Work Text:
Hong He stared in disbelief at the pottery in front of him.
He did it. He finally did it.
After hours wasted pinching and shaping numerous lobs of clay, after days spent regretting and doubting every single decision he'd ever made, Hong He finally did it.
His first teacup, decent and thick enough to not break at the slightest of touch.
“This is a good pottery. You did it, xiongdi,” Yuan-ge said with a proud smile and patted his back. “As expected of Hong-dage's son.”
Hong He scoffed, ludicrous. Staring at the teacup some more, he gritted his teeth, pensive.