Chapter 1: Awakening the Clay-and-Fire Origin

The wind in the Cold Palace carried a rotting, moldy stench, like wet cotton stuffing stuck to her nose and mouth. Every breath pulled a chill straight through her lungs. Shen Tan opened her eyes. Above her, the ornate ceiling was cracked and peeling. The gilded coiled dragons that once blazed with glory were now just layers of flaking gray crust, resembling the ribs of some massive, dead skeleton.

Water dripped from the beams, splattering onto the blue bricks below with a dull thud. Once. Twice. It hammered against her nerves like a countdown.

Her body was so cold it had gone rigid, curled up in the corner. The thin, old robe on her back had long stopped blocking the wind. Her consciousness, however, was terrifyingly clear, tinged with a sense of detachment that didn't belong to this world. As a former expert in archaeological ceramics, facing this unknown survival environment, her instincts kicked in to observe every detail around her.

Her fingertip casually brushed against a loose brick under her feet. The rough grit pressed into her skin, and immediately, that strange, exotic warmth drilled through her finger into her brain.

It wasn't an illusion, nor some mystical divine power. It was data.

Three meters underground, there was residual kiln heat. The density was high; the structure was intact. Shen Tan's pupils contracted. The ability of Clay Form Bone Fire activated within her, and a precise cross-sectional diagram flashed through her mind: beneath the bricks, a network of intersecting pipes connected to a massive domed space. It was the remains of the Great Zhou’s secret imperial kiln.

The forbidden zone from the late Emperor’s reign, specifically designated for firing Sky-Blue Glaze, had been abandoned and sealed beneath this Cold Palace. The dust of history had solidified here for a century, yet the last embers had not gone out.

Footsteps approached from afar, accompanied by the slapping sound of sandals dragging against stone, breaking the deathly silence. Zhao De entered with two young eunuchs, carrying empty cloth sacks. His face, stacked with layers of fat, wore a hypocritical smile that looked especially greasy under the dim light. He glanced at Shen Tan, crouched in the corner, and a flash of contempt crossed his eyes, as if looking at a stray dog waiting to die or livestock ready for the slaughter.

Zhao De tossed a sack onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Your monthly allowance, my lady, should be handed over. Orders from above: no silver means the doors of this Cold Palace stay locked. Starving to death would be your well-earned fate." He stepped forward, reaching for the only old copper button left on Shen Tan’s robe. His movements were rough, his fingernails scratching the fabric, showing zero respect for a former Crown Princess. There was only the petty satisfaction of a lowly servant bullying someone higher up.

Shen Tan didn’t move. Her gaze landed calmly on the lump of silver in Zhao De’s hand, which had been snapped in half to show the interior. A cold sneer curled in her heart. The quality was abysmal; it was alloyed with copper, the cross-section gleaming a dull, dark yellow. It was worth less than thirty percent of market price. Zhao De wanted to use this crappy silver to bully her into handing over her personal jewelry, then buy it at a lowball price, and finally sell it on the black market to line his own pockets.

She had seen this kind of low-level servant shenanigan too many times in her previous life at scenes of illicit cultural relic trades. It was so clumsy it was funny—a pathetic imitation of the word "greed."

Seeing Shen Tan stay silent, Zhao De’s smile froze, then twisted into a snarl. Spit flew, nearly hitting her face. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur filled with killing intent: "Shen Tan, do you think you're still that high-and-mighty Crown Princess? Now you’re a stray dog with no power. If you dare resist again, I’ll drag you to the back hill to feed the wild dogs. Not a single bone will be left."

Shen Tan slowly stood up. Her knees gave a faint crack. She didn’t look at Zhao De; instead, she deliberately moved toward a hidden gap in the blue bricks near the wall. She pretended her legs gave out and she stumbled, leaning forward so her fingertips seemingly accidentally brushed against the brick crack.

In reality, her senses were fully on. The moment her fingertips touched, a faint vibration passed through the cold brick below—the airflow of the underground kiln pipes, low and long, like the roar of a dragon.

In her mind, the structural diagram of the kiln appeared again, as clear as if she were seeing it with her own eyes. Shen Tan’s heart settled. This was no ordinary ruin; it was a forbidden zone personally sealed by the late Emperor. Records of failed Sky-Blue Glaze firings and legends of imperial secret seals all confirmed her judgment.

She rose slowly, brushing the dust from her hand. Her expression was terrifyingly calm, as if it had just been an insignificant movement.

Shen Tan pointed at the blue bricks behind Zhao De, her voice cold and clear. "Zhao Gonggong, the spot you’re standing on presses down on the forbidden formula for firing Sky-Blue Glaze. There are traces of imperial secret fire beneath the bricks. Touching them is a capital offense. Can you afford that?" Her eyes held no anger, only the coldness of looking at a dead object. It was as if she weren’t pointing at the bricks, but at Zhao De’s short, thick neck.

Zhao De’s face changed color instantly. He unconsciously stepped back half a step, his foot slipping and knocking over a nearby water bucket. The splashing water soaked his expensive pant cuffs, making him jump. He frantically wiped his face, his voice trembling. His earlier arrogance was largely extinguished by fear. "You... you’re lying! This Cold Palace has been abandoned for a hundred years. Where are any imperial treasures? It’s just broken bricks and tiles. Don’t scare people with such nonsense!"

Shen Tan ignored his rambling, speaking instead with the certainty of an expert. "When the late Emperor fired Sky-Blue Glaze, the kiln temperature had to be controlled at 1,300 degrees. When the glaze achieved the 'plum green' hue, pine resin had to be added to boost the fire. The shards from that batch are buried under the third brick. The glaze leaned blue because the wood was damp. If you dare dig, tomorrow the Censorate will post a notice, issuing a warrant for you for stealing imperial secret artifacts."

Zhao De was shaken by these professional details. He had never touched ceramics, let alone understood Kiln Transformation, but the certainty in Shen Tan’s voice made his heart race. Cold sweat trickled down his temples. He looked around and noticed Bai Zhi standing by the door, having arrived there at some point. The old woman was hunched over, holding a broom. Her eyes were cloudy, yet pierced with a cold, untouchable aura, like a lurking old cat.

Bai Zhi barked quietly. "Zhao De, this is a place guarded by secret forces. How dare you insult the abandoned princess?" Her voice was raspy but carried the unique authority of former dynasty secret guards, each word sharp as a blade. Weighing his options, Zhao De realized he couldn’t afford to mess with this seemingly ordinary old palace woman. He hissed through gritted teeth, "Fine. Very fine! In three days, I’ll come back to see if you can still stand tall!"

Zhao De and his men slunk away, the door slamming shut with a thud that shook the dust off the frame. The Cold Palace fell back into dead silence, save for the dripping water, still tapping against the bluestone, crisp and cruel. Shen Tan sat where she was, her fingertip touching the ground again, sensing the outline of the underground kiln mouth.

She had to find a way to restart the kiln within three days, using her cheat ability to fire ceramics shocking enough to shake the court and regain her voice.

Suddenly, her fingertip felt an unusual protrusion. On the deepest rock wall of the kiln, a complex symbol was carved—the secret sigil exclusive to the Zhou imperial house. Shen Tan’s pupils trembled. This meant that underground, there was not just the forbidden formula, but also shocking secrets concerning the imperial bloodline and the duration of the dynasty’s rule. The crisis was far deeper than she imagined, and this game had only just begun.

The sigil grew warm beneath her finger, as if a bloodline sleeping for a thousand years was awakening. Shen Tan quickly pulled her hand back, determination flashing in her eyes. Zhao De’s three-day limit was merely a chance for the imperial secret forces to probe her bottom line. She had to turn the real secrets here into her own bargaining chips before they could react.

The night was ink-black; a damp, moldy smell drifted from the dried-up well in the corner of the Cold Palace. Shen Tan didn’t return to the broken bed. Instead, she untied her sash, revealing a seemingly ordinary jade button at her waist. It was the only token from her life before she transmigrated, as a top-tier archaeology expert. Inside, a microscopic map was carved, corresponding to the star-position markers at various parts of the Great Zhou Imperial Mausoleum.

She closed her eyes, rapidly recalling the incomplete data obtained during the excavation of the Zhou Imperial Mausoleum ruins in her past life, comparing it with the layout of the underground kiln mouth.

"If I’m not mistaken, the foundation of this Cold Palace was built directly on the exhaust port of the imperial secret kiln, the 'Dragon Vein Kiln,' from that era," she murmured to herself, her voice echoing in the empty stone room. The Dragon Vein Kiln didn’t fire ordinary ceramics; it produced "Whispering Porcelain" used for sending secret messages, with a special internal structure capable of transmitting sound through the air.

If she could use this technique, she wouldn’t just fire a masterpiece; she could use it to monitor movements within the palace walls.

A sudden gust of wind extinguished the last dying candle in the corner. Darkness instantly swallowed her vision. Shen Tan didn’t panic; instead, she used the darkness to sort out her thoughts. She needed firewood, needed a special glaze formula, and more importantly, needed a safe kiln spot. Bai Zhi protected her, but the old woman was frail and weak; she couldn’t block the underhanded schemes of the secret guards.

Just as she was planning, a faint sliver of light leaked through the crack in the door. Bai Zhi’s hunched figure slipped in, holding a bundle of dry straw she had secretly scraped from the abandoned stable. The old palace woman placed the straw on the ground, scanning the room warily, and lowered her voice. "Zhao De sent a message. Tomorrow at the Rooster hour, if he doesn’t see the silver, they’ll search your person. He suspects you’ve hidden dirty goods."

Shen Tan let out a bitter laugh. She pulled the jade button from her sleeve and tossed it to Bai Zhi. "Melt that down. The jade is pure white; after melting, mix it into the Kaolin, and it becomes the best base for clear glaze. As for the silver..." She pointed at the floor. "I’ll figure it out."

Bai Zhi took the jade button. Confusion flickered in her cloudy eyes, but she didn’t ask. She knew the secrets on this abandoned princess were heavier than the dust in this Cold Palace.

Late into the night, Shen Tan used the angle of the moonlight to begin clearing the accumulated dirt from the floor. Her movements were fast, with a near-obsessive focus. When she dug down to the third layer, her fingertips suddenly touched a piece of cold metal. Her heart jolted; her motion stopped.

It wasn’t ordinary brick or stone.

She held her breath and gently brushed away the dirt. A black iron plate was revealed, bearing no patterns, only a line of tiny text nearly obscured by rust. Shen Tan’s pupils constricted. By the moonlight, she deciphered it, her heartbeat accelerating.

It wasn’t a kiln marker. It was the "Sealed Tomb Edict."

This meant that underground was not just a kiln, but a small mausoleum forcibly sealed away. Why was the Zhou imperial secret sigil carved on top of a tomb? Under the Dragon Vein Kiln, was the thing buried not just ceramics, but an undying imperial bloodline? Or perhaps, that sigil wasn’t there to protect the ceramics, but to suppress something beneath the earth?

"Shen Tan, don’t touch it!" Bai Zhi suddenly screamed, her voice full of terror.

Shen Tan whipped around to see Bai Zhi staring intensely at the black iron plate, the broom handle in her hand creaking under her grip. The old woman’s face looked paper-white in the moonlight. Her previously hunched body straightened slightly, revealing an aura of killing, something Shen Tan had never seen on her.

"Down there... it’s alive," Bai Zhi’s voice trembled, yet was crystal clear. "If you break the seal, what comes out won’t be porcelain."

Drip.

The sound of the water drop was particularly piercing in that moment. Shen Tan looked at the silent black iron plate, then at the bottomless fear in Bai Zhi’s eyes. She had originally thought this game was about power and status, but now, it seemed to be about life, death, and taboos.

She slowly reached out, her fingertip hovering an inch above the black iron plate, feeling a tooth-aching chill rising from the depths of the earth.

"Alive?" She curled her lip, the smile ice-cold. "Well, that’s perfect. I was about to listen to what it has to say."