten days, sometimes longer, and Bai Shuo was impatient.

He lit a fire and placed the pottery near the flames, watching their color slowly change under the heat. Calculating the time, he thought two days of roasting might suffice. The younglings had gathered plenty of thick branches today, so fuel was ready.

That evening, Bai Shuo received five bags of different soils, carefully compared them, and selected two types to ask his parents to dig more of the next day. The other three were unsuitable and wouldn’t be collected.

“Still one basket each?” Bai Xun asked, recalling the two baskets dug yesterday.

Bai Shuo nodded, “One basket each.” Conveniently, each parent had found one type.

They agreed, and after examining the pottery, Bai Xun noted that their younglings’ clay lumps looked more refined than others’. Just as he reached to pick one up, Bai Shuo stopped him.

“Not yet, Father. Wait a few days before handling them.” Though some moisture had evaporated, the unfired pottery was still fragile and would deform with a touch.

Bai Xun withdrew his hand, careful not to damage the pieces.

...

Bai Shuo pointed to a nearby pile of thick branches. “Father, could you chop these into sections?” He had asked for thick branches. The younglings dragged back some sturdy branches that had been too heavy for them to carry before. These still had small twigs attached. Although they looked plentiful, they couldn’t be used as-is and needed processing.

Upon hearing this, Bai Xun immediately went to move the branches.

The stone axe made days ago was still in use. Bai Xun used it to strike the thickest branch, then bent it with force.

“Crack!” The branch snapped in two. Bai Xun set the shorter piece aside and bent the rest.

The strength of an adult Feather Tribe member was no exaggeration. Branches the younglings could only drag whole were now being broken into sections by Bai Xun’s hands. Watching, Bai Shuo realized the axe’s role was mainly as a mark; the real work relied on sheer strength.

He envied that power. If only he were that strong, he could do all this himself. But reality was harsh—he couldn’t even break branches or climb trees. Luckily, he had doting parents, a brother who found ways to get snacks daily, and a younger brother growing stronger by the day.

Lost in thought, Bai Le came running over carrying a large wooden bowl filled with washed fruit. Bai Shuo picked the reddest one, peeled it, and bit into it.

Sweet.

Holding the red-topped fruit, Bai Shuo thought of the dry and snowy seasons when fruit was scarce and suddenly had an idea.

Since red-topped fruit was so abundant now, why not dry some into fruit leather?

But no one in the tribe had ever dried fruit before, so Bai Shuo decided to try a small batch first.

Drying took too long, so he eyed the woodpile, planning to roast some fruit leather.

Burning wood directly produces smoke; it was better to make charcoal.

At the riverbank, Bai Shuo found an open space and built a clay kiln with a vent at the bottom.

After building the kiln, he neatly arranged the broken branches inside—thicker ones in the middle, thinner ones around the edges and bottom—then sealed the top but left an opening through which he fed burning sticks, letting them burn slowly.

With limited air, the branches burned slowly throughout the night. When Bai Shuo woke, he saw a glow at the bottom and sealed the top opening and the bottom vent.

By afternoon, the kiln cooled enough to touch. Bai Shuo broke the clay seal at the top to inspect.

The fine twigs had turned to ash; the thicker branches had become charcoal. He carefully collected the usable charcoal into a basket and prepared to cook and try roasting fruit leather.

Suddenly, he sensed something was wrong with the sky.

Though he had no way to measure time precisely, Bai Shuo kept a mental schedule and knew the younglings’ return time. It should still be a while before dusk, but the sky darkened prematurely—not with the usual sunset glow, but with heavy clouds gathering.

Rain was coming!

Just then, Cai Lin’s voice rang out.

“It’s about to rain! Everyone back to the cave!”

The younglings had to avoid getting wet or they’d fall ill.

Rain came every few days during the growing season; most younglings knew this and responded quickly, bringing food and tools inside.

Bai Shuo and Bai Su carried their family’s food into the cave and moved the nearly dried pottery to the food storage cave.

As for the pots and stone slabs, they were too heavy to move, so they left them outside; after the rain stopped, they’d just wash them. This saved effort.

The tribe’s supplies were limited—the largest items were made of woven willow branches, which were light and easy to carry in large quantities.

Soon, the open space outside was cleared, leaving only extinguished fire pits and some stone pots.

The rain would put out fires, so Cai Lin moved the fire pits to sheltered spots near the cave entrance.

Bai Shuo carried all the charcoal up the mountain, took a burning stick from below, and lit a fire at the cave entrance. Even if it rained, they needed to eat. No fire, no food.

Their stone pots and slabs were still down the mountain, so no frying meat tonight. But they hadn’t had roasted meat for days—it was a nice change.

Bai Shuo glanced at the basket of charcoal. The timing was perfect; this charcoal would be just right for roasting meat.