Chapter 6: Tannin, Bark, and the Problem With Doing Things Properly

  The third morning on the cliff began with nothing unusual.

  No tremor moved through the air. No sky folded strangely above the mountains. No bells rang somewhere in the distance without anyone touching them.

  Khun Ming found that deeply reassuring.

  He woke to the steady rhythm of the waterfall and the faint metallic scent drifting from the iron jar near the window. Overnight, the liquid had darkened noticeably. What had once looked like diluted vinegar now leaned toward a deep gray, almost ink-like near the submerged nails.

  The jar sat quietly where he had left it the night before, catching a narrow beam of early sunlight. The light revealed slow, gentle swirls beneath the surface where iron continued dissolving into the liquid.

  He sat up slowly.

  The dog was already awake.

  Watching him.

  Khun Ming rubbed his eyes and looked at the animal thoughtfully.

  "I have to say, I appreciate one particular thing about you already," he said. "You do not snore. That quality alone makes you a much better roommate than some people I remember from my previous life."

  The dog blinked.

  He studied it for another moment.

  "You also wake up before I do," he added slowly. "Which raises a completely different concern. That level of discipline suggests either admirable habits or a suspicious amount of free time."

  The tail moved once, lazily, thumping the wooden floorboards with quiet confidence.

  Khun Ming swung his legs off the bed and stretched his shoulders.

  "Well," he said, "as long as you do not start judging my sleeping schedule, we should get along just fine."

  The room still held the faint smell of vinegar, iron, and damp mountain air drifting through the open window.

  He stepped outside into the courtyard and glanced up at the signboard.

  ATELIER VIMUTTI.

  Still straight.

  A faint breeze stirred the hanging edge of the wooden plaque, but the rope held firm.

  Khun Ming nodded once.

  "That is good," he murmured. "A crooked signboard on the third day of business would give an extremely poor first impression, especially for a place that technically does not have customers yet."

  The air was cool, and sunlight moved in clean layers across the forest canopy below the cliff. Wind shifted leaves in soft gradients of green. The bamboo grove beyond the wall whispered quietly as the stalks brushed together.

  Morning on the cliff always arrived gently.

  No rush.

  No urgency.

  Just light and wind moving at their own pace.

  Khun Ming walked to the hanging yarn and lifted the iron-treated sample between his fingers.

  Fully dry.

  The gray tone had settled evenly along the fibers, the color muted but calm. No blotching. No bleeding.

  He rubbed it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

  "No residue," he murmured. "That is encouraging. If iron leaves residue at this stage, it means the mixture was too aggressive and the fiber would feel unpleasant later."

  He examined the strand more closely.

  "The tone is stable for iron," he continued thoughtfully. "Iron rarely produces loud colors, but it creates depth. Depth is far more useful than brightness."

  He lifted another strand and held it up toward the sun, rotating it slowly.

  "Yes," he said quietly. "Still even. Still calm. That means the fiber accepted the treatment without fighting."

  Satisfied, he lowered the yarn back onto the line.

  The dog had wandered over and now sat beneath the hanging cloth, watching the slow movement of fabric in the breeze.

  Khun Ming turned toward it.

  "Today we deal with tannin," he said.

  The dog tilted its head.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Yes, I am aware that you do not know what tannin is," Khun Ming said patiently. "But since you insist on supervising every stage of the process, I feel it is only polite to explain things."

  He crouched beside the basket near the dye station and began sorting through a few tools.

  "A dye bath by itself rarely holds color strongly," he continued conversationally. "Tannin acts like a bridge. It gives the dye something to hold onto so the color does not drift away during washing."

  The dog continued watching with mild seriousness.

  "So," Khun Ming said as he stood again, "we need bark, husks, or some other plant material that carries a strong tannin structure. Fortunately, forests tend to provide such things generously."

  He glanced toward the mountain path beyond the gate.

  Morning mist still lingered between the distant trees.

  "Walnut would be excellent," he added thoughtfully. "Oak bark would also behave very well. Either one would be perfectly acceptable."

  He gathered a woven basket and slid his sword through the sash at his side. The blade hung comfortably against his hip, more tool than weapon.

  Then he looked down at the dog.

  "You are coming along as well, I assume?"

  The dog stood immediately.

  No hesitation.

  Khun Ming sighed softly.

  "Yes, that response was exactly what I expected," he said. "You seem extremely committed to this field research project."

  He stepped toward the gate and pushed it open. The wood creaked softly as the courtyard gave way to the narrow mountain trail.

  The dog trotted ahead a few steps, then stopped and glanced back as if making sure he was following.

  Khun Ming shook his head.

  "You behave like you are the one guiding the expedition," he said mildly. "I would like to remind you that I am technically the person who knows what we are looking for."

  The dog said nothing.

  Together, they began the slow descent toward the forest path.

  They entered the forest quietly.

  Khun Ming did not rush. His eyes moved carefully from trunk to trunk, studying bark texture, leaf arrangement, and scent.

  "Not every tree in a forest is useful for dye work," he murmured. "Some trees are decorative, which is nice for scenery but unhelpful for pigment preparation. Others contain compounds that actually interfere with dye binding."

  He paused beside a mid-sized tree with rough, deeply grooved bark.

  He scratched lightly at the surface and brought the inner scrap to his nose.

  "Bitter and dry," he said softly. "That is exactly the kind of scent we want."

  He shaved a thin strip of outer bark, careful not to cut too deeply.

  "One rule that beginners often forget," he continued calmly, "is that you should never take too much bark from a single tree. If you injure the trunk badly, the tree will not survive long enough to help you next season."

  He moved to another tree a short distance away and repeated the process.

  "Harvesting lightly from several trees keeps the forest healthy," he added. "And a healthy forest continues producing materials."

  Further downhill, beneath a tree with broader leaves, he noticed several fallen husks scattered across the ground.

  He crouched.

  "Walnut," he said quietly.

  The husks were thick-skinned and darkening as they decayed.

  He cracked one open with a stone.

  His fingertips stained brown immediately.

  Khun Ming smiled faintly.

  "That is an excellent sign," he said. "Strong tannin always leaves a stain."

  The dog sniffed the husk and sneezed.

  "Yes," Khun Ming said with a small chuckle. "The smell is extremely bitter, and no, it is not edible. I strongly advise against culinary experimentation with dye materials."

  He gathered several husks, choosing those beginning to soften but not fully rotten.

  As they turned back uphill, the dog suddenly froze.

  Its ears lifted sharply.

  Khun Ming paused.

  A rustle moved through the undergrowth.

  From beneath a thicket emerged a small low-level spirit beast—fox-like but heavier, with faint qi fluctuations around its fur.

  Its coat carried a dull copper sheen where sunlight slipped through the leaves.

  The creature paused briefly, nose twitching as it caught their scent.

  It looked toward them.

  Then toward the dog.

  Then it bolted.

  Khun Ming blinked.

  "Well," he said thoughtfully, "that reaction suggests you may have a somewhat intimidating presence."

  The dog lowered its head slightly, as if embarrassed.

  "Or perhaps it simply dislikes unexpected company," Khun Ming added.

  He shrugged.

  "Either explanation is acceptable."

  And they continued walking.

  The extracted tannin liquor was dark and heavy.

  Khun Ming leaned closer and inhaled lightly.

  "The scent is correct," he murmured. "Bark, wood, and that faint bitter tone that always accompanies strong tannin."

  He nodded with quiet satisfaction.

  "Tannin baths require patience," he said. "If someone rushes them, the fibers stiffen and become unpleasant to work with later. If prepared correctly, the cloth accepts dye much more willingly."

  He covered the container with a wooden lid and moved it to the shaded side of the work table.

  The dog lifted its head briefly, sniffing the air.

  Khun Ming washed the pot with a splash of stream water and set it upside down to dry.

  "The next stage will involve the fiber itself," he said thoughtfully.

  Steam from the earlier boil still drifted faintly through the dye station, curling toward the open roof beams.

  He retrieved a small piece of properly scoured cloth.

  "This stage is called pre-mordanting," he murmured.

  He submerged the cloth fully in the tannin bath and pressed it down gently.

  "Tannin strengthens the later binding between fiber and dye," he explained. "This becomes especially important if iron modifiers are used afterward."

  He left the cloth submerged for fifteen minutes, turning it occasionally.

  The dog watched silently.

  When he lifted the cloth and squeezed it lightly, it carried a faint beige tint.

  Khun Ming nodded.

  "That is a good foundation color," he said.

  He rinsed it gently in the stream and hung it to dry.

  Then he repeated the process with yarn.

  After soaking and rinsing, the yarn carried a slightly deeper tone.

  "Layering treatments like this creates stability," he said softly.

  He stepped back and surveyed the station.

  The iron jar continued darkening.

  The ash lye had clarified.

  The tannin bath was prepared.

  Cloth had been scoured.

  Fiber had been pre-treated.

  Khun Ming crossed his arms.

  "The foundation is finally ready," he said quietly.

  Inside the Seven Jewels Sword, the sealed sovereign entities observed.

  Qinglong inclined his head slightly.

  "Order," he said.

  Kun Peng stirred like distant tides.

  "Small motions," he rumbled. "Deep consequences."

  Xuanwu remained still.

  Phoenix's inner flame brightened faintly.

  Goumang watched the tannin preparation with particular interest.

  "Growth and binding," she murmured.

  The Nine-Tailed Fox's eyes narrowed.

  "He does not skip steps."

  Baihu exhaled once.

  "Methodical."

  None of them interfered.

  The golden retriever lay quietly near the doorway.

  It felt the air shift subtly each time a process completed correctly.

  No explosion.

  No aura flare.

  Just alignment.

  Khun Ming, unaware of any of that, wiped his hands on a clean cloth.

  "Tomorrow," he said calmly, "we finally begin working with real color."

  The forest answered with wind through leaves.

  The waterfall continued its steady descent.

  ATELIER VIMUTTI stood quietly on the cliff.

  And Khun Ming, satisfied with proper preparation, began cleaning his knife carefully.

  "Tools deserve attention," he murmured. "If someone expects good color from careless equipment, they will be disappointed every single time."

  Chapter 6 complete.