Chapter 12 — Potters and the Last Fire Season

Linh opens free classes for young workers on mold design, recording soil sources and calculating the price of a product. A few elders objected because they feared the profession would be turned into a lesson for the city.

The idea came from the village meeting, when Vy asked her about studying books. Linh realized that if she wanted the factory to actually survive the six-week trial and beyond, she needed more than a few pairs of hands — she needed a generation that understood the entire process, from land to books, from fire to price.

She hung a small sign in front of the factory gate, briefly stating: Vocational training class, free, all ages. In just two days, seven people registered, most of them young people in the village who did not have stable jobs, along with a few middle-aged people who wanted to study more to help their families.

But not everyone is supportive. Mr. Bay Correct, who had confirmed the terms of co-ownership of the furnace, came to meet Linh with an unsatisfied look on his face.

“This profession is learned by doing, not by sitting in class,” he said, his voice somewhat harsh. “In the past, if you wanted to learn a trade, you had to follow a teacher for ten years, not just a few sessions to learn everything.”

“I don't plan to teach everything in a few sessions,” Linh explained, trying to keep her voice calm. “I just want to create a systematic start, so that new people don't have to fumble for years to understand the basic principles.”

“The basic principles of the city, or of our village?” he asked, his eyes searching.

That question made Linh pause a bit. She understands that Mr. Bay Correct's concern is not without reason - many people in the village have witnessed "modernization" projects brought in from outside, only to end up losing the unique identity of the traditional profession.

“I invite people like you, like Mrs. Nam, like my father, to teach you what you are best at,” Linh replied. “I just keep it organized and take notes, so what you know won't be lost when you're no longer here.”

Mr. Bay Correct was silent for a moment, his face softening somewhat at that explanation. “Okay then,” he said finally. “But I will come and see. If it doesn't look right, I will say it directly.”

She invited them to teach what they knew. Mrs. Nam taught how to read the color of fire through the door crack, Mr. Phuc taught how to repair the furnace, Minh taught how to check the shrinkage of soil. Linh just keeps the schedule and records the method so that the next person can continue learning.

The first class took place on a Sunday morning, when the factory temporarily stopped production to make space for classes. Ms. Nam sat in the center, surrounded by seven attentive students, some holding notebooks, some just sitting and observing.

“Fire has no fixed formula,” she said, opening the class with a sentence that left some students looking confused. "But it has rules. You need to learn the rules before learning the formula, otherwise, if you encounter situations outside of books, you won't know how to handle them."

Mr. Phuc, in the corner of the yard next to the furnace, instructed another small group on how to check and repair common cracks in the furnace wall. He picked up each tool and explained its uses. His hands were still rough from years of labor but his movements were surprisingly precise.

Minh, at the design desk, teaches how to measure soil shrinkage after firing - a technical knowledge he learned from formal school but is now passed on in a much closer, easier-to-understand way than the dry lectures he used to listen to.

A student named Vy broke the first mold and then decided to leave. Linh held the girl's hand, telling her not to rush to throw away something that showed her a specific error. The two of them re-measured the mold, corrected one corner and tried again.

Vy stood up, her face red with embarrassment when she saw that the plaster mold she had just poured cracked as soon as she removed it, a basic error caused by mixing the water ratio incorrectly. She was about to pack up her things, mumbling apologies for wasting ingredients.

“Wait,” Linh said, holding Vy's hand. "Look closely at this crack. It tells you exactly what's wrong."

“I messed up,” Vy said, her voice still shaking.

“I didn't do anything wrong, I just learned a lesson that no one can teach with words,” Linh replied. “This crack runs along the contour, meaning the plaster mixture is too thin, not thick enough to hold its shape when dry.”

The two of them sat down together, measured the ratio of water and plaster powder, and carefully recorded each step. On the second try, the mold came out completely, and Vy held it up with proud eyes instead of the initial shy look.

At the end of the session, Vy asked why Linh left the village and then returned. Linh said she used to think that going far away would make her mature. Then she understood that maturity also means knowing what is worth bringing with her when she returns.

“Do you regret leaving the village eight years ago?” Vy asked, sitting down next to Linh during the break.

“No regrets,” Linh replied, thinking carefully before answering. "Eight years in the city taught me many things - how to design, how to look at the market, how to work systematically. Without those eight years, I wouldn't know how to divide two product lines, wouldn't know how to make a clear cost sheet like I do now."

“So why did you come back?”

“Because there are things that can only be taught here,” Linh said, looking out at the yard where Mrs. Nam was still explaining to the other group of students. "How to read fire with your eyes, how to understand the land through your fingertips, how a community holds something precious together. I think maturity is not about choosing between two places, but knowing how to bring the best from one place to the other."

The class does not bring money immediately, but brings new hands. Three students agreed to make a small set of cups. The orderer agrees to pay half in advance because he can watch them do it step by step.

That small order, although not of great value, carried a special meaning - for the first time in many years, there were products made entirely by new hands, under the supervision but not the complete control of veteran workers.

Minh stood by the door, watching Linh fix the calendar. He told her she was building another factory without demolishing the old one.

“Maybe every factory needs a room where new people are allowed to make mistakes,” Linh replied.

Minh nodded and was silent for a moment before adding, his voice somewhat thoughtful. “I wish ten years ago, when I ruined a big batch of yeast, there was a room like that where I could make mistakes without having to leave the village.”

Linh looked at him, sensing in that statement something deeper than a simple word of regret — it was an acknowledgment that, sometimes, what a community needs is not perfect workers from the beginning, but an environment tolerant enough to nurture growth through each mistake.

In the afternoon of the same day, Mr. Bay Correct returned to the workshop as promised, standing quietly in the corner of the yard observing the ongoing lesson. He didn't say anything for nearly an hour. just look at the way Mrs. Nam explains, the way Vy carefully measures the plaster ratio, the way Mr. Phuc patiently shows each movement of fixing the furnace to a clumsy young man.

When the class ended, he approached Linh, his face was less stern than the previous time they met. “I see,” he said, his voice slow. "It's not the type of learning that just takes notes on paper like I was worried about. The children still learn by hand, it's just that there's more people taking notes so they don't forget."

“Thank you for coming to see,” Linh replied, relieved at his change of attitude.

“I have a suggestion,” Mr. Bay Correct said, his voice somewhat hesitant, rarely seen in a naturally straightforward person like him. "I used to know some special techniques for making yeast from tree ash. My mother taught me in the past, but now no one remembers because the old cooperative dissolved before I could pass it on to anyone. If the class continues, I want to teach that part."

Linh smiled, touched by this unexpected change. “I really hope you join,” she said. “That's exactly what I want — not to have any valuable knowledge lost just because no one had time to write it down.”

“I also have a small condition,” Mr. Bay Correct added, his voice serious again. "That formula is not copyrighted specifically to Bach Tho workshop. It belongs to the whole village, anyone who learns it has the right to use it, as long as it is not sold to any other corporation."

Linh nodded immediately. "I completely agree. That is also the spirit I want to build for this entire class."

Mr. Bay Correct nodded, the first time Linh saw him truly smile since she returned to the village ten days ago. That evening, when telling the group about Mr. Bay Correct's change, everyone was happy, seeing it as a sign that the class was not only passing on vocational skills, but also bridging the gaps between generations in the village, gaps that had silently existed long before Linh realized it, even before she left the village eight years ago.