dhibooks Chapter 145 145
Chapter 145 145
The kiln walls, licked by the flames, slowly changed color—from dark red to deep gray, then to a pale, whitish gray. The flames swirled within the kiln's interior, the heat distorting the air above the opening, making the brickwork of the courtyard wall appear to dance through the distorted air. She squatted before the kiln, watching the fire, occasionally adding a piece of firewood and adjusting its position with tongs to ensure the flames evenly burned every part of the inner wall. After the kiln fire had burned for over an hour, she began to anneal it—she used a long stick to remove the embers from the kiln, the burnt charcoal rolling onto the ground in front of the base, the dark red lumps flickering in the twilight. The inner walls of the kiln's interior were glowing slightly red, and the heat escaping from the opening made the stray hairs on her forehead curl up.
As night fell, it was time to put the first batch of bread into the kiln. Su Peixue brought out the fermented dough from the kitchen. She had kneaded the dough that morning, placed it in a coarse earthenware basin covered with a damp cloth, and let it ferment all day. Now it had doubled in size, its surface round and plump. If you pressed it lightly with your finger, you could feel countless tiny air bubbles supporting the gluten structure inside. She placed the dough on a wooden spatula, lightly sprinkling a thin layer of flour on its surface with her fingers. The flour dripped through her fingers, creating a very thin white layer on the surface of the dough. She held the wooden spatula to the kiln opening, aimed the spatula at the opening, and gently released it—the dough slid from the wooden spatula into the kiln, landing on the refractory bricks with a soft sound.
She picked up the old plank and covered the kiln opening. The plank slammed shut with a muffled thud. She sat on a stone beside the kiln, her hands on her knees, occasionally glancing up at the white steam rising from the cracks in the kiln opening. Night had completely fallen; only the chirping of insects and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance filled the courtyard. After about ten minutes, she moved the plank away—a wave of heat surged from the kiln opening, mingled with the aroma of caramelized bread. A wooden shovel made a soft shoveling sound as it touched the bread inside the kiln. She took the bread out, placed it on the shovel, and brought it to her eyes. The bread was golden brown, with a thin, crisp crust that gleamed matte in the moonlight. She broke it open with her hands—the crust cracked crisply, revealing a fluffy, snow-white interior, and a puff of white steam rose from the broken surface.
She placed the bread on a rough earthenware plate and went back to the kitchen to get a jar of honey. She lifted the lid of the jar and scooped in a spoonful of honey—the honey dripped from the rim, pouring onto the bread, slowly sliding down the golden-brown crust, and seeping into the snow-white interior. She broke off a piece of bread and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly. The bread was crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and the honey was sweet with a unique astringency characteristic of wild mountain honey. She sat on a stone beside the kiln, the kiln still radiating warmth behind her, and a sky full of stars above.
The screen dims. Subtitles appear on the black screen: "From a pile of earth to a kiln." Three seconds later, another line of text appears: "With fire inside, the courtyard has a heartbeat."
On a summer morning, the pond is covered with lotus leaves, one after another, spreading across the entire surface of the water like countless open green umbrellas densely packed together. Dewdrops roll on the leaves, shining in the morning light like rolling glass beads. Some dewdrops slide along the curve of the lotus leaves to the center, forming a small puddle. The lotus leaf tilts slightly, and the puddle of water flows down from the tip, landing on another lotus leaf below with a very soft pattering sound.