Chapter 17: Milk Porridge and Aluminum Sulfate
Morning arrived on the cliff with the quiet confidence of a place that had never needed to hurry.
The sun rose slowly over the distant mountains, sending long pale beams of light across the courtyard of Atelier Vimutti. Dew clung to the grass along the edge of the cliff, and the faint sound of the nearby waterfall continued its steady rhythm, as if the entire landscape had agreed to keep time for the day’s work.
Khun Ming woke to the familiar smell of dye pots that had cooled overnight.
It was a scent he knew well......wet fiber, faint minerals, a trace of plant pigment drifting through the morning air.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the bamboo ceiling of the cottage, and listened to the soft breathing sounds inside the room.
The golden dog was already awake.
It sat near the doorway, its tail resting calmly against the floor as it watched the morning light creep across the courtyard.
Beside the wall, the large tiger still lay on the woven mat.
Her breathing was steady.
Much stronger than it had been two days ago.
Khun Ming pushed himself upright and stretched his shoulders slowly.
“Well,” he said quietly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “today is a working day, and since someone in town has ordered five entire bolts of yellow cloth, we cannot afford to spend the morning standing around admiring the scenery.”
The dog’s tail wagged once.
“Yes, I understand that you personally have no responsibilities in this matter,” Khun Ming continued, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his robe, “but you are still part of this household, which means you will at least have to listen while I talk through the process.”
The dog blinked patiently.
Khun Ming stood and adjusted the lotus-fiber robe before stepping outside.
The dye courtyard looked peaceful.
Five cleaned bolts of cloth hung neatly from the wooden rack he had assembled near the fence.
They had been soaked overnight to soften the fibers and prepare them for mordanting.
Beside the rack sat several skeins of yarn, their strands loose and ready for treatment.
Khun Ming nodded thoughtfully.
“That is a promising start.”
He crouched beside the clay jars lined along the wall.
Inside one of them rested the pale crystalline mineral he had gathered the day before from the shallow cave pocket along the cliffside.
Alum.
Naturally formed potassium aluminum sulfate.
He picked up one of the translucent chunks and turned it in his hand.
“Potassium aluminum sulfate,” he said aloud thoughtfully.
“KAl(SO?)?·12H?O.”
The dog tilted its head.
“Yes,” Khun Ming said, noticing the look. “That is the full chemical composition of alum, and while I do not expect you to memorize the formula, it is still important for me to say it occasionally because proper understanding of materials prevents mistakes later.”
He stood and carried the mineral chunk to the table where a wooden mortar waited.
“Alum has been used as a mordant for centuries because aluminum ions form coordination bonds with many natural dye molecules, especially flavonoids such as those found in marigold petals.”
He placed the crystal into the mortar and began grinding it slowly.
The mineral cracked with a dry, brittle sound.
“As the alum dissolves into water,” he continued while working the pestle, “the aluminum ions disperse through the solution and attach themselves to the cellulose fibers in plant-based cloth. Later, when pigment molecules enter the bath, they bind to those ions and form a stable structure that resists washing.”
The dog watched.
Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan slowly opened her eyes.
The mortal dyer had begun talking again.
She listened quietly.
Her body still ached from the tribulation lightning, but the pain had faded significantly.
The aloe treatment was effective.
The warmth of the cottage helped.
And the strange calm that surrounded the courtyard made her internal energy settle more easily.
She lifted her head slightly.
Outside, Khun Ming finished grinding the alum and poured the powder into a clay pot filled with clean stream water.
The powder dissolved gradually.
The liquid turned faintly cloudy.
“That should produce a five percent mordant solution,” he said thoughtfully.
“Which is strong enough for cotton fibers without causing excessive stiffness.”
He stirred the mixture carefully.
Then he paused.
His stomach growled.
He blinked.
“Ah.”
The dog’s ears lifted.
Khun Ming sighed.
“I suppose even responsible dyers need breakfast.”
He stood and walked toward the kitchen corner of the cottage.
Hu Xinyan watched him carefully.
The man moved through his small home with the comfortable rhythm of someone who had lived alone for many years.
Every motion had purpose.
Nothing wasted.
He took a clay pot from the shelf and filled it with fresh water.
Then he measured a handful of rice.
“Milk porridge,” he said thoughtfully as he rinsed the grains in a bowl.
“That is still the most reliable breakfast a person can prepare when they expect a long day of physical work.”
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The dog walked closer.
“Yes, I realize that you are interested in the food,” Khun Ming continued while pouring the rice into the pot, “but this particular meal is not especially suitable for you because it contains more carbohydrates than your digestive system requires.”
The dog wagged its tail anyway.
Khun Ming added milk from a small jug.
“The reason milk porridge works so well in the morning,” he continued conversationally, “is that the combination of slow-release carbohydrates and moderate protein helps maintain steady energy levels throughout the day.”
Hu Xinyan blinked.
He was explaining breakfast now.
Khun Ming stirred the pot slowly while the rice softened.
Steam rose gently.
The scent of warm milk filled the cottage.
He added a pinch of salt.
Then he glanced toward the tiger.
“You are awake again.”
Hu Xinyan stared back.
Khun Ming smiled faintly.
“That is good. Your breathing sounds much stronger today.”
He carried a bowl of water toward her and set it down nearby.
“You should drink something if you feel capable of it,” he said gently.
“Hydration helps the body recover after electrical trauma.”
Hu Xinyan watched him silently.
Khun Ming returned to the stove.
The porridge thickened slowly.
He stirred it with steady patience.
“Many people think cooking porridge is simple,” he said thoughtfully, “but that assumption usually leads to burned rice and uneven texture. If the heat is too strong the milk will scorch at the bottom of the pot, and if the rice is not stirred often enough it clumps together instead of softening properly.”
The dog sat beside him.
Khun Ming scooped the finished porridge into a bowl.
He sat on the wooden step outside the cottage and began eating.
The morning sun warmed the courtyard.
After finishing half the bowl, he glanced toward the tiger again.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “I am beginning to suspect that you are recovering faster than I expected.”
Hu Xinyan blinked slowly.
Khun Ming pointed toward the doorway.
“You managed to sit upright yesterday, and today you appear alert enough to observe my entire breakfast preparation process, which suggests that your nervous system is stabilizing.”
Hu Xinyan stared at him.
Khun Ming shrugged.
“That is good news for you because I cannot carry a full-grown tiger around the forest forever.”
The dog wagged its tail.
Khun Ming finished the last spoonful of porridge and stood.
“Now,” he said, clapping his hands together lightly, “since breakfast is finished, we should begin preparing the mordant bath properly.”
He walked back to the cloth rack.
The soaked bolts dripped softly.
He lifted the first bolt and squeezed the water from the fibers.
The cloth felt soft and flexible.
“Pre-soaking ensures that the fibers absorb the mordant evenly,” he explained.
“If dry cloth enters the alum bath, the outer layers absorb the solution faster than the inner fibers, and that leads to uneven color later.”
He twisted the bolt gently.
Water streamed onto the ground.
Then he carried it to the clay pot of alum solution.
“Today we will begin with two bolts,” he said calmly.
“The merchant ordered five, but careful work requires patience.”
He lowered the cloth slowly into the solution.
The fabric darkened as it absorbed the liquid.
Hu Xinyan watched.
The courtyard air shifted again.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
The golden dog glanced toward the dye pot.
Inside the sword leaning against the wall, the mythical creatures remained silent.
Outside, Khun Ming pressed the cloth beneath the surface and nodded with quiet satisfaction.
“Yes,” he said.
“That should work perfectly.”
By the time Khun Ming finished preparing the alum bath, the sun had climbed high enough that the light reached the far corner of the courtyard.
The cliff wind moved steadily through the bamboo fence, which meant the drying rack would work well later.
Khun Ming stood beside the clay pot where the first two bolts of cloth had been soaking in the alum solution.
He rolled up his sleeves.
“Now that the cloth has absorbed the mordant properly,” he said thoughtfully while dipping both hands into the liquid, “the next stage is introducing the dye bath itself, which is where the real work begins.”
The golden dog watched from its usual place beside the doorway.
Hu Xinyan remained inside the cottage but had shifted closer to the entrance.
She could see the courtyard clearly.
Khun Ming lifted the first bolt from the mordant bath.
The cloth dripped heavily as it emerged.
He squeezed the excess liquid out carefully.
“Some dyers rinse after mordanting,” he said conversationally, “but in this case that would only dilute the bonding ions already attached to the fiber, which would reduce the effectiveness of the dye.”
He carried the bolt to the iron pot where the marigold bath had been warming slowly since morning.
Steam drifted upward in pale curls.
Khun Ming lifted the wooden paddle and stirred the liquid once more before lowering the cloth into the golden bath.
The moment the fabric touched the surface, the liquid shifted slightly.
Hu Xinyan felt it immediately.
The spiritual currents inside the courtyard changed.
Not violently.
But the energy became… smoother.
The cloth sank beneath the dye bath.
Khun Ming used the paddle to press it fully under the liquid.
“When dyeing large bolts of cloth,” he explained calmly, “the most important rule is patience. If the cloth is allowed to float or fold unevenly, the pigment will accumulate in certain areas while leaving other sections pale.”
He rotated the paddle slowly.
The cloth moved through the liquid like a slow river current.
Hu Xinyan watched.
The man’s movements were simple.
Yet the energy around him remained incredibly stable.
Khun Ming leaned slightly over the pot.
“The dye bath must remain warm but never boiling,” he continued. “Excessive heat damages the pigments and weakens the molecular structure that allows them to attach to the fiber.”
He reached down and adjusted the firewood beneath the pot.
The flames softened.
“That temperature should remain close to seventy degrees,” he said.
Hu Xinyan blinked.
He had no measuring instruments.
Yet he adjusted the heat with remarkable precision.
Khun Ming stirred the cloth again.
“The reason marigold produces such a pleasant yellow color,” he said thoughtfully, “is because the petals contain carotenoid pigments that reflect light strongly in the yellow spectrum. However, those pigments are delicate, and if the bath becomes too acidic or too hot they degrade quickly.”
The golden dog wagged its tail.
“Yes, that is exactly why the tannin reinforcement was necessary,” Khun Ming replied.
Hu Xinyan’s ears twitched.
The mortal continued speaking.
“It might appear strange to someone unfamiliar with dyeing,” he went on, “but the process is actually very similar to building a stable structure. The fiber is the foundation, the mordant acts as the binding agent, and the pigment becomes the visible layer.”
He rotated the cloth again.
The yellow deepened gradually.
Hu Xinyan watched the transformation with growing interest.
The bolt that had entered the bath as pale cloth now began absorbing the warm golden tone of the marigold solution.
Khun Ming lifted a small section with the paddle.
“Very promising,” he murmured.
He lowered the cloth again and allowed it to soak longer.
The golden dog stretched lazily.
Inside the cottage, the Seven Jewels Sword leaned quietly against the wall.
Within its sealed world, the mythical creatures observed the process.
The Gray Bull snorted softly.
“He continues speaking as if no one understands him.”
The Nine-Tailed Fox smiled faintly.
“Someone does.”
Outside, Khun Ming continued working.
He stirred the bath every few minutes.
He adjusted the fire twice.
After nearly an hour, he lifted the bolt from the liquid.
The cloth shone with rich yellow color.
Hu Xinyan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The color was vibrant.
But not harsh.
It resembled sunlight on autumn leaves.
Khun Ming examined the fabric carefully.
“Good penetration,” he said approvingly. “The pigment has entered the fibers evenly.”
He carried the bolt to the stream behind the cottage.
Hu Xinyan turned her head slightly to watch.
Khun Ming lowered the cloth into the cold running water.
“This rinse step removes any loose pigment that did not bond properly with the fiber,” he explained while working the cloth between his hands. “If the cloth were left unwashed, the excess dye would transfer during the first use.”
The water turned faintly yellow.
Khun Ming rinsed the cloth several times.
When the water ran clear, he nodded.
“That should be sufficient.”
He carried the bolt back to the courtyard and hung it on the drying rack.
The fabric caught the sunlight beautifully.
Hu Xinyan stared.
Khun Ming stepped back and admired the result.
“That is exactly the shade I was aiming for.”
He wiped his hands on a cloth and walked back to the dye pot.
“Now,” he said thoughtfully, “we repeat the process for the second bolt.”
He lifted the second piece of mordanted cloth from the alum bath.
This one entered the dye bath more smoothly.
Khun Ming moved with relaxed confidence now.
He stirred the cloth slowly.
The marigold bath continued releasing color.
Hu Xinyan listened as he spoke again.
“When working with natural dyes,” he said, “consistency is extremely important. If the dyer rushes the second batch after completing the first, small changes in temperature or concentration will produce visible differences in color.”
He stirred the cloth again.
“That is why every batch must follow the same rhythm.”
The golden dog wandered briefly toward the rack and sniffed the finished bolt.
Khun Ming glanced over.
“Please do not chew the merchandise,” he said calmly.
The dog wagged its tail.
Hu Xinyan nearly blinked in disbelief.
This mortal was casually dyeing cloth while lecturing animals.
And somehow the entire courtyard felt like a meditation field.
The second bolt remained in the dye bath for nearly the same amount of time as the first.
When Khun Ming lifted it out, the color matched almost perfectly.
He nodded with satisfaction.
“That is a very good match.”
He carried the cloth to the stream again.
The rinse water turned pale yellow.
Hu Xinyan watched the man kneel beside the stream while carefully working the cloth through the flowing water.
The afternoon sun warmed the cliff.
The waterfall continued its quiet rhythm.
When Khun Ming returned, he hung the second bolt beside the first.
The two fabrics moved gently in the breeze.
The yellow tones matched beautifully.
Khun Ming stepped back and crossed his arms.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “that concludes the first stage of the merchant’s order.”
The golden dog sat beside him.
Hu Xinyan watched from the doorway.
The courtyard looked peaceful.
Two bright yellow bolts hung in the sunlight.
Three more awaited dyeing tomorrow.
Khun Ming stretched his shoulders.
“That was a productive day,” he said quietly.
He glanced toward the cottage.
“And if our large patient continues improving at this pace, she may even be able to walk tomorrow.”
Hu Xinyan blinked slowly.
The golden dog wagged its tail.
And the quiet cliff workshop continued its calm rhythm as the sun drifted slowly toward evening.
Chapter 17 complete.
