The preparations for the kiln-opening ritual were proceeding in an orderly fashion, regardless of what anyone thought. This was much like ancestral worship during the New Year; would anyone mock that?

Time, as it always does when one is busy, flew by quickly. Two days later, the moment arrived for the official firing of the porcelain.

The day dawned bright and clear, the autumn air crisp—perfect weather for firing a kiln. As the old ceramic saying goes: “Seven deaths, eight struggles, nine turnarounds.” This meant that after the seventh and eighth months, it was the peak season for ceramics, a time when temperatures were exceedingly stable, leading to a high success rate for the fired ware.

At this moment, before a kiln in Yaoli, Gao Dequan himself was presiding over a sacrificial ceremony. In the old terminology, this was warming the kiln spirit, paying homage to the Immortal of Wind and Fire. However, China is vast, with many places capable of firing ceramics, so the local kiln gods varied greatly. In the Porcelain Capital, however, the acknowledged kiln god was a man named Tong Bin.

Legend had it that during the Wanli era, an imperial eunuch ordered the firing of large blue-and-white dragon jars. Because the jars remained unfired for so long, the eunuch subjected the ceramic workers to beatings and even murder. Tong Bin, a kiln worker, filled with righteous indignation, resolutely threw himself into the kiln fire to protest, saving his fellow craftsmen.

Tong Bin’s death ignited the fury of the other workers. To quell the potential uprising and soothe public sentiment, the court constructed the Shrine of Protection for Ceramics (You Tao Ling Ci) just east of the Imperial Kiln Factory, erecting a shrine for Tong Bin and worshipping him as the Immortal of Wind and Fire. From then on, the Porcelain Capital venerated Tong Bin as their kiln god. This ritual had been passed down for hundreds of years; even though it was interrupted for a time after the founding of the People's Republic, it had now been fully reinstated.

Of course, the worship ceremony was not overly simple, yet it wasn't as cumbersome as one might imagine. Wang Guan actually felt that the ritual seemed less about appeasing a deity and more like a large appreciation gathering for the kiln workers.

For instance, during the warming of the kiln spirit that morning, a banner painted with wings—the Flag of the Flying Tiger, borrowed from the Temple of Wind and Fire—was planted on either side of the main gate. Next, the words “Immortal Master of Wind and Fire” were written on yellow paper and pasted above the lintel of the kiln entrance, accompanied by a couplet praising the synergy: “Wind aids the fire’s might, fire borrows the wind’s authority.” Following this, the spiritual tablet of the kiln god was brought before the kiln door, and a group was hired to beat gongs and drums, creating a lively scene.

Essentially, the entire morning was consumed by these tasks. After noon, the employees participating in the firing were invited over for drinks. Everyone drank heartily, the atmosphere convivial, and the feast only concluded in the afternoon.

Thinking back, in ancient times, this banquet must have been the happiest occasion for the kiln workers, serving as an indirect reward from the proprietor. After all, if the workers had painstakingly produced the porcelain, the owner naturally needed to show appreciation. This was done to prevent the workers from slacking off during the final firing process, which could lead to the disastrous loss of the entire batch—a truly heartbreaking outcome.

Naturally, such laxity would never occur around Gao Dequan. He was an experienced master of porcelain firing, and even if he didn't personally handle every step during the firing, he knew the precise status of every stage in his mind. To even consider working half-heartedly in front of him was tantamount to quitting on the spot.

As the banquet concluded and Gao Dequan led everyone in offering incense and bowing to the kiln god, the next step—the most crucial one—was the ignition ceremony. Lighting the kiln fire meant that there could be no interruption until the firing concluded. Otherwise, the efforts of half a year would be completely wasted.

Thus, as he ignited the kindling, Gao Dequan’s hand trembled slightly, but he managed to light the firewood nonetheless.

Soon, through the kiln aperture, one could see the roaring blaze. Golden flames surged upward, emitting rolling waves of heat that deterred anyone from approaching too closely. This was because the fuel being used was the finest quality pine wood, naturally resulting in a more violent blaze. However, the cost was certainly high; the wood alone cost tens of thousands.

The money itself was not the issue; the problem was that very few kilns today used wood for firing porcelain. With the development of the times, kiln operations had diversified into several categories: wood-fired kilns, coal kilns, gas kilns, and electric kilns.

The wood-fired kiln needs no further explanation, as it burns wood. The coal kiln naturally uses coal as fuel. As for gas kilns, the "gas" refers not to air, but to liquefied petroleum gas (LPG); electric kilns utilize electrical energy for baking.

Although, comparatively speaking, the wood-fired kiln presents the greatest firing difficulty. This is because gas and electric kilns allow for the precise control of temperature by human hands. Wood kilns are different; especially for the master watching the fire, decades of firing experience are essential.

Yet, Gao Dequan chose to use wood for his firing, and he naturally had his reasons.

“Pine wood fuel offers significant benefits for ceramics,” Gao Dequan explained. “Pine is rich in resin, and the resin volatilized during combustion has a moisturizing effect on the ceramic.”

“Furthermore, no matter how fierce the pine fire burns, it certainly cannot match the intensity of LPG or electricity. When firing with pine wood, the fuel must be added slowly to allow the temperature to rise gradually. It is this slow process that allows the porcelain inside the kiln to change incrementally, ensuring the water vapor within the chamber fully integrates with the glaze components. The glaze surface naturally becomes richer.”

At this point, Gao Dequan offered a simple analogy: “It’s like brewing a cup of coffee. Coal, gas, and electric kilns are like instant coffee—just add hot water, and it’s done. But a wood-fired kiln is like grinding the coffee beans and then carefully brewing the coffee. The aroma will certainly be richer, and the taste naturally much more perfect.”

“Uncle De, you don’t need to explain all this to us,” Yu Feibai stated bluntly. “We wouldn’t understand anyway.”

“Then you need to listen even more carefully,” Gao Dequan chuckled. “Because many counterfeit ceramics today are fired directly in electric kilns, resulting in a glaze surface that appears dry and dull. If you observe closely, you can distinguish them.”

“That makes sense.”

Yu Feibai nodded, carefully committing the information to memory. After all, ancient kilns certainly didn't have gas or electric options; they were entirely fired by pine wood, meaning there would inherently be a difference from modern porcelain.

In some appraisal shows, experts always emphasize that the glaze of counterfeit porcelain is dry and dull, hence why it isn't genuine. Many people never grasped what this meant. What they were referring to was precisely the difference between wood-fired and electric-fired ceramics.

After detailing a few other taboos concerning porcelain firing, the rest of the process became rather tedious. Adding wood and stoking the fire was inherently a monotonous task, so Gao Dequan didn't insist that the two young men stay to keep him company.

“You two can head back now,” Gao Dequan said with a smile. “I’ll call you when it’s done and time to open the kiln and retrieve the pieces.”

“Alright.”

Yu Feibai was not one to stand on ceremony and simply nodded. “We’ll come back to check on you tomorrow.”

Generally, the entire firing process took twenty-four hours, plus cooling time, likely totaling two days. During this firing period, Gao Dequan would certainly not leave the kiln unattended, constantly monitoring the fire through the viewing port. Therefore, before the porcelain was removed, he would be anxious beyond measure.

Wang Guan and Yu Feibai could do nothing about his state. They arranged for an employee to look after him and then departed.

The next morning, the two arrived carrying nourishing chicken soup. As expected, they found Gao Dequan pacing near the kiln. Seeing his bloodshot eyes, they couldn't tell if it was from smoke or from an entire night without sleep.

“Uncle De, come eat something.” Wang Guan called out. He had brought not only chicken soup but also two large boxes of breakfast: steamed buns, flatbreads, fried dough sticks, as well as meat congee and noodle soup—enough to fill all the kiln workers.

Seeing this, the workers were naturally delighted. After many thanks, they grabbed bowls and chopsticks and began eating ravenously.

Gao Dequan hadn't reached the point of neglecting food and sleep entirely. Sensing the kiln fire was stable, he smiled and called over a few of the master stokers. They all enjoyed the breakfast heartily, restoring some of their energy.

The truth was, everyone had stayed up all night. If they were firing ordinary porcelain, they wouldn't have been this vigilant. The issue was that what they were firing was not simple; no one dared to be careless. It wasn't just Gao Dequan; the other master stokers—experts specially hired by the Su Group—also hadn't dared to sleep, constantly monitoring the kiln fire.

Fortunately, it was only twenty-four hours; they could power through with gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine,” Gao Dequan said cheerfully. “It’s just one night of staying up. We can extinguish the fire by afternoon, and after a good night’s sleep tomorrow, we’ll be fresh and ready to open the kiln.”

Gao Dequan had the schedule mapped out, leaving Wang Guan and Yu Feibai with nothing to say. They peered into the viewing port for show, but since they couldn't discern anything, they quickly grew bored.

“If you’re bored, go check out the nearby villages,” Gao Dequan suggested with a smile. “There’s a lot of porcelain in Yaoli. Take a walk around; see if you can pick up some good pieces.”

“No problem,” Yu Feibai rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Just wait to see me show off my skills.”

Gao Dequan admired Yu Feibai’s confidence. After all, self-assurance is the prerequisite for anything; if one starts thinking about failure, success will always have limits.

Of course, confidence is good, but success depends not only on genuine skill but also on luck. Yu Feibai had confidence and skill, but whether his luck was on his side remained to be seen.

“My luck is excellent, it’s just been suppressed because of you, making it bad,” Yu Feibai complained at that moment, offering his suggestion: “So, to prevent this from happening, we should split up. You go left, I’ll go right, and we’ll meet up after we’ve bought our treasures.”

Wang Guan was unconcerned and just smiled. “You want to compete again?”

“No more competition; the more we compete, the more discouraged I get,” Yu Feibai flatly refused, then quickly left, intending to hunt down a few exquisite pieces to salvage some dignity.

Wang Guan shook his head with a faint smile at this, then ambled off in the opposite direction. After walking a short distance, he was astonished to find a group of people swinging hoes and digging vigorously in a patch of open ground.

Perhaps some would think Wang Guan was making a fuss; isn't digging in the countryside normal agricultural labor? However, Wang Guan wasn't witnessing farmers tilling the soil, but rather a crowd digging pits to collect ceramic shards.

“What is going on here?”

Wang Guan was genuinely perplexed. “Is this grave robbing in broad daylight?”