I am a Primitive Man-Chapter 925: Birdman Shi Tou

Looking at the fifteen neatly arranged white pottery pieces in front of him, Heiwa felt nothing but disappointment.

After inspection, all fifteen items—bowls, basins, jars, cups—made from kaolin were defective; they were all simply white pottery.

Compared to his previous attempts, he had fired them for an entire extra day, yet the result was just as disappointing as always.

Even with the additional firing time, these pieces showed no significant improvement over the previous batch of white pottery.

Shaman, standing nearby, saw Heiwa’s expression and came over, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t be discouraged. Our tribe doesn’t mind using pottery. There’s plenty of time; you can keep trying,” Shaman said with a smile.

Since the passing of Huo Yi and Huo Er, Shaman had naturally become the oldest member of the tribe.

Although Heiwa had grown up and even had several children, in Shaman’s eyes, he was still just a young man.

Hearing Shaman’s words, Heiwa smiled and nodded.

His disappointment came only from seeing these kaolin pieces turned into pottery again.

This kind of disappointment never lasted long; he would soon gather his energy and try again.

Over the years, he may have lacked in other areas, but perseverance was never one of them.

Without this persistence, he would not have achieved what he has today.

Seeing Heiwa’s response, Shaman nodded in satisfaction, as if thinking, “This youth is teachable; I am pleased.”

After opening the kiln, most of the Green Sparrow tribe members who had witnessed the results dispersed.

They had other tasks to do and couldn’t stay long.

Though there were no crops to tend this season, other work was plentiful: collecting firewood for winter, spreading accumulated manure on the fields, and clearing and plowing land for spring planting.

Farming life was like this; whether busy or idle, there was always work to be done.

The women of the tribe were also occupied: some processed grain, some pounded millet by the river, and others made fine twine from peeled and washed hemp for future weaving.

In the sheltered area by the wall, straw mats woven from millet stalks were laid out, with cured skins, hemp cloth, and tools such as needles, knives, bronze thimbles, and awls placed on top.

Skilled women worked together, sewing clothes, hats, and socks in preparation for the coming cold weather.

Nearby were small portable cradles holding infants.

Some infants slept peacefully, their soft breathing moving their heads gently up and down; others had wide dark eyes, sucking on their fingers as they played.

The female tribeswoman Yu, originally from the One-Eye Tribe and now part of the Green Sparrow Tribe, was among them, sewing clothes and hats.

Though strong-bodied like Zhuang or Hua, Yu had dexterous hands.

Though she hadn’t been part of the Green Sparrow Tribe long, she already handled the tasks well.

Near Yu was a small cradle holding the infant she had once risked her life to protect, refusing to let go.

“Waaah~”

The little girl awoke, her dark eyes blinking as she played briefly. Not seeing her mother, she shut her eyes, opened her toothless mouth, and began crying loudly, kicking her little legs.

Her cries roused other infants, filling the area with noise.

Yu set aside her awl and soft hides, picked up the crying child, and, skillfully lifting her clothing, began to nurse her.

Other women working nearby followed suit, attending to their own infants.

Yu smiled as she watched her little girl greedily feeding.

Compared to before, the child had grown significantly and filled out; her growth was impressive, almost like swollen soybeans.

While feeding her, Yu looked around, taking in her surroundings, and her smile grew wider.

This quiet, comfortable, and abundant life was beyond anything she had imagined.

She didn’t need to think much; she knew she truly loved this life.

Cradling her child, Yu reflected on her fortune—had it not been for that accident, she would never have encountered this tribe or lived this life.

After feeding, she returned the child to the cradle and resumed her unfinished tasks.

The well-fed infant was obedient, lying quietly and playing with her own fingers.

Yu occasionally looked up from her sewing to glance at the child, her smile never fading.

She cherished this life above all; if anyone threatened it or the Green Sparrow Tribe, she would defend it fiercely, willing to pierce an attacker with her pendant without hesitation.

On this early winter afternoon, without snow, the sunlight shone warmly, casting a serene, captivating glow.

Of course, Heiwa, squatting by the kiln with his head in his hands, didn’t feel this tranquility.

His mind was occupied with one question: how to fire kaolin into the porcelain that the Divine Child had described.

Previous experiments showed that simply prolonging the firing time didn’t work; it still produced pottery rather than the porcelain the Divine Child mentioned.

In other words, this method didn’t raise the kiln’s temperature enough.

The Divine Child had explained that if the kiln’s temperature was insufficient, only white pottery could be made, not white porcelain.

He had mentioned methods to increase kiln temperature, but not in precise detail.

One method was to change the kiln fuel: use a material with better combustion than wood or charcoal that could release more heat.

The Divine Child described this as a type of black stone that could burn.

However, Heiwa’s tribe didn’t have this miraculous black stone.

Even after informing everyone to watch for it, no one had found any.

Aside from this stone, the remaining problem was how to make the kiln fuel burn more fully to release more heat.

The Divine Child had also given an example using the “wind gurgle”: blowing air into the furnace helped fuel burn more completely.

When building the kiln, leaving holes under the fire also allowed wood to burn more fully.

Heiwa asked why airflow made the fire burn more fiercely; the Divine Child’s explanation was complex and challenging to understand.

“Air is composed of different gases, one of which is oxygen, which supports combustion. So blowing air into the furnace makes the flames burn stronger. Wind is moving air…”

Heiwa recalled the Divine Child’s enigmatic words.

Recently, he had followed the Divine Child’s advice, constructing a larger “wind gurgle” to blow more air into the furnace, making the fire burn more intensely.

Yet the resulting pieces were still white pottery.

Heiwa trusted the Divine Child completely; he knew the method wasn’t wrong—it was just that the airflow was still insufficient, wood burned incompletely, and the kiln temperature was too low.

Make an even bigger wind gurgle?

The thought crossed his mind but was quickly dismissed.

The current wind gurgle was already large and complex to operate; bigger would be impractical.

After much thought, Heiwa scratched his head in frustration.

Finally, he began dismantling the kiln, rearranging it, and rebuilding it.

Using his years of experience, he carefully shaped the kiln for optimal firing.

Without access to the “coal” stone fuel or a better wind gurgle, Heiwa could only focus on perfecting the kiln structure.

By dusk, he had rebuilt the kiln on its original site.

The materials were refractory bricks made from quartz and other substances, as described by the Divine Child.

After completing the kiln, Heiwa eagerly loaded it with wood and lit the fire.

Observing the burning wood, he removed some pieces, added clay in certain spots, removed it from others, and repeated the process to monitor combustion.

After several iterations, he finally felt satisfied.

He added more wood, letting it burn while he and some assistants returned to the tribe.

The next morning, Heiwa and several potters placed the previously prepared kaolin pieces into the newly built kiln.

Thanks to the fire and baking from the previous day, the kiln was dry and ready.

They sealed the kiln, lit it, and added high-quality charcoal.

The large wind gurgle was set in motion, blowing strong air into the kiln.

The flames leapt higher than before, giving Heiwa renewed hope that this firing might finally produce something different—perhaps the porcelain he desired.

Meanwhile, Shi Tou, the next-in-line Shaman of the tribe, kept busy.

That morning, he had taught fifth and sixth-grade language classes, marking student work in red ink during free moments.

After lunch and a brief nap, Shi Tou put on his coat, grabbed his notebook and charcoal pencil, and went out.

As a high-ranking member of the Green Sparrow Tribe and future Shaman, he also possessed a feathered coat, newly popular in the tribe thanks to Mei.

But Shi Tou wore it differently from others: he turned it inside out so the feathers faced outward, even though it wasn’t as warm—it made him look enveloped entirely in feathers, like a true birdman.

He didn’t care; in this outfit, he fancied he could fly like a bird, even if he knew it was impossible.

Strutting out of the tribe in his flashy attire, he followed the main road east, then veered onto a field path toward the downstream of the small river.

He soon arrived near the retting pond, which had already been emptied of hemp, the water carried to the fields as fertilizer.

Piles of stripped hemp stalks lay nearby, waiting to be collected as firewood.

Shi Tou placed his notebook and charcoal pencil on the grass, picked up a hooked stick, and probed into the water…