Chapter 140: 140 Firing the First Batch of Porcelain

Chapter 140: Firing the First Porcelain

For the past month, Leah had scarcely slept a proper night, devoting every spare moment to weaving silk scarves.

Though Ronin had assured her it was no great matter if she failed,

Leah, as a servant, knew that disappointing her lord by falling short was a failure of duty.

Though she had never handled silk thread before, her years of weaving wool and linen gave her a foundation to draw upon.

In the first half of the month, she had spun and dyed the silk.

In the latter half, most of her time was spent weaving—though the thread snapped countless times from her inexperience, with each failure, her skill grew.

Finally, on the ninth, she completed the first piece of silk fabric.

To Ronin, the appearance of this pale blue cloth held immense significance—he came himself to inspect it.

It was astonishingly light, soft to the touch, yielding a comforting, skin-nourishing feel in the hand.

Even breathing near it carried a sensation of breathability and smoothness unlike anything wool could offer.

With just that first impression, he knew silk would be a luxury in this world.

With the fabric in hand, making scarves became far simpler.

Leah would finish them before Ronin departed from Wolf Hill Keep on the fourteenth.

Inside the tailor’s shop outside Wolf Hill Keep, Leah worked busily while Tom ate his lunch.

At home, he had habitually removed his mask.

“Mother, in a couple of days, I’ll be traveling with Lord Ronin and Guard Master Macken to Wolf Hill Keep to celebrate Lord Rulans’s birthday. George told me it’s extravagantly grand—I never thought I’d get to step inside!”

Last time, Wotton and George had accompanied Ronin; they had returned raving about the food and the splendor of the scenery. Tom longed for it.

“You must cherish this chance,” Leah said without pausing her work, “and serve Lord Ronin well on the journey.”

She glanced at her son. “Lord Ronin is a good lord. With him, we all can live well.”

“That’s true!” Tom replied with unwavering conviction. “Though I won’t be here for this year’s festival.”

“That’s nothing,” Leah dismissed. “I know so many in the castle. The lord even assigned me three apprentices. Don’t worry about me—just fulfill your duties faithfully.”

As she spoke, she lifted the nearly finished scarf before the lamplight, studying it closely, marveling inwardly at the silk.

“Since Lord Ronin came to Wolf Hill Town, the roads are clean, no one freezes to death in winter, tilling the land is easier, and even this year’s vegetable yield has risen…”

“And this miraculous thread he discovered—his vision, his ability, his knowledge—they are beyond our reach!”

Leah fixed her gaze on her son, repeating with solemn emphasis: “Tom, you must follow Lord Ronin closely.”

“I know, you’ve said it three or four times already,” Tom laughed. “But it’s not just me—all the adepts are steadfastly loyal to Lord Ronin.”

There were many like Tom and his mother.

Every servant in the castle, and every one of their families, sang praises of their lord’s virtues.

Wolf Hill Town was still small, but with so many voices echoing, and Ronin’s changes undeniable, the people’s reverence for him deepened steadily.

The transformation was subtle, almost imperceptible to Ronin himself—he simply followed his instincts.

Now, in the porcelain workshop, he stood beside the potter Jim, firing the first kiln of porcelain.

Within the kiln, flames leapt, fierce and brilliant, surging through the furnace, steadily raising the temperature.

The glazed porcelain blanks had long been placed inside. As heat climbed, their surfaces underwent a profound metamorphosis.

No one had experience firing porcelain.

Ronin and his companions could only respond to dwindling fires by adding more dry wood and pre-prepared charcoal, sustaining the kiln’s combustion.

The firing lasted over ten hours, followed by several more of cooling—until the evening of the next day, when the kiln was finally ready to open.

To witness the birth of porcelain firsthand, Ronin opened the furnace door himself. A faint warmth still brushed his face.

Inside, the porcelain bowl lay still, forged by fire.

When Ronin saw its mirror-smooth surface, his face broke into a radiant smile—it matched his memory perfectly.

“How is it, Lord?”

Jim and the three apprentices hovered anxiously, their eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep—they had not dared rest, fearing mishap.

Ronin reached in and lifted the bowl. All held their breath.

Was this the porcelain the lord had spoken of?

Merely by sight, it surpassed ordinary pottery in elegance.

Pottery was typically crude, rugged, and rustic. But this bowl, held in the lord’s hand, was smooth, refined, like translucent crystal.

Had they succeeded?

Ronin turned the bowl slowly in his hands—his smile faltered.

On the underside, a patch remained underfired: dull, uneven, unmistakably flawed.

He handed the bowl to Jim, then retrieved the others. Each bore the same sign of incomplete firing.

Overall, the firing had failed.

It was never going to be simple.

Jim and the others studied the bowls closely. Though they marveled at their beauty, they could see the lord’s dissatisfaction.

Finally, Jim summoned courage: “Lord… did we fail?”

Ronin fell silent for a long moment. Seeing the solemn faces around him, he realized he had made it too grave. He smiled, easing the tension.

“This batch isn’t a complete success—but neither is it a failure. We’ve come far. Now we only need to keep trying, keep improving.”

He pointed to the underfired patch. “I suspect the kiln’s temperature wasn’t high enough.”

He circled the kiln, examining it from every angle.

“We must improve the kiln. First, we must fire bricks—build the furnace with bricks, not clay. Then, thicken the insulation layer to reduce heat loss.”

“Second, install a grate in the combustion chamber to lift the wood, allowing air to flow beneath, increasing airflow and fuel efficiency.”

Though many of Ronin’s terms were unfamiliar to Jim and the others, the context made his intent clear—to raise the kiln’s temperature.

“You know so much, Lord,” they murmured in awe.

Though Jim was a true potter, his knowledge paled beside Ronin’s. Before him, Jim felt like an apprentice.

Ronin chuckled. “Knowing isn’t the same as doing. The exploration, the experiments—that’s yours. We failed today, but if we learn from this, success will come.”

He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “I’m leaving soon. I entrust the porcelain firing to you. Don’t spare the kaolin or any materials—use them freely. Even waste is acceptable.”

Jim felt the weight settle heavily on his shoulders, but he knew this was his chance.

“My Lord, Jim will work tirelessly to live up to your trust!”

—

Back home now. Today was the burial. The evening update will be late.

(End of Chapter)