The thermometer outside the kiln finally crossed seventy degrees Celsius, and Chen Hao immediately jumped up from the control panel, almost tipping the chair over. He rushed to the kiln opening, his eyes fixed on the crack.
"It's sixty-eight!" he shouted as if he'd won the lottery. "Can we open it now? If we don't, I'm afraid it'll grow mold inside!"
Nana stood beside the terminal, her fingers still checking the cooling curve. "The ventilation system has been running for six minutes, and the internal temperature difference is confirmed to be below the safe threshold." She paused, looked up at him, and said, "If you go in now, it's like giving a clay pot an ice bath; it'll crack even faster than last time."
“But it’s been cold for so long…” He reached out to touch the doorknob.
“Take your hand back,” she said.
He withdrew his hands, crossed them to his chest, and paced back and forth, his shoes scraping against the cement floor. Every two steps, he would glance back, as if the kiln contained freshly forged gold bricks.
After waiting another three minutes, Nana put on her heat-resistant gloves and pressed the unlock button. The hydraulic rod slowly released pressure, and the kiln door opened in an arc, releasing a stream of dry, warm air, carrying the aroma of burnt clay.
Chen Hao held his breath, squatted down to the side, and supported himself on his knees with his hands.
The first jar is placed in the center. Its bluish-gray body has a matte finish, and there is a fine line on the surface that extends diagonally downwards from the shoulder.
His heart sank.
"It's cracked?" The voice even changed tone.
Nana picked up a magnifying glass and examined it closely. "Non-structural shrinkage cracks, less than two-thirds the depth of the body." She tapped the jar lightly, producing a clear "ding" sound with a long aftersound. "The resonance is stable, and the seal is unaffected."
Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief and slapped his thigh: "You scared me! I thought even our 'noble mud' couldn't withstand the high temperature."
"The materials are qualified and the workmanship meets the standards." She took the can out and placed it on the testing table. "Shrinkage rate 4.7%, water absorption rate 11.3%, and the estimated value of the compression test meets the standards."
When he took out the second jar, he almost burst out laughing. It was uniform in shape, with a deep, rich color, and even the bottom was smooth and rounded, as if it had been poured directly from a mold.
“This doesn’t look like something made using primitive methods from a desolate planet. I’d believe it if you told me it was on loan from a museum.” He rubbed the surface with his finger. “It even reflects light.”
"The diffuse reflection effect is caused by trace amounts of mica flaky crystals in the mineral composition," Nana said. "It's not glazing."
"Don't explain, let me keep some hope." He waved his hand. "Just say it's handsome, okay?"
The third jar is slightly tilted, with one side of the rim curving upwards, like a drunkard grinning.
"Is this... burned and deformed?" He pinched his chin.
"The tilt angle is 1.2 degrees, which is within the acceptable range." Nana measured it with a level. "The water injection test showed no leakage, so it is still considered a qualified product."
Chen Hao grinned, gathered the three jars into his arms, spun around, and almost tripped over the power cord.
"It's done! This is a genuine piece from the first kiln of Huangxing!" He carried the jars to the workbench and lined them up one by one. "From now on, if anyone says I'm clumsy, I'll stick these three on their face!"
Nana has connected to the terminal and started uploading all the parameters for this firing: heating gradient, holding time, ambient humidity fluctuation curve... Lines of data scroll and refresh, automatically archived to "Ceramic Experiment - Successful Batch".
“T-04 to T-06 are marked as ‘Standard Firing Samples of High-Oily Clay’.” She tapped to confirm, “Database synchronization complete.”
"Is the backup complete?" Chen Hao asked, carefully holding the first jar up to the light to examine it. "I think it deserves to be on a commemorative stamp."
“We have not yet applied for an interstellar cultural heritage protection number,” she said. “We recommend prioritizing practicality.”
"Practicality is of course important!" He put down the jar and slammed his hand on the table. "I'm going to make ten large jars right now, specifically for storing grain! Those rows of empty shelves in the granary are just a nuisance."
"Only a single test has been completed so far." She brought up the production model interface. "Batch consistency has not been verified, and blindly expanding production may lead to a waste of resources."
“But we’ve already collected the mud and the process is running smoothly, so why not strike while the iron is hot?” He pointed to the dark gray wet mud in the sampling bottle. “This stuff won’t expire.”
"We need to review the data from three firings and optimize the drying cycle and heating rate." She continued to input instructions. "It is recommended to conduct a small-scale trial production of five pieces first to confirm stability before entering the mass production stage."
Chen Hao curled his lip: "You have typical robot thinking—you have to 'confirm the safe path' for everything, you have no passion at all."
“Passion cannot reduce the probability of thermal shock fracture,” she said. “But you can write a ‘Feasibility Proposal for Expanding Production’ right now, and I will provide an assessment report within ten minutes.”
"Come on," he rolled his eyes. "Writing a report is not as practical as digging a couple more shovelfuls of dirt."
He sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, crossed his legs, and kept his eyes glued to the row of pottery jars. The lamplight fell on the jars, casting soft outlines.
"Do you think it would be a hit if we opened a pottery shop on a desolate planet?" he suddenly asked.
“There are currently no market demand statistics,” she said. “Furthermore, this base is not yet connected to the interstellar logistics network.”
“I can do live-streaming e-commerce,” he gestured. “The camera zooms in, the background is this kiln, I’m wearing an apron, my face covered in soot, and I say with deep emotion— ‘Brothers, this kiln fire is burning our beliefs!’”
“The audience might mistakenly think you’re calling for help,” she said.
"You're a professional at pouring cold water on things," he muttered.
Nana pulled up the schedule: "If the second batch of blanks is started today, the air-drying can be completed tomorrow, and the firing process will begin the day after tomorrow at noon."
"Let's do it!" He slapped his thigh and stood up. "Twenty is the minimum, five for storing grain, five for water, and the remaining ten... we'll keep them for later, they'll come in handy someday."
“Containers also take up space when they’re not in use,” she said.
"If there's not enough space, we'll dig a basement!" he declared confidently. "This jar is sturdy enough to be used as building material!"
Nana didn't reply, but silently added a new task item on the terminal: "Large-scale trial production plan for ceramic jars - Phase 1, target quantity: 20".
Chen Hao walked to the edge of the kiln, reached out and touched the inner wall, where a little warmth still lingered.
"This furnace has done a great job today." He patted the kiln body. "I'll paint it with paint and write 'Meritorious Equipment' on it later."
“It doesn’t have an emotional feedback system,” she said.
“But I have one.” He turned around, grabbed a ceramic jar and held it in his arms like a newborn child. “I need to let it know that its owner is happy.”
Nana glanced at him, and a terminal notification sounded: "New task flow has been generated. Print now?"
“I’ll put it on the wall and look at it every day to motivate myself not to be lazy.”
She clicked the output button, the printer hummed to life, and a sheet of A4 paper slowly emerged.
Chen Hao walked over, took it down, unfolded it, and saw that it contained detailed process steps: mixing time, drying time, kiln temperature range...
In the blank space at the bottom, he picked up his pen and wrote a line of crooked words: "The day of the first successful kiln firing - a major achievement."
Then it was nailed to a corkboard on the wall, which covered the previous "Summary of Failure Records".
“It used to be a blacklist, now it’s a redlist.” He stepped back to admire it. “What goes around comes around.”
Nana is organizing the tool rack, disinfecting and putting away the used scrapers and trimming needles one by one.
“Next, we’ll prepare the second batch of mud,” she said. “We need your help to screen the particles and remove impurities.”
“No big deal.” He rolled up his sleeves. “This time I’m not just using my hands, I’m also using my eyes to filter.”
“Eyesight is not part of the cleaning efficiency assessment system,” she said.
“Then you just wait and see.” He walked to the sampling bottle, opened the cap, scooped out a clump of wet mud, and rubbed it. “Look at this texture, it’s as slippery as if it’s been oiled.”
He stretched it into a thin strip, flicked it gently in the air, and the mud strip trembled and bounced slightly, but did not break.
"See that?" He waved his hand smugly. "That's talent."
Nana turned on the spectrometer, preparing to conduct rapid testing on the new batch of raw materials.
Chen Hao put the clay back into the bottle, then picked up the most upright earthenware jar, blew on it, and the jar mouth emitted a low hum.
“It can also be used as a musical instrument.” His eyes lit up. “Next time I’ll use it to play rhythms at a meeting to boost my speaking confidence.”
“The meeting agenda does not include music,” she said.
“Rules are made by people.” He put down the jar and rubbed his hands. “Once we’ve fired a hundred of them, I’ll build a wall of terracotta jars at the entrance of the base and inscribe the words on it: ‘Products made here, never leaking soup.’”
Nana looked up at him.
“If you’re going to carve it, I suggest using weather-resistant paint,” she said. “Otherwise, wind and sand will erode it, and after three months, all that will be left is a blurry mess.”
"You've actually planned this out for me?" He laughed. "Okay, then let's use a mixture of diamond and resin, carve it deep enough to last for ten generations."
He bent down to check the kiln car track and confirmed that there were no obstructions.
“Oh, right,” he suddenly remembered something, “should we give these first batch of jars a name?”
“Naming unnecessary production processes,” she said.
“Then I’ll get up too.” He pointed to the first one. “This one is called ‘Dawn,’ symbolizing the first ray of light at the end of darkness.”
He pointed to the second one: "This one is called 'Iron Wall,' it's sturdy and reliable."
The third one with a crooked mouth, he thought for a moment and said, “Call him ‘Xiaochen.’ In this life, one must have a sense of humor.”
Nana listened quietly, tapping her finger twice on the terminal.
Chen Hao leaned over to look at the screen and saw that she had entered a line of small text in the production remarks column: "t-04 (Dawn), t-05 (Iron Wall), t-06 (Laughing Dust) - User-defined identifier, for reference only."
"You actually remembered that?" He chuckled.
“Data integrity requirements,” she said, “including non-standard fields.”
He shook his head and smiled, returned to the workbench, picked up the entrenching tool, and began to clear the dry mud debris from the edge of the workbench.
Outside the window, the waterwheel continued to turn, its belt making a steady creaking sound.
After shoveling away the last piece of hardened clay, he stood up and glanced at the row of pottery jars standing quietly.
Under the lights, they stood silently, like three new recruits who had just passed their inspection.
He walked over and gently patted "Dawn" on the shoulder.
"We'll continue tomorrow."
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