Chapter Forty-Five: A Kiln of Fine Charcoal

Edison once said: Genius is ninety-nine percent perspiration, plus one percent inspiration.

But at this moment, Wu Ning understood deeply what that meant—he thought, frankly, it was nonsense.

He had the one percent inspiration, that was certain, but no matter how much sweat Old Wu Nine poured out, it did him no good. Every time he fired up the kiln, smoke billowed out, burning batch after batch; the charcoal kiln at the foot of the mountain was nearly transformed into a garbage incinerator by him.

The children toiled daily amid smoke and flame— even Qiao’er looked as if she’d been dragged out of a pile of coal.

Yet the secret of sealing the kiln to make charcoal remained elusive, so much so that Wu Ning began to suspect the novel he’d read had deceived him.

He had no idea that this so-called sealed kiln charcoal burning was essentially a technique akin to high-temperature, low-pressure distillation. The era was not incapable of achieving it; it simply demanded much more precise control of temperature and timing for sealing the kiln than the ordinary charcoal-burning methods his elder brother used. It was far from something one could stumble upon in the dark.

But Wu Ning possessed an indomitable spirit; repeated failures only made him more determined, not disheartened, like a stubborn mule.

With each attempt, he drew closer to success, moving from complete ignorance to gradually recognizing his mistakes and correcting them step by step.

The old patriarch had visited several times in recent days. Initially, seeing Wu Ning fussing about endlessly, the old man’s temper flared. Yet, witnessing the tenacity of these children, he couldn’t bear to put a stop to it.

He reasoned: they were only using twigs and rotten leaves—waste material anyway. Let them try; eventually, they’ll admit defeat and stop of their own accord.

Half a month passed.

“We’re out,” Wu Li’s soot-darkened face revealed only his eyes and gleaming teeth.

“Out of what?”

“Out of materials,” Old Wu Eight spread his hands, gesturing at the pile of rotten leaves by the kiln. “Aside from the twigs and walnut shells in the kiln, only these rotten leaves are left.”

“Damn it!” Wu Ning wiped his face.

He’d been the cleanest among them, but now his face was as smudged as the rest.

He gritted his teeth. “Throw everything in, and we’ll go up the mountain for more this afternoon.”

“Huh?” Wu Qi protested. “Again? Ninth Brother, maybe we should just give up.”

“If you don’t go, forget it!” Wu Ning refused to believe he couldn’t produce a single batch of charcoal. Hugging the leaves, he tossed them into the kiln. Wu Qi grumbled, “I never said I wouldn’t go.”

Needless to say, the dry leaves burned up in no time.

No sooner had they lit the kindling than, with a loud whoosh, the leaves in the kiln caught fire, and the whole thing blazed.

“We’re doomed!” Wu Qi deflated instantly.

Such a fierce fire would surely consume all the twigs in an instant. Another failed batch.

Wu Ning knew it was over, but giving up right after lighting the fire left him unwilling. “Quick! Seal the kiln!”

He hurriedly called everyone to seal the kiln door.

But the leaves burned so swiftly, even with the door sealed, flames still flickered from the top opening.

“Seal the top too!” They scrambled to block it.

After much fumbling, they managed to seal the charcoal kiln tightly and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Wu Qi’s shoulders sagged. “Let’s go, up the mountain to gather more twigs.”

“Let’s go,” Wu Li pulled Wu Ning along. “We’ll collect the ashes when we return tonight.”

...

Wu Ning and his brothers, along with Qiao’er, drove the old patriarch’s ox cart up into the mountains. Night had nearly fallen before they hauled a cartload of branches back to the hollow.

Everyone was exhausted. Wu Qi suggested they rest for the night and clean out the kiln in the morning.

But Wu Ning insisted they do it tonight.

...

There was no choice. Qiao’er was sent home to wait for dinner, while the others, limp with fatigue, followed Wu Ning back to the kiln.

At the entrance, they found Huzi sprawled by the roadside, sleeping soundly.

Wu Li immediately delivered a kick. “You fool! Weren’t you supposed to watch the soup stall? What are you doing here, dreaming your life away?”

Huzi scrambled up, rubbing his backside out of habit. “Why are you always hitting me?”

“Because you’re lazy!”

“Enough!” Wu Ning frowned; these two acted like enemies whenever they met.

He turned to Huzi, “Why are you sleeping here?”

“Oh!” Huzi slapped his thigh. “I forgot—I came to find Ninth Brother and waited for you all afternoon!”

Wu Ning was speechless. “Is something wrong at home?”

“Yes, something big!”

“What is it?”

“Well…” Huzi, usually boisterous, grew hesitant when pressed, glancing at Wu Li. “If I tell you, you can’t hit me.”

“Hurry up, what’s the holdup?” Wu Li grumbled.

“Well…” Wu Sanhu rubbed the back of his neck.

“My mother…”

“What’s wrong with your mother? Did she really remarry and abandon you?”

“No.” Huzi’s round face twisted into a bun. “My mother set up a soup stall right across from Ninth Brother’s house.”

Damn!

Wu Ning rolled his eyes. That woman was unbelievable!

He turned and walked home, muttering that he’d never seen the likes of her.

Wu Li glared at Huzi, “Did you tell her that Old Nine’s stall was making money?”

“I…” Huzi wanted to deny it, but the words stuck in his throat.

Lowering his head, he finally admitted, “I let it slip.”

Wu Li’s anger surged; he raised his hand, ready to strike, but seeing Wu Ning already walking away, hurried after him.

“I’ll deal with you later!”

...

Let us leave aside whether Wu Ning and Aunt Seven quarreled over the soup stall. In any case, no one had time to open the kiln.

Not until the following morning.

The old patriarch, as was his custom, took a round through the kiln yard. Passing by Wu Ning’s “garbage incinerator,” he was immediately seized by the temper of a family head.

“Why was it left here like this?”

Third Brother chuckled awkwardly, “They’ve been at it for half a month. They must be discouraged by now.”

“I came by yesterday morning, but didn’t see them in the afternoon. I doubt they’ll return.”

The old man barked, “Whether they return or not, they must clean up before leaving! No loose ends—what kind of example is that?”

Third Brother dared not contradict him and agreed, “I’ll call them back.”

“Never mind.” The old man’s bark was worse than his bite; he only meant it as a scolding.

After half a month of hard work, Wu Ning and the others were worn out; he didn’t want to trouble them further.

“Just open the kiln door and tidy up.”

“All right!” Third Brother nodded; it wasn’t much trouble.

He quickly broke open the sealed mud and bricks at the kiln entrance, grabbed a rake, and prepared to scrape out the ashes.

But as the rake went in—

“Huh?” Third Brother paused, surprised.

“Patriarch! Patriarch! Come quick!”

The old man had nearly reached the yard’s gate, but hearing Third Brother shouting, he turned back.

“You’re too old to be so excitable!”

“It’s not that.” Third Brother paid no mind to the rebuke. “Look!”

“What? Look at—”

“Just look!”

Seeing what Third Brother was raking out of the kiln, the old patriarch nearly jumped.

“Old Nine! Where’s Old Nine? Find him for me!”

Now the old man was as excitable as anyone.

Inside the kiln emerged not the usual gray, ashy remains, but gleaming black, unblemished branches of charcoal, perfectly formed and free of impurity.

...