Chapter 18 — Potters and the Last Fire Season

The cooperative's first large batch was packed in the oven. The order was enough to cover that month's debt and pay everyone, but was also large enough that a mistake would cost them their deposit.

This is the largest scale batch since Linh returned to the village, combining both the hand-shaped Bach Tho series and the mold-made Kitchen series, arranged according to the stratification method Minh had calculated many weeks ago. The orders came from three different wholesale customers, the largest total value the factory has ever received since switching to a cooperative model.

The whole workshop worked for two days to perfect the wooden products before firing, each person was in charge of a step according to clear assignment - someone molding, someone glazing, someone checking quality before placing it in the kiln. The working atmosphere is tense but orderly, different from the chaos of Linh's first days back.

Heats up slowly. Minh discovered that the new layer of soil held more moisture than the test sample. If the fire is increased, the yeast will swell; If left unchanged, the oven will not reach heat before morning. Linh called everyone to stop and reconsider, even though Son said the customer was waiting for the delivery date.

Around midnight, when the firing had been going on for six hours, Minh noticed that the rate of heat increase was significantly slower than expected compared to previous tests. He retested the moisture content of the newly imported batch, finding it was about three percent higher than the original sample — a small difference but enough to change the entire dynamics of the firing process.

"If I increase the heat to compensate," Minh explained to the group gathered around the oven, "the yeast runs the risk of blistering because the heat increases too quickly compared to the soil's ability to release moisture. But if we keep at the current speed, the oven won't reach the required temperature before dawn, just when I need to open the door to make deliveries."

Linh, despite feeling the pressure of time, still decided to call everyone to stop to consider more carefully instead of hastily making a decision. “We need time to think,” she said, her voice determined even though inside she was worried.

"Customers are waiting for on-time delivery," Son reminded, sweat beading on his forehead even though the night was quite cool. "If it's late, it can affect the reputation of the newly established cooperative."

“Delayed delivery is better than damaged delivery,” Linh replied. “We need a few minutes to calculate correctly, not to delay needlessly.”

Mr. Phuc looked at his watch and said the furnace had survived harder days. But survival doesn't mean risk. They adjusted the valve step by step, recording each change.

The group spent fifteen tense minutes trying to figure out a middle ground—turning up the heat at a slower rate than originally planned but faster than the current rate, while also opening an extra air valve to help evaporate moisture faster without causing the yeast to blister.

Minh and Mr. Phuc took turns adjusting the valve every ten minutes, only one small step at a time, carefully recording the time and level of adjustment in the notebook that had become an inseparable object of the whole factory for many weeks.

Near morning, the thermometer was still lower than necessary. Some of the cars upstairs began to deform. Linh decided to sacrifice that floor to keep the rest. She personally marked the prices that had to be refunded.

As the first light of dawn began to appear, Minh checked through the fire viewing hole, discovering that the bowls on the top floor, where the heat was less evenly distributed, were beginning to show signs of Slight deformation due to temperature difference persists throughout the night.

“Upstairs failed,” he reported, his voice heavy. “Probably about twenty percent of the products on that floor won't meet shipping standards.”

Linh stood still for a moment, looking at the product distribution chart in the kiln that she had drawn before starting the batch, determining exactly which items were on the highest risk floor. She took a pen, started marking each location, calculating the amount of money she needed to refund if those products did not meet standards.

“I accept the loss of the upper floor,” she said, her voice firm even though her expression showed regret. “It's better than trying to salvage it by suddenly increasing the heat, which could damage even the stable lower floors.”

When the oven is opened, sixty percent of the product is reached. Not enough according to the contract. Son wanted to hide the damaged number and deliver it first, but Vy discovered that two of the cars had small cracks on the bottom.

The oven door was opened mid-morning, after allowing it to cool for a safe amount of time. The results were as expected — the majority of products on the lower floors were of good quality, but the upper floors had a significant failure rate, bringing the total compliance rate down to only sixty percent, much lower than the original contract commitment.

Son, standing nearby while counting the products, proposed a quick but risky solution. “I can choose the ones that look the best among those with minor defects and combine them to have enough quantity to deliver,” he said, his voice somewhat hurried due to the pressure of delivery time. “Customers won't notice if there are just a few that are slightly different.”

Vy, who was helping sort products nearby, picked up two bowls of Son that she had just planned to include in the standard batch, turned the bottoms up and inspected them carefully. “There's a small crack here,” she said, pointing to a thin line that was almost impossible to see without looking closely. “If customers use it to store hot water, the crack may be larger.”

Linh took the two bowls, checked them again, and confirmed that Vy's findings were correct. She looked at Son, her eyes were stern but not angry.

“We don't include defective goods,” she said firmly. “Even if it costs my reputation in the short term.”

Linh called the customer, clearly stated the results and asked to postpone the appointment. Some people cancel, some people agree to accept the pass. A customer suggested buying broken ones to use as plant pots.

She spent the entire afternoon calling each customer, clearly explaining the technical problem, the rate of qualified products, and suggesting options — receive the full quantity ordered but postpone the delivery schedule for another week to roast an additional batch, or receive the existing quantity that meets the standard with a corresponding adjusted price.

Customer reactions were more diverse than she feared. A large wholesale customer, initially upset, after hearing Linh's honest explanation of the technical reason, agreed to wait another week, and even praised the factory's transparency. Another customer, seeing the pictures of slightly deformed bowls that Linh sent along, offered to buy them back at a lower price to make succulent plant pots, turning seemingly discarded products into an unexpected side product line.

The cooperative's first batch wasn't perfect. But they knew exactly what they had lost, and did not break trust with a lie.

That evening, when the group sat down to summarize the stormy firing, Son was the first to speak, his voice somewhat apologetic. “I apologize for the suggestion to combine the defective goods,” he said. “That's my old reflex from working the corporate way — prioritizing deadlines over quality.”

“You didn't do that,” Linh said, her voice softer. “That's what's important. Everyone has wrong reflexes sometimes, the important thing is to be alert enough not to act on those reflexes."

Vy, sitting at the corner of the table, still somewhat timid in the serious atmosphere of the meeting, was called by Linh to praise her in front of everyone. “If Vy hadn't checked carefully, we probably would have delivered defective goods without knowing it,” she said. “This is why every step of testing is important, no matter how time-consuming it may seem.”

Vy blushed at the compliment, but her eyes shone with clear pride, a big change from the timid girl who had planned to leave because she ruined a plaster mold just a few weeks ago.

Minh, sitting next to Linh during the summary meeting, waited until everyone had gradually left before speaking up about his technical responsibilities. “I should have checked the moisture level of the new lot more carefully before starting the firing,” he said. “Three percent difference sounds small, but it's enough to make for a tense night.”

“You discovered the problem promptly and proposed a reasonable solution,” Linh replied. “No one can predict every variable. What's important is how we react when problems happen, and I think last night, we reacted correctly.”

“Even if the results aren't perfect?”

“Especially when the results are not perfect,” Linh affirms. “A perfect result could just be luck. But a right decision under pressure, even if the result is not as expected, truly proves the team's ability."

They sat down for a while, together planning the additional batch of firing that would take place next week, learning from what they had just experienced to adjust the process of checking soil moisture more thoroughly before each major firing. Outside in the yard, the pottery kiln has completely cooled down, standing quietly under the moonlight, waiting for the next fire to be lit soon, carrying tonight's lesson as an indispensable part of the whole workshop's journey of growth.