The puzzle remains. On the other hand, perhaps the Emperor genuinely saw nothing and concluded Chin-Chin was off his head. So Chin-Chin's neck was locked into a bisected, hinged table, with a central neckhole, for public display, as a reactionary, gagged with white fleece. After only a day, they released him, still gagged, and told him to fill the kiln with pine logs, as usual. Happily he went about this work again.
Air bubbles spoil the bake.
His hands were chained behind and the cangue prevented him from toppling over. Then they fired him, hotter and hotter, and no one saw any blue, comblike apparition even when his skull glowed pink to the motley squeak of musical bellows. When finally removed, the cangue was irregular, both warped and split, deserving to be smashed, but tinted the pale rose of a baby's gums. The Emperor had it hung next to the sealed peephole as incentive and reminder. Far more telling, though, is the eventual enduring fame, under gentler emperors, of the Dragon Kiln, whether the original dragon was a cobalt goblin, a twitch in the visible spectrum, or the whim of one incinerated by a dream.