Chapter 10 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

The three days of waiting for the furnace to cool passed slowly as Khang had predicted. During that time, Van Khe took the time to clean up the workshop, prepare display shelves to receive the upcoming results, and at the same time did not forget to take care of his father, who after a few days of rest had regained some of his health, although still weak.

Ms. Uong Bich Thuy returned on the second day after the kiln was sealed, bringing a camera and a young assistant to record the entire process of preparing to open the kiln - an important part of the documentation she is building.

— I've seen the video recordings of the fire watch process that you took on your phone a few days ago, — Ms. Thuy said, her eyes shining with excitement. — Truly precious, Van Khe. Especially the part where Mr. Chiem Vinh Truong visited the kiln, even though it was only a few short minutes, contained a whole history of the craft village that I am sure has never been recorded anywhere.

Van Khe did not expect Khac Ben to record that moment on her phone, but she also silently thanked her friend for her quickness, because that document has now become an indispensable part of the story about the Vong Nguyet furnace.

*

The day to open the oven has finally arrived. From early morning, not only Van Khe, Khang and Khac Ben, but also Mr. Vong, Mr. Thoi, Mr. Toai, Ms. Thuy and a few curious neighbors were also present, creating a rare bustling atmosphere around the usually quiet factory.

Van Khe stood in front of the door of the first furnace compartment, his hands shaking holding a small crowbar to break the sealing layer of soil that had hardened after seven days. This is always the most thrilling moment for any potter — the moment that decides whether a week of hard work, including hope, will be rewarded or not.

— You can do it, — Mr. Vong encouraged, standing right next to him, placing his hand on his daughter's shoulder.

Van Khe took a deep breath, then used a crowbar to pry off each piece of sealed soil. The layer of soil broke apart, revealing the dark opening of the oven door inside. A stream of remaining warmth blew out, carrying the characteristic smell of wood smoke mixed with a strange scent - the smell of ceramic glaze that had just gone through the fire, strangely sweet and warm.

She reached in and pulled out the first item — a small bowl placed near the oven door. When the sunlight shone in, the whole crowd simultaneously admired. The enamel layer on the bowl shines with a warm reddish-brown color, dotted with random flecks of fly ash, creating natural patterns like drifting clouds. No two bowls are exactly alike - that is the unique beauty that only wood-fired ceramics can create.

One by one, each item is taken out, each item has its own color depending on its location in the oven, depending on the direction of contact with fire and fly ash. There are plates that shine with ancient moss green, there are vases that are golden brown like amber, and there are large jars with a layer of cracked enamel flowing down, creating streaks like miniature rivers on the ceramic surface.

But what made the whole workshop hold its breath the most was when Van Khe opened the oven compartment where she placed a series of experimental tea pots with a special ash glaze. She carefully took out the first vase, with trembling hands she wiped off the remaining ash, then held it up in the sunlight.

The whole crowd was silent for a moment. The enamel layer on the tea pot has a warm ivory white color, but when the sunlight shines through, it glows with a dim jade green light, as if there is a small moon hidden inside that thin layer of enamel.

— Oh my god, — Ms. Thuy exclaimed, the camera in her hand almost fell out of excitement. — This... is this the yeast you talked about the other day? What kind of yeast did your grandfather and Mr. Truong research together?

Van Khe looked at the tea pot in her hand, her heart pounding. She remembered the words in the diary, describing Nguyet Bach enamel - "white as the full moon, but shining with jade when shined in the sun". Although it had not yet achieved absolute perfection as described, the vase before her eyes was closer than ever to that unfinished dream.

— I think... I think this is the first step to perfect Nguyet Bach enamel, — she said, her voice choked with emotion. — Not perfect, but enough to prove the formula in my grandfather's notebook is valid, just need to adjust the proportions, add temperature.

Khang stood next to him, looking at the tea pot with eyes of shock mixed with emotion. He raised his hand and gently touched the smooth enamel surface, feeling each delicate ridge under his fingertips.

— My grandfather needs to see this, — he said, his voice trembling. — He had been waiting for this moment for thirty-five years.

Khac Ben, who was busy counting the number of intact products in the oven compartment next to him, also ran over to see, his face lit up with excitement.

— Ms. Khe, this batch has a success rate of up to ninety percent, much higher than the previous batches! There are a few items that are slightly cracked due to being placed too close to the air vent, but the rest are all flawlessly beautiful. If my grandfather knew, he would be very happy. He kept reminding her to take the risk this time, but he did not expect that the risk would lead to a big win.

The whole group laughed together, crisp laughter resounding in the air that still smelled of warm wood smoke. Ms. Thuy continued to take pictures of each item, endlessly taking notes in the survey book, occasionally admiring an unexpected glaze pattern appearing on the ceramic surface, flecks of fly ash forming strange shapes like clouds, waves, like the random strokes of the fire itself.

— I have worked as a folk culture researcher for more than ten years, and have surveyed countless craft villages, — Ms. Thuy said, her voice full of emotion, — but I have rarely witnessed a batch filled with such soulful essence like this. This is exactly the kind of living document that any heritage record needs — not just the beautiful product, but also the story behind it, the people who put in their sweat and tears to keep the flame alive.

Hearing those words, Van Khe felt a great sense of pride welling up in her chest, mixed with a strong nostalgia for her grandfather. She wished he could stand here, witness this moment, witness that the enameled tea pot that he had spent his youth pursuing with his best friend had now turned to a different path.

*

In the afternoon, after the crowd had dispersed, only Van Khe, her father and Khang were left standing in front of a row of products just released from the oven, neatly arranged on wooden shelves, sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. This is one of the most successful batches of Vong Nguyet kiln in recent years, in both quantity and quality, enough for her to confidently introduce and sell to acquaintances and new customers.

— I'm proud of you, Khe, — Mr. Vong said with a rare emotional voice, holding up a bowl to look at it. — Dad was wrong to think that keeping the furnace was just a meaningless burden. Looking at these things, my father realized that these were not just objects, but a part of the soul of his family, of the entire Doi Sanh village.

Van Khe hugged her father, tears rolling down because of happiness. But that joy didn't last long, when Khang's phone rang again, and this time, his face changed color as soon as he answered the call.

— My father is on his way here, — he said, his voice tense, and hung up. — He heard the news about the successful firing, about Ms. Thuy doing the estate documents, and it seemed like he was not satisfied at all. He said he would come directly to my family to "talk clearly once and for all".

The joyful atmosphere just now suddenly became heavy. Van Khe looked out at the village road, where a luxury car was speeding toward the factory, carrying with it the most powerful man in deciding the fate of the Vong Nguyet furnace — and now, perhaps, the fate of the relationship between her and his son.

Mr. Vong squeezed his daughter's hand, his eyes steady even though his body was still weak.

— No matter what happens, — he said, — you're not alone, Khe. I'm here, facing it all with you.

Van Khe nodded, took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the upcoming confrontation - a confrontation that she knew would be a decisive turning point for both the future of her wood-fired pottery career and her own budding feelings. She glanced at the row of wooden shelves filled with ceramic dishes still hot from the fire, the glaze sparkling in the afternoon sunlight as if silently reminding her that, no matter what happened next, the results of the past seven arduous days and nights were an undeniable proof - that the Vong Nguyet kiln still had enough life to continue writing its own story, no matter who was standing outside the gate waiting to knock.