The Porcelain Village

"My clay hands are transforming into solid porcelain. I've always had the hands of a potter, shaped by the craft. The constant contact with wet clay dries and roughens my skin, and the clay paste leaves it red and cracked.

But now, my hands are undergoing a change. During the bisque firing, they harden like porous greenware. The cremated carbon and sulfur escape, slowly drawing my soul back to its source, seeping out through the minerals embedded in the ridges of my fingers. My palms turn into stone, and the flesh fuses together. In the glaze firing, they glow red as the enamel stiffens, rendering my fingers rigid and reflective. The silicate transforms into glass, turning dust into crystal, much like a baby's flesh crystalizes into the windows of their eyes. I am reborn in the kiln's womb. I become a porcelain village.

Recently, I received an order for six ornate hand-painted vases, enough to cover Dandan's first semester at Columbia University. However, I'm unsure if I can fulfill the order. Despite my struggle to adapt to these new porcelain hands, I keep my concerns to myself, fearing that future orders might dry up. Dandan's dreams of studying in the United States rely on the money I earn. So, I search for strength and answers, fearing that Tai Yi Shen, the great spirit, might be reclaiming my breath from this jar of clay.

January mornings in Ciqikou, near Chongqing, China, are misty and cold. My hands ache from the river's cold and wetness as I dig clay from the banks of the Jia Ling River. Back in my workshop, I mix various minerals into the clay, including kaolin, silica, and feldspars. I then wedge the clay on a wooden table, eliminating any air pockets. Failing to do so would result in the clay warping and cracking in the kiln. The clay is then shaped into finished goods and prepared for firing, either on a wheel for pottery or in molds for more complex forms.

Today, as I mold clay into traditional teacups using delicate molds, Dandan brings me a cup of Jasmine tea. Its scent evokes the meadows of the Shikengong Mountain, with a sweet taste reminiscent of molasses and a hint of bitterness followed by a bubble gum-like aftertaste.

If I am a simple rice bowl, Dandan is a hand-painted dining set. My given name is Jing Yuchi, but everyone calls me Jane.

Ciqikou, also known as Longyin Town, is an ancient place that means Porcelain Village. Legend has it that it's the birthplace of porcelain. The stone streets are lined with ancestral teahouses, pagodas, street food vendors, and antique shops adorned with hanging red lanterns. The Bao Lun Temple stands tall, and Dandan eagerly anticipates the upcoming Lantern Festival, her last before her journey.

"Ama, we need to prepare for the lantern festival," Dandan insists.

"Bao bei, I have a significant order to fulfill first," I respond.

"Pfoof, forget about your orders, ama. I'm making the tangyuan. I've already bought everything: brown sugar, sesame seeds, walnuts, bean paste, and lots of rice," she insists.

"You go ahead and start without me, niu niu. I need to visit Dr. Looey Zhou about the pain in my hands," I say.

"The market is beautiful at this time of year. I'll miss all the red lanterns. Do you know why we hang them?" Dandan asks, wanting to share the story once more.

"No, bao bei, please enlighten me," I humor her.

She proceeds, "The Jade Emperor sensed an uprising when his favorite crane was killed by his villagers. He planned to destroy the old village on the fifteenth day of the lunar year, the night of the new moon, yuan xiao jie. But his daughter overheard his plan. The princess was in love with a poor fisherman's boy in the village. Knowing what was going to happen, she warned the villagers to put up red lanterns all over town. Then she tricked her father, telling him that the gods had already burned the village. So every year, we use red lanterns to symbolize the mercy of a young girl who thwarted a tyrannical lord's curse and to pray for yuan yue—a fortunate new beginning."

"You will have your own bright new beginnings soon enough. Now go and finish making the tangyuan," I tell her.

Dandan insists, "Ama, you've had pain in your hands your entire life. Come help me with the rice balls."

"Later, bao bei, later," I say.

Dr. Zhou, a stout man with a lustrous mane of black hair and bright eyes, greets me. He examines my hands, massaging them gently, and notes the weakness in my energy.

"When I'm working with clay, I can't feel where my hand ends and the clay begins. Sometimes I look down, and my hands are off the wheel," I explain.

"Your yin or po can be separated from your spirit. You know the story of Bayou—"

"Zhao-hun, the calling back of the soul. But I have no delirium. There are no devils hiding in my closets," I clarify.

"Maybe, no devils. But Dandan is your heart. She is going to New York soon. Your essence is as cold as marrow, and your yang is unstable. Like cures like. You must steal a heart to replace the lost one, or you will lose all feeling, and body and spirit will be parted forever," Dr. Zhou advises.

"You want me to take a lover at sixty-seven?" I inquire, puzzled.

"Take a lover, adopt a stray dog, whatever it takes to bring feeling back in balance. One more thing, get yourself some warm clothes. There will be snow for the yuan xiao jie—all week there have been clouds over the moon," he warns.

I ponder how an old lady like me can steal a heart. I consider various strategies and tactics, including using food or visual allure. But whose heart can I steal, and where do I even begin searching?

The mail arrives with the check for the six vases just in time. I plan to deposit it and get a traveler's check for the gift.

I place the bisque ware on a cookie and start the process of applying the initial glaze coloring. These large white gourd vases are painted with three layers of blue glaze, featuring intricate designs and birds. Soon, I'll finish them, along with a special porcelain chest.

I visit my friend Sisi, who works at the candy shop. We discuss my predicament, and she shares an old folk story about a farmer and luck. The story makes me think about my situation and the importance of letting go.

At the Lantern Festival, Dandan shares a riddle with me. As we release our lanterns, I contemplate the answer to her riddle and hold her close.

Later, I reveal a porcelain chest as a gift for Dandan. She's touched by the gesture, and I give her a key to the store and a locket to create new memories. As we release our lanterns, I feel a tingle.