Chapter 1：Shattered Legacy
1378words
"…thousand-year-old kilns, keeping tradition's flame alive… everyone, look here at the famous 'Dragon Kiln' site…" The voice floated into the shadowy entrance of "Pinewave Kiln," muffled and distant as if filtered through thick frosted glass.
Inside the workshop existed another world entirely. Light reluctantly slanted through high windows, cutting yellow beams across dust-covered tools and clay forms. Fine porcelain dust hung suspended in the air, mingling with the scents of aged wooden shelves and damp earth.
Sixty-two-year-old Christopher Carter hunched over his potter's wheel like a stone statue bathed in shadow.
His weathered face remained taut, his hawk-like gaze locked onto the clay spinning between his palms. Despite their large knuckles, calluses, and tiny scars, his hands moved with remarkable dexterity and steadiness.
The clay rose obediently between his fingers, gradually taking the elegant shape of a plum vase. Each subtle press and pull of his fingertips followed an almost reverent rhythm.
Sweat trickled down his sunken temples, dripping onto his clay-spattered apron in dark splotches. Residual heat from the kiln still warmed the space that held half a lifetime of his dedication.
"Hey followers, check this out! This is my dad, a state-recognized master craftsman! Hand-thrown, wood-fired, absolutely incredible! See that throwing technique? What does the true craftsmanship look like? Well, here it is..."
A crisp, artificially excited female voice, accompanied by harsh phone lighting, shattered the workshop's frozen tranquility. The light beam cut like a knife into Christopher's focused world. The clay trembled on the wheel, the vase neck instantly warping out of shape.
Christopher's hands froze as if burned. He slowly raised his head, cloudy eyes squinting against the glare. After adjusting, he made out his daughter Charlotte silhouetted in the doorway. She wore ripped jeans and a black T-shirt with some oversized English slogan, her blue-gray hair pulled into a high ponytail with rebellious strands falling across her forehead. She held up a phone on a stand, comments flooding the screen. Her young face—so like her late mother Susan's—flushed with excitement.
Anger surged through Christopher, his temples throbbing. "Turn that off!" he rasped, his voice like sandpaper on wood, barely containing his rage. "Who said you could come in here? Get out!"
"Dad! I'm livestreaming! Everyone wants to see a master at work!" Charlotte ignored his anger and stepped closer, her camera greedily focusing on his mud-covered hands and the now-misshapen vase. "Drop some fire emojis for the master, guys! Oh, watch out for that piece behind you—"
She tried adjusting her angle to capture a large jar with intertwining lotus patterns sitting in the corner, freshly glazed and waiting for the kiln. It was Christopher's masterpiece—two weeks of painstaking work with jade-like glaze and flowing lines, his hope for achieving the perfect "sky-blue after rain" effect in the next firing. Charlotte's heel caught on a wooden board lying on the floor.
CRASH!
Time froze. The phone stand crashed to the floor, screen shattering into a spider web. Worse was the sharp crack of breaking porcelain—the precious jar toppled by the falling board, rolling off the bench and shattering on the debris-covered floor. Delicate fragments scattered like broken moonlight, the beautiful lotus patterns now twisted and broken in the dust.
Deathly silence filled the workshop. Only faint, awkward exclamations of "Holy shit!" and "Did she just wreck it?" leaked from the phone speaker.
All color drained from Christopher's face. He stared at the fragments, his body trembling uncontrollably as if his own bones had been shattered. After a long moment, he looked up, bloodshot eyes like poison daggers, slicing toward his daughter who stood frozen in shock.
"GET OUT!!" His roar—like a wounded beast—shook the workshop, sending dust raining from the ceiling beams.
"Get out! Never set foot in here again! What streaming nonsense! What fans! You know nothing! This is desecration! Blasphemy! Our heritage becomes a circus act in your hands, just for views?! Are you trying to ruin Pinewave Kiln even faster?!"
Charlotte stood stunned, her excitement replaced by deathly pallor. Looking at her shattered phone and the ceramic fragments, her lips trembled as resentment overwhelmed reason: "I'm desecrating it? I'm blaspheming? Dad! Open your eyes and look at the real world! Who still buys these overpriced pieces that take forever to make? Without streaming, without innovation, Pinewave Kiln will be nothing but a relic! You're just waiting to die, sitting here with your pile of mud, waiting to die!"
"I'd rather die than watch you desecrate it!" Christopher trembled with rage, grabbing a freshly dried piece beside him, ready to hurl it.
"Christopher! Charlotte! Enough! What's going on here?" A steady voice cut through the tension. Harrison pushed aside the heavy dust curtain and strode in, wearing clean indigo work clothes, his normally warm face now creased with concern. With quick reflexes, he caught Christopher's raised arm and took the greenware. "She's young, Christopher. Don't waste your anger on her. Your hands are your livelihood!" He turned to Charlotte, his tone hardening, "Charlotte! Clean this up now and apologize to your father!"
Charlotte bit her lip and turned away stubbornly. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She bent to pick up her broken phone, her fingers brushing the cold ceramic fragments, each touch piercing her heart.
Outside, the commotion drew closer. A middle-aged man in a perfectly tailored gray suit and gold-rimmed glasses stood at the weathered door of Pinewave Kiln, surrounded by assistants, watching the family drama with interest. Jeremy Jones wore a faint smile, his hawk-like gaze behind those spectacles sweeping over the workshop's suppressed anger, the shattered ceramics, outdated equipment, and the disheveled yet spirited young woman.
When Charlotte rushed out with reddened eyes and broken equipment, she nearly collided with Jeremy, who smoothly sidestepped and instantly switched to a warm, professional smile.
"Miss Carter? A pleasure." Jeremy's voice was smooth and pleasant, a stark contrast to the tension inside. He produced an elegant gold-trimmed business card with practiced ease. "Jeremy Jones, Artisan Heritage Group. What I just witnessed was… fascinating. Your father's skill is remarkable, and your innovative spirit is exactly what this industry needs. Tradition and innovation can coexist beautifully. Perhaps we could discuss potential collaboration? My company has the resources and platform to showcase both your father's mastery and your fresh approach. We need visionaries like you and treasures like your father."
His words were honeyed hooks cast perfectly toward the confused and hurt Charlotte. She unconsciously accepted the heavy card, feeling its cold metallic texture against her fingertips.
"Cooperation? With whom exactly?!" A thunderous roar erupted from the workshop. Christopher stood in the doorway, face ashen with fury, chest heaving.
He glared at Jeremy as if staring at something foul. "Jones! Drop the act! Even if Pinewave crumbles to dust, it'll never be yours to meddle with! Get out!"
Before anyone could react, Christopher lunged forward and snatched the card from Charlotte's hand. With a crisp rip-rip-rip, he tore it to pieces in his calloused hands and flung the fragments into the air. They fluttered down like snowflakes onto Jeremy's polished shoes.
Jeremy's smile froze, his eyes turning ice-cold behind his glasses, though the look vanished instantly. He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, his smile deepening without reaching his eyes.
"Master Carter, such temper. Even failed business doesn't warrant incivility." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that only the Carters could hear, "But passion alone won't keep your kiln burning. Times have changed. How much longer can Pinewave survive? We'll… wait and see."
Without another glance at Christopher's burning eyes, he gave Charlotte a meaningful nod, then turned and melted into the street crowd with his entourage, as if nothing had happened.
Charlotte stared at the shredded card, then at her father's contorted face, and finally at Jeremy's retreating figure. A complex emotion she'd never felt before weighed on her chest until she could barely breathe. Inside the workshop, only Christopher's heavy breathing remained, alongside the irreparable shattered porcelain gleaming coldly in the dim light.
