Chapter 10：Heritage Rekindled
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Beside the "Pinewave Kiln" sign hung a new plaque: "Pinewave · Rebirth."
The workshop hummed with life—wheels spinning, tools scraping, apprentices asking questions.
Christopher sat in a custom wheelchair beside the workbench. Though his hands were useless, his eyes remained razor-sharp. He watched an apprentice's throwing technique, making disapproving grunts.
The apprentice quickly adjusted his hands, visibly nervous.
"Easy, Dad." Charlotte approached smiling, tablet in hand showing a livestream with thousands of viewers. She wore practical work clothes, her blue-gray hair now in a stylish short cut, her eyes steady and confident.
"Hey everyone, meet the artistic director of Rebirth Studio—my father, Master Christopher Carter! He can't throw anymore, but his eye for perfection is legendary! This classical plum vase was thrown under his supervision. Check out these lines, this spirit—amazing, right?" She turned the camera toward the workbench.
Comments flooded the screen:
"That master stare is intense!"
"Old master's got serious presence!"
"Rebirth Studio rocks! Old craft, new life!"
Charlotte panned to a display of fresh tea sets—modern, minimalist designs with warm white matte glaze and golden caramel edges, inspired by their miraculous pieces. "This is our flagship 'Autumn Gold' collection. Contemporary design meets traditional soul. Dad personally approved every glaze formula and firing schedule. We never compromise on craftsmanship!"
Order notifications chimed continuously.
In the town square, Artisan Heritage's Experience Center maintained its glossy facade, but visitor numbers had dwindled. Their mass-produced "master-approved" pieces looked hollow and lifeless compared to the authentic transformed masterpieces.
Jones stood at his picture window, watching the constant flow of visitors and media at Pinewave Rebirth across the street, his face thunderous. He clutched a market report showing consumers had grown weary of commercialized "heritage" products and now craved authentic craftsmanship with genuine stories.
His assistant spoke cautiously: "Mr. Jones, about Harrison Howard's studio… he's rejected our partnership offer. He's… he's forming an alliance with Pinewave Rebirth instead…"
Jones crushed the report and hurled it to the floor.
He'd lost. Beaten by a freak kiln accident! Outmaneuvered by a stubborn old man and his headstrong daughter!
The setting sun stretched his shadow across the polished floor—long, twisted, like a defeated serpent.
Christopher's wheelchair rolled into the small courtyard.
Harrison arrived carrying a crock of homemade wine. The three gathered around a simple stone table.
Fresh tea steamed on the table, served in Autumn Gold cups—Charlotte's design, Christopher's oversight, fired in their reclaimed kiln. The warm white glaze glowed like jade in the sunset, golden rims catching the light.
Harrison poured clear tea into three cups, fragrance rising with the steam.
With painful slowness but fierce determination, Christopher lifted his cup with his left hand. His gaze moved from the revitalized workshop to his confident daughter, finally resting on Harrison's satisfied face.
His mouth formed a stiff but unmistakable smile—the smile of a victor.
No words needed.
Just the gentle clink of teacups.
Ding.
Like a bell's clear tone.
The first clear note of ancient craft reborn in a new age.
In the distance, Pinewave Rebirth's modern gas kiln released steady white smoke. Beside it stood the old wood kiln, silent in the sunset glow, its dark mouth seeming to whisper tales of resurrection while guarding the eternal spirit that had risen from its ashes.
