Chen Hao's hand was still on the furnace door handle, his fingertips able to feel the coolness of the metal. He didn't move, as if waiting for some signal, or perhaps afraid that if he let go, the momentum he had just generated would dissipate.

"We can begin," he said, standing up and patting his pants. His movements were a little stiff, probably because his legs had gone numb from squatting for too long.

Nana stood to the side, the camera flashed slightly, and began scanning the kiln environment. A few seconds later she reported: "The moisture content of the green body is 2.8%, which meets the kiln entry standard. Start the basic firing program, target temperature 800 degrees Celsius, uniform heating, estimated time is three hours and twenty-seven minutes."

"Sounds pretty reliable." Chen Hao nodded. "Even more punctual than me."

As the flames rose from the bottom of the furnace, both men simultaneously took a half-step back. The firelight flickered on the wall, like someone suddenly lifting a curtain. Chen Hao stared at the orange-red heart of the flame and muttered, "If this thing could talk, its first words would probably be, 'Are you sure you want to burn me?'"

"The fuel is burning steadily and the oxygen supply is normal," Nana said. "The current temperature is 120 degrees Celsius, and the upward trend is stable."

"Goodness, this is just the beginning." Chen Hao pulled up a low stool and sat down, holding an iron hook in his hand. "How about we give it a name? Like 'Blazing Flame' or 'Roasted Sweet Potato No. 1'?"

“I suggest we don’t give inanimate objects personified names,” Nana paused, “especially since it is currently in the stage of accumulating structural stress.”

"Oh, you're such a spoilsport," Chen Hao said, pouting. "I was just trying to ease the tension."

Actually, he wasn't that nervous, it was just that his fingers were shaking. It wasn't fear, it was the slight tremor of being overly excited, like someone who couldn't sleep after drinking three cups of coffee in the morning.

The fire burned brighter and brighter, the furnace walls gradually turning a dark red. Chen Hao occasionally poked at the charcoal pile with an iron hook, adjusting the angle of the ventilation vents as well. He noticed that the fire on the left was always a little weaker than the one on the right, as if an invisible slope was causing the heat to escape to the right. He used a stone slab to raise the left air intake, and the flames immediately became much stronger.

“See, experience has paid off.” He proudly gestured with his chin at Nana, “This trick isn’t in the book.”

"It's due to uneven heat conduction in the local materials," Nana calmly replied. "It's not a universal technique."

"You're just jealous that I can take action." Chen Hao snorted, continuing to stare at the observation hole on the furnace door.

When the temperature reached 400 degrees Celsius, the furnace made a slight "click" sound, like bricks stretching. Chen Hao looked up sharply: "What was that?"

"The material is undergoing thermal expansion." Nana confirmed after scanning, "This is a normal phenomenon."

"Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief, but still glanced at it a few more times. "Next time, could you at least give me a heads-up before it rings? It startled me."

After reaching 600 degrees Celsius, the atmosphere changed noticeably. The air became scorching, even breathing felt like being baked. Chen Hao took off his coat and draped it over his shoulders, a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his temples. He licked his chapped lips every now and then, his mouth tasting bitter—he couldn't tell if it was from the burning smell or from nervousness.

"700 degrees Celsius," Nana reported. "The rate of temperature increase is slightly higher than the preset value. I suggest reducing the damper opening."

Chen Hao hesitated for a moment: "Wait a little longer? We're almost at the crucial point."

"Safety takes precedence over efficiency."

"Why are you saying the same thing as yesterday?" He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll listen to you."

He reached out and adjusted the air damper, and the flames immediately dipped, as if they had been choked. The furnace temperature curve gradually flattened out; although it was slow, it was definitely stable.

“It’s like life.” Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. “Going too fast can lead to disaster, while going slower can allow you to go further.”

Nana didn't respond, but continued to monitor the pressure inside the furnace.

780 degrees.

The flames deepened in color, approaching an orange-yellow with gold edges. Chen Hao stared at the observation hole, almost holding his breath. He knew that in another twenty degrees, the mineral structure within the clay would begin to vitrify, truly becoming pottery. He had even rehearsed his celebratory speech in his mind: "Thank you, viewers. This program is sponsored by 'Hope Bowl No. 1'..."

Just then, Nana's alarm went off.

"Warning: The gas pressure inside the kiln has risen abnormally, and gas is accumulating. It is recommended to release the pressure immediately!"

Chen Hao was stunned: "Relieve pressure? Where?"

He frantically looked around, trying to find a pressure relief valve, an air vent, or even just a small hole. But he had built the kiln himself and sealed it all off to save time, claiming it had "good insulation."

“There’s no pre-existing structural design.” Nana quickly analyzed, “The pressure can’t be released, and the risk level is rising sharply.”

"So what do we do now? Open the door?"

"It's not feasible. A sudden drop in temperature will cause the billet to crack, and the ejection of high-temperature gas will cause burns."

Before he could finish speaking, a muffled thud came from the top of the furnace.

A firebrick was forcefully propelled, crashing against the wall and bouncing to the ground. Sparks and debris flew out, and Chen Hao instinctively lunged to block them, but was stopped by Nana's instantly deployed protective shield.

Immediately afterwards, a second explosion rang out.

The furnace door warped open, and a blast of scalding hot air rushed out, sweeping across the entire work area with black ash and debris. Tools on the table were overturned, the canvas caught fire, and even the pile of sludge in the corner was shaken and bounced up.

When everything quieted down, the room was filled with smoke.

Chen Hao knelt on the ground, coughed a few times, and wiped his face with his hand; his palm was covered in black ash. He slowly stood up and walked towards the pile of smoldering ruins.

One corner of the kiln collapsed, and the inside was empty.

All three clay blanks were gone. Only a few charred fragments remained, scattered between the bricks, their edges curled and brittle, like burnt biscuit crumbs.

He bent down and picked up a fragment from the ash heap. The engraving on the bottom of the bowl was still there—the little figure holding a hammer, head tilted, arm half broken off.

He didn't speak or throw anything; he simply clenched the shards in his hand and slowly walked back to his workbench. He opened the toolbox, gently placed the broken pieces inside, and positioned them perfectly between a rusty pair of pliers and half a piece of wire.

“‘Hope One’…” he said softly, “You went on a very heroic journey.”

Nana put away the protective shield, the camera panned across the scene, and she began recording accident data.

"Preliminary assessment: During the heating process, residual moisture in the green body vaporized upon heating, generating a large amount of steam. Due to the kiln being too tightly sealed and lacking an effective exhaust channel, the internal pressure continued to accumulate, eventually exceeding the structural bearing capacity."

"So," Chen Hao sat back down, his voice a little hoarse, "we suffocated it to death?"

"The technical description is accurate."

"Ha." He chuckled, but his laughter was dry. "I thought the hardest part was shaping, but I failed because of something as basic as 'don't seal it too tightly'."

He looked down at his hands, his fingernails were embedded with black ash, and there was a new scratch on the web of his hand, probably from the flying brick fragments during the explosion.

"Don't you think we're particularly good at doing something through ninety-nine steps, and then stumbling into a pit at the very last step?" he asked.

Nana paused for two seconds: "Based on the existing behavioral records, the description matches 82% of the time."

"Thank you so much, you even did the statistics for me."

He propped himself up on his knees, walked to the stove, and reached out to touch the cracked brickwork. The heat hadn't completely dissipated, and he recoiled as soon as his fingertips touched it.

“If we redo it…we’ll have to change the design,” he said. “Add a chimney, or leave a gap. We can’t block the road just to keep it warm.”

“Agreed.” Nana brought up the drawing interface. “I suggest using a stepped heating method in the next cycle and controlling the ambient humidity to prevent the billet from absorbing moisture again.”

"It'll have to dry for even longer?" he sighed. "Then I'll have to wait another half a day?"

"Safety procedures cannot be skipped."

“I know,” he waved his hand. “I’m not in a hurry.”

He crouched down and began clearing away the scattered brick fragments. His movements were slow, but he didn't stop. Each time he picked up a brick, he would check it for any shards with scratches. If there weren't any, he would leave it; if there were, he would put it back in his toolbox.

By the time the last piece of charred pottery shards on the ground was swept into the iron basin, the sky was already beginning to set in the west.

Chen Hao straightened up and stretched his shoulders. His clothes were covered in ash, his trousers had a small burn hole in the hem, and his face was streaked with black and white, making him look like the Kitchen God who had just crawled out of the stove.

“Tell me,” he suddenly said, “if we had succeeded the first time, wouldn’t we have avoided so many lessons?”

Nana turned her head, and the blue light flickered steadily.

“In that case, you won’t remember how to write the word ‘pressure relief’ either.”

He paused for a moment, then grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

“That’s right.” He nodded. “Failure is the best instruction manual.”

He kicked the iron basin into a corner, picked up an iron brush, and began scraping the carbon deposits from the inside of the furnace.

The brush scraped across the brick surface, making a rustling sound. Occasionally, a spark would leap out from a crack and land on his shoe, burning a small black spot.

He glanced down at it, then ignored it.

He brushed twice, then stopped, rummaged through his toolbox, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, spreading it on the table. It was Nana's printed copy of "A Guide to Basic Techniques of Primitive Pottery," the edges of which were worn rough.

He drew a sharp cross on the "firing" section with charcoal sticks.

Then write a line of text next to it:

"Don't seal it off too tightly, it'll explode."

After he finished writing, he folded the paper again and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

As he turned around, he casually turned on the fuel valve.

New charcoal was poured into the furnace with a whoosh.

He picked up the flint, squatted in front of the stove, and flicked his wrist.

The flames leaped up, illuminating half of his face.

He stared at the fire, his lips moving slightly.

"This time, let's take it slow."