Day 86, A Meeting of Minds (Part Two)

When I woke up, it was already pitch dark. Staying up late really takes a toll on the body; my head throbbed as if it had been struck by an iron hammer.

Fumbling my way up, guided by a sliver of firelight seeping through the gaps, I made it to the doorway. Both Little Black and the little fellow were fast asleep. Hearing footsteps, Little Black stood up alertly, but upon seeing it was me, it flopped back down and resumed its slumber.

The bottle at the threshold was still there, untouched and unmoved. To be honest, even if someone had come by just now, I might not have woken up. My sleep had been that dead; I hadn't even dreamed once in between. Even a thunderclap probably wouldn't have roused me, let alone the slight noise made by that rudimentary trap.

Pushing the door open, I found the moonlight outside to be rather pleasant. Fortunately, I had fed Lightning before going to sleep; otherwise, I might not have been able to sleep so soundly. The moon was now high in the sky, and the oppressive daytime heat was beginning to dissipate, with the sea breeze bringing in waves of cool relief.

Opening a drink, I sat on the swing in the courtyard and began to ponder my future. I had no idea whether they would come over tomorrow, but regardless of whether they did or not, I had to go on living.

The sweet taste of the beverage combined with the cool breeze instantly energized me. Despite the headache, I couldn't possibly sleep now. Guided by the moonlight, I walked over to the shed and tested the two lids. Surprisingly, they were completely dry—much faster than anticipated.

Since I couldn't sleep anyway, and with the lids and everything else ready, I might as well try firing a kiln. If successful, the recurring issues of the treehouse leaking and the roof constantly needing new leaves would be solved once and for all.

Returning to the treehouse to toss some firewood into the hearth, I gathered a large armful of branches and leaves from the corner and hauled them over to the earthen kiln in the shed. Taking a few burning branches, I ignited the kiln.

The lid, riddled with holes I had poked with my fingers, was placed on top. It was quite heavy, and I had been worried it might crack while being lifted or lowered. Fortunately, from the moment I set it down until the position was fully adjusted, not a single crack appeared. Ordinary mud would have split long ago, but the soil from the termite mound was much more cohesive, soft, and fine. Perhaps that was why the lid remained unblemished.

After placing the lid, I felt it wasn't quite stable enough. It then occurred to me that I should have dug a circular pit in the surrounding earth just slightly larger than the lid before setting it down. Doing so would prevent flames from escaping out the sides and make the placement much more secure.

After a flurry of activity, I finally finished dealing with the lid. For me, however, this was only the beginning, as several more steps lay ahead. I hadn't even built the furnace for firing the tile blanks yet; I could only officially begin once that was constructed.

The stones I had hauled over from the hillside earlier to pave the treehouse had some leftovers, which turned out to be just right for building the furnace. Stacking them up was remarkably fast. The whole process took less than an hour, and now it was already done.

The next part was rather troublesome—I needed to mix the mud. The bottom of the pit I had dug previously still contained soil from the termite mound, but since it hadn't been watered for a few days, the bottom had dried out. That was no problem, though. After pounding at it for a while with the sharp, protruding poll of my axe, the hardened earth was broken up. Adding a few basins of water and stepping on the mixture thoroughly made the mud ready for use.

Its purpose was to plaster the stones that formed the furnace, covering the inside and outside completely without leaving a single gap. Gaps were out of the question, of course, because the key to success lay in this very furnace. Any flaw in the furnace would prevent the temperature from rising properly, causing the tiles and various earthen potteries inside to fail in the firing process.

After smoothing and coating it back and forth several times, no gaps were visible anywhere. This furnace didn't need to be sun-dried; simply stoking a blazing fire inside would cause the furnace structure above to dry automatically.

I slowly shoved sticks into the hearth, and the fire grew steadily fiercer. But joy brings sorrow: I stuffed in too much firewood all at once, hindering the airflow inside. Combustion became incomplete, and both the flame and temperature immediately began to drop. Fortunately, I wasn't firing tile blanks at the moment; otherwise, such temperature fluctuations would have completely ruined the firing process.

Using a fairly long branch, I pulled out some of the congested firewood from the earthen stove and then poked apart the remaining fuel. The flames, which had been smothered to the brink of extinction, surged up once again. This little episode served as a good reminder: I couldn't be impatient and add too much firewood to the stove at once, or the fire would weaken and even go out. Only by ensuring a steady, moderate stream of branches fed continuously into the stove would the fire burn brighter and stronger!

This furnace turned out to be far more perfect than I had initially imagined. Flames spat out from beneath the perforated lid on the ground, reaching all the way to the top of the furnace! The entire structure hissed under the scorching heat of the fire—the sound of moisture evaporating.

The pit was intensely hot. My clothes had been discarded to the side long ago, and because the smoke was thick, mosquitoes and bugs stayed far away, which spared me some trouble. Sweat drenched my entire body, soaking my hair to the point where water was actually dripping down.

Yet I persisted. With just about an hour more of firing, the construction of this furnace should be complete. I could see the inner walls of the furnace glowing red from the flames shooting through the holes in the lid. Even standing half a meter away from the furnace, I could feel the blistering heat radiating outward.

Perhaps I was sweating too much; even stopping to drink two bottles of water didn't help. My mouth remained parched and dry, yet my stomach felt bloated from all the liquid. It was a contradictory sensation—my mouth demanded immediate hydration, while my stomach protested any further intake.

After over an hour, the entire furnace had dried out, including the outer walls, which were now completely set. Since I stopped adding firewood, the temperature inside the stove began to drop noticeably—though that was only because the previous heat had been so extreme.

Sitting to the side to rest, I was pestered endlessly by swarms of insects, and a profound fatigue settled over me after all the rushing about. I decided to call it a day. It was already the dead of night, and dawn was only a few hours away. I needed to reset my biological clock as soon as possible, especially since they might come tomorrow.

With that thought, I glanced at the still-smoldering stove and headed back to the treehouse. Little Black and the others had long since drifted off to dreamland, and utterly exhausted, I lay down and fell fast asleep shortly afterward.