Day Eighty-One, Guidance (Part I)

The significance of this notebook to me is beyond imagination. The further I flip through it, the more I find myself marveling at its contents; the latter portion is entirely dedicated to the plans of Blackie’s former owner. Most crucially, he even included illustrations for every step and technique.

This kind of record, complete with diagrams and instructions, provided me with an opportunity to imitate his work, but I was also well aware that he had likely perished before ever attempting these things. After all, neither his treehouse nor his yard contained any of these items.

His treehouse yielded only evidence of mortise-and-tenon joints; these were likely nothing more than future plans. Yet, to me, it all felt so vital—firing tiles, crafting pottery, producing charcoal, and more. There were structural blueprints for a perfect house that, with only minor improvements, would be far sturdier than my current treehouse. Suddenly, it felt as though there wasn't enough time; I wanted to try everything and didn't know where to start.

I finished reading late last night, well past midnight. Lying on my bedding, I couldn't fall asleep; my brain was unusually active, causing my exhausted body to protest incessantly. When I finally drifted off, I had a beautiful dream that lasted until I woke up just now.

The sun was already at its zenith. Surprisingly, I found Little Lightning still sleeping, not as noisy as usual. After waking it up and feeding it half a bottle of honey water, I ate a simple meal and began my planned tasks.

Blackie was nowhere to be found, whether off playing with its ball or visiting that spot from yesterday, I couldn't say. It was clear that the ball was Blackie’s favorite; it even insisted on carrying it into its den when it slept.

My goal was to fell some trees—both large and small, the more the better. There was no bamboo on this island, which actually saved me some trouble. Felling trees is physical labor, but fortunately, the forest was nearby, and with the help of an axe, I was significantly faster than Blackie’s former owner.

In just over two hours, I dragged back twelve small trees, which was the fastest I could manage. The webbing between my thumb and forefinger was left numb from the vibrations; any more, and I might have truly injured myself. These saplings were to be used to build a new open-air shed, a workshop where I could work during the rain. The days ahead promised to be incredibly busy.

After trimming the branches, I followed the notebook’s instructions to attempt a mortise joint on the thickest trunk. I had no shortage of tools; I first used my Swiss Army knife to trace the shape of the mortise, then slowly dug it out. Once I had made some progress, I used the back of the axe to tap the knife, driving the hole deeper. The mortise didn't need to go all the way through; it only needed to reach the center of the trunk.

Soon, the mortises for two trunks were complete. According to the notes, scorching the mortises with burning wood chips would ensure their strength and smoothness, greatly increasing their durability. I used the axe to pick several burning embers from the fire in my dwelling and placed them into the four mortises. After about five minutes, when the insides were charred black, the process was complete.

Next, I began assembling the workshop. I selected four trunks—two were about two and a half meters long, and the other two were two meters. I inserted them into pre-dug pits. Once set, I fitted the trunks with the mortised joints onto them and secured them with vines. After cutting more logs to tie onto the slanted roof, the skeleton of the workshop was finished. The beauty of this shed was its simplicity and practicality.

I just had to lash the sloped logs with vines and cover them with the leftover coconut palm leaves from last time. I knew full well this makeshift shed couldn't withstand the kind of violent typhoon we had experienced before. However, the weather had turned sour by the afternoon, and it looked like rain was coming in the following days. In such times, I had to prioritize speed.

According to the notebook, a perfect shed would take at least three days to build; even with tools, two days were essential. But with the weather as it was, I didn't have that luxury. I had to finish as quickly as possible, abandoning plans for extra support beams to ensure more stability.

With only a few hours of daylight left, the sun was frequently obscured by passing clouds. To avoid having to venture out in the rain or sit idle in the treehouse over the next few days, I had to make comprehensive preparations.

I moved all the dried branches and leaves outside—including the ones I had just cut—into the treehouse as a reserve of firewood. I also spent thirty minutes gathering dry wood and fallen branches. These were for the coming rainy days; the last storm had lasted so long that I was truly terrified of it raining incessantly. Without fire, I would lose everything.

...

Following the guide in the notebook, near the large field of arrowroot, I finally found the massive termite mound. I dug out several chunks of soil from it, filling my plastic crate, and headed back to the treehouse, ignoring the termites scurrying everywhere.

Once in the yard, I dug a pit about half a meter deep in the workshop, emptied the termite mound soil into it, and poured in a large basin of water. According to the records of Blackie’s former owner, he knew the moment he found this mound that he would soon be able to produce pottery, and even tiles. Perhaps to remind himself for fear of forgetting, he had meticulously recorded every step.

What I was doing now was exactly the vital stage he described: pouring the termite mound soil into the pit, adding water, and using the axe to break up the clods. I then pushed the mixture into the pit in the workshop, added more water, and jumped in myself to trample it into a thoroughly wet, pulpy mass. I also needed to crumble dry grass into the mix to prevent the pottery or tiles from cracking during the firing process.

I followed every step exactly as written. He called this process "tempering."

Before I could finish all of this, the rain began as expected. Fortunately, I had the workshop, so I didn't need to worry. Pottery couldn't be made instantly; the manual stated clearly that one must first shape the vessels and wait for them to dry before firing. If fired while wet, they would certainly burst.

Luckily, the fire could help me dry them in the absence of the sun.

Soon, I began to attempt the shaping of the clay... It wasn't as difficult as I thought.