Chen Hao's fingers were stuck on the edge of the mud lump. With a gentle pry, the entire clod of earth split in two. He stared at the fragments in his palm and sighed, "It looked quite decent last night, but now it's just a mud cake."
He tossed the scraps into the corner pile of waste, clapped his hands, and ended up leaving a dusty stain on his pants. Ignoring it, he turned and walked to the workbench, pulling out the clay sample wrapped in a rag from his backpack. The rag made a soft, rustling sound as it was unwrapped, like old paper being torn.
“Nana,” he said, “we need to talk about serious matters.”
Nana stood by the stove, the optical lens turned towards him, the blue light shining steadily, "You have not performed any effective work for seven consecutive minutes."
“That’s because I’m thinking.” He placed the clay on the metal plate, braced his hands on the surface, and bent over to stare at it. “Look at this thing, I can’t mold it properly, it cracks when it’s dry, and it collapses when it’s wet. I can’t exactly turn it into a bowl by making a wish, can I?”
"It is recommended to develop an operational procedure."
“Yes, that’s the problem.” He straightened up and rubbed his face. “I don’t know where to start. How long to let it dry? How many times to knead it? How many fires to start? You have to tell me these things, otherwise even if I set the base on fire, I won’t be able to make anything decent.”
Nana remained silent for a moment, then the robotic arm slowly rose, projecting a simple diagram into the air: six steps were arranged side by side, accompanied by rough line drawings—collecting soil, drying, kneading, shaping, air-drying, and firing.
“The basic process guide has been loaded,” she said. “Currently, the available knowledge is limited to the scope of primitive handmade pottery, and there is no parameter support.”
Chen Hao leaned closer for a second look, his brows furrowing more and more. "Wait, you said 'no parameter support'? Does that mean you won't even tell me how long it will burn?"
“Advanced modules such as temperature range, duration, and kiln structure design are locked,” Nana continued. “Unlocking requires adjusting energy priority, which is not feasible at present.”
"So you have the goods but won't sell them?" He took a step back, pointing at the projector. "You know what to do, but you're only willing to show me a catalog?"
"Information layered management is a standard security protocol."
"Come on, what security agreement? You're just afraid I'll mess around and blow up the house, aren't you?" he scoffed. "But I don't even have a house right now, what am I going to blow up? At most, I'll just blow up a pot with a hole in it."
He looked down at the lump of soil and suddenly chuckled, “Interesting. Yesterday I thought I had discovered a new continent and could become a pottery master. But today I realize I’m just a cook who has never even seen a recipe and has to guess how many spoonfuls of salt to add.”
"Practice can bridge cognitive gaps."
"Easy for you to say." He picked up a small handful of clay and rubbed it in his hand. "If I were to take this to a cooking competition, the judges would probably call the police on the spot."
Nana did not respond, but switched the projection to the material condition monitoring interface, which showed that the current sample moisture content was about 38%, and suggested that it be dried first.
Chen Hao stared at the data for a while, then suddenly nodded, "Alright, at least I know you can't burn it directly. Wet mud will definitely explode if you put it in a fire, I have that much common sense."
He turned around and rummaged through the tool rack, tearing off a piece of old canvas and spreading it on the windowsill. "It can't hurt to let the soil dry, right? Let it dry completely first."
"Direct sunlight may cause the outside to be dry while the inside is damp, which can lead to subsequent cracking."
“Then spread it out thinly and flip it a few times.” He broke the clay into small pieces the size of a fingernail and sprinkled them evenly on the cloth. “We don’t have an oven now, so we can only rely on the weather. If the sun is lazy, I’ll accept it.”
Nana recorded the operation time and ambient temperature and humidity, and the system automatically marked it as "Phase 1: Ready to Start".
After finishing his work, Chen Hao sat back down on a crooked stool and caught his breath. Looking at the small lump of clay, he suddenly asked, "How do you think people in the past learned to make pottery?"
"Archaeological records show that early humans accumulated experience through repeated trial and error."
"So that means a bunch of people burned and blew up countless lumps of mud just to get a leak-proof bowl?" he grinned. "So the essence of civilized progress is that whoever breaks the most wins?"
"The success rate increases with iteration."
“Got it.” He stood up and patted his knees. “Then I’ll join the wrestling club too. I don’t have anything else to do anyway, so I can practice on this pile of dirt.”
He rummaged through the waste pile and found a blunt blade to use as a makeshift scraper. He also found a few heat-resistant stone slabs to place underneath to prevent the ground from being contaminated during subsequent operations.
“Since you can’t teach me in too much detail, I’ll just go through the process based on the information you can give me.” He muttered to himself as he organized his tools, “I don’t care about the final product, I just hope I don’t bury myself in the process.”
Nana cautioned: "The total number of remaining samples is limited, so it is recommended to reserve some as a control group."
"I know, I know." He carefully wrapped the remaining half of the clay again, stuffed it into the backpack's inner compartment, and even weighed it down with a small piece of iron. "This is a seed, it can't be moved. When our pottery factory goes public, this will be our ancestral tablet."
He returned to his workbench, picked up a lump of clay that had been drying for half an hour, and tried to crush and knead it by hand. The clay was rather hard, and his knuckles made a slight crunching sound when he applied pressure.
"This texture... how should I put it, it's like expired cookie crumbs." He frowned. "Too dry won't work, and too wet just now won't work either. Does it really have to be stuck in a 'just right' state?"
"The ideal state is the peak range of plasticity."
"Translate it?"
"Clay can be shaped and is not easily broken."
"Oh, so it's just a matter of being neither too soft nor too hard," he muttered. "Can't you robots just talk more directly? Why do you have to make it sound like a fill-in-the-blank question on an exam?"
He tried adding a little of the cooling water he had stored from the night before, mixing it in little by little while kneading and observing the changes in texture. At first, it was loose particles, but it gradually clumped together, though fine lines appeared on the surface.
"It's cracked again." He examined it from all angles. "Is there still not enough water?"
"It's also possible that the kneading was insufficient, and the internal stress was not released."
"So I need to find a therapist to help me with this stress?" He continued kneading helplessly, his movements becoming slow and focused. "Okay, okay, I'm not in a hurry, let's talk slowly, just don't explode."
Ten minutes passed, and the mud ball finally stopped cracking easily. He held it carefully in his hands, as if it were an egg that might break at any moment.
"And now?"
"Entering the shaping stage."
"Finally here!" He took a deep breath, placed the lump of clay on the stone, and gently flattened it with his hands, trying to make the shape of a bowl bottom. His fingertips pressed down slightly, and the edge slowly rose into a slight curve.
But just as it was taking shape, one side suddenly collapsed.
He froze, staring at the crooked lump of mud, and after a long while uttered, "...I'm a genius."
"The average failure rate on the first attempt is 76%."
"Thanks for the comforting words." He flattened the deformed lump of mud and started again. "But could you tell me the data you mentioned earlier next time? So I don't get excited for nothing."
On his second attempt, he slowed down, pausing after each push to observe the reaction. The edges were still fragile, but he found that gently sliding the pads with the inside of his thumb made it less likely to crack than pressing directly.
The third time, he was able to make a shallow, barely symmetrical disc-shaped object.
“Although it looks like a stepped hamburger bun,” he examined the piece, “at least it’s round. That’s progress.”
Nana's scan results indicated: "Uneven thickness, localized cracking is highly likely after drying."
“I know.” He didn’t put down the mud in his hand. “But now it’s not about perfection, it’s about figuring out exactly which parts might go wrong.”
He placed the third failed attempt on the table, next to the remains of the first two, like a small funeral.
“The first step is to collect the soil, no problem; the second step is to dry it and control the moisture, it seems we need to do it in stages; the third step is to knead it thoroughly, otherwise there will be hidden cracks inside; the fourth step…” He pointed to the clay pan in front of him, “The shaping technique needs to be practiced, and the strength and angle need to be felt.”
As he spoke, he took a small piece of dried mud from the drying cloth, preparing to do it again.
“You just said you couldn’t provide parameters for the firing step.” He looked up at Nana. “Then at least tell me one thing—what’s the minimum thing to be careful about if I want to try igniting it?”
Nana's eyes flashed with a blue light as she pulled up a text summary: "Avoid direct contact between open flame and undried blanks. Heating should be done gradually, as sudden high temperatures can easily lead to structural collapse."
"So, you can't just throw fire at it?"
"correct."
"It needs to be baked slowly?"
"Analogous to the baking process."
"Ha!" he laughed. "So I'm not making pottery, I'm baking a cake?"
"The metaphor is inaccurate, but the logic is similar."
“That’s enough.” He nodded, his eyes brightening slightly. “At least I know I can’t rush things. Too much fire will cause it to explode, too much mud will cause it to burst, and too much force will cause it to collapse—it sounds a lot like my life.”
He looked down at the clay he was shaping in his hands, his movements much steadyer than before.
“Then I’ll follow the information you’ve given me, step by step.” He gently placed the mud ball on the stone slab and carefully smoothed the edges. “If I fall once, I’ll remember the pit; if I fall ten times, I’ll eventually figure out the way.”
He looked up and gestured with his chin at Nana, "Once I've made my first real bowl, I won't carve my name on it."
"Change the naming scheme?"
“Hmm.” He smiled. “I’m going to secretly draw a little figure underneath, holding a hammer, and write a line next to it: ‘For idiots only, do not borrow.’”
Nana's optical lens vibrated slightly, as if in some kind of silent response.
Chen Hao didn't pay attention; he was carefully using his fingernail to draw a shallow line on the edge of the clay block to mark the starting point for rotation. He breathed very softly, afraid that a single breath would ruin the shape.
The wind outside the window swept across the metal frame, producing a low hum.
He held the bottom of the clay brick with his left hand and slowly pushed it upwards with his right hand, round and round.
The mud wall gradually rises, and although it is crooked, it remains intact.
Just as he was about to finish, his fingertip slipped, and the entire top edge collapsed.
He froze, watching the lump of mud slowly deform, eventually shrinking into a short, stocky blob.
He stared at it for five seconds, then suddenly laughed.
"It's alright," he said. "It's not the last one anyway."
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