The clay in this part of Hubei is fundamentally uninterested in being lightweight. It burns to a deep, bruised purple that feels like it’s been pulled directly from the riverbed, which of course, it has. There is a specific courtyard wall near the West Gate made entirely of over-fired rejects. No visible mortar, just the sheer gravity of one dark block pinning down the next. It’s the kind of density that makes the air around it feel quieter. 🧱