Surrounded by an enraptured crowd, Allison gently picked up a piece of clay and sprinkled it with water. Kellan then realized she had deliberately slowed her pace to guide him through the basics. Within a minute, the clay in his hands began to transform. The art of sculpting gave way to the precision of carving. "It's like watching a movie," someone murmured in amazement.

Colton and Melany, who had previously ridiculed Allison, now showed visible anxiety, their foreheads glistening with sweat. They scrutinized Kellan's every move, wary of any deception. Kellan expected Allison to need his help, but she only occasionally asked him to hand her a file. "Take the smallest one," she ordered calmly, her voice a firm anchor in the charged atmosphere.

Her hands moved with deliberate grace, and the clay seemed to yield to her touch, coming to life beneath her deft fingers. Kellan handed her the smaller file. In that fleeting touch, he again caught the scent of plum blossoms. A lump formed in his throat, and he gently wiped the sweat from Allison's forehead with a clean handkerchief, his fingers lightly brushing her smooth skin. As he pulled his hand away, he felt a strange sense of familiarity. He marveled at her skin, as smooth and fine as porcelain. But Allison remained completely absorbed in her work.

With a quick flick of her finger, a piece of clay would come loose; her slender fingers moved like a butterfly, expertly shaping the material. A gentle brushstroke breathed life into the clay, capturing the essence of a majestic mountain. At that moment, Kellan felt an unusual calm, as if they were the last two people on earth, standing amidst the ceramics. There were no plans, no bloodshed, just a serene space that eased his constant uneasiness.

Allison was enigmatic: young but extremely serene, distant and aloof, as if her heart were hidden. She reminded Kellan of the woman he had met that crazy night—she had effortlessly disarmed him and disappeared by morning. During her most fervent moments, her gaze had been as distant as an ancient glacier, motionless in its solemnity.

In the small courtyard, the initial murmurs of admiration gave way to a deep silence as everyone's attention focused solely on Allison. The collective breathlessness was palpable. Even Colton, who had anticipated Allison's failure, struggled to process the scene. "How can this be?" he murmured. He suddenly remembered the little ceramic dog Allison had given him three years ago. In a fit of nostalgia, he had smashed it against the floor. The cute little figure had splintered into pieces—possibly cutting off his arm, or maybe not; at the moment, his attention was elsewhere. Since then, Allison had become even more reserved and hadn't offered him anything again. Colton felt a pang of regret, realizing he might have overlooked something deeply significant.

As the day drew to a close and the sun began to set, Allison finished her masterpiece. The entire process had been flawless. Emanuel could barely contain his excitement. "Excellent! Simply excellent!" he exclaimed. When Allison looked up, a black handkerchief was extended to her. She calmly accepted it, wiping her brow, as cheers erupted that nearly shook the heavens. Even Kellan's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"I would pay a fortune to have Miss Clarke run my pottery gallery," someone declared. A few vied for her favor. Emanuel quickly kicked everyone out. "Go away! My shop is closed for the whole month!"

Then she carefully picked up the patterned tea set, her eyes filled with tears. "This set is magnificent! Looking at it, I can die without regrets!"

"Nonsense, you'll live to be a hundred," Allison reassured him. Emanuel's fondness for beautiful ceramics was well known. With a serene expression, Allison turned her gaze towards the now embarrassed figures. "Since you've accepted the bet, it's time for you to kneel down!"