Chronicles of Primitive Civilization’s Growth

Chapter 20: Departure for Responsibility

The quiver woven from beech branches, holding 50 arrows; any more would be too heavy.

One longbow, one bird-beak dagger, one white-shafted spear, one stone axe. A bundle of tree bark rope, a roll of sisal fiber and hemp string, a fist-sized jar of lard, a small bag of saltstone, a fire-starting tube, a small pottery pot whose lid doubled as a bowl, and finally, a small packet of chili peppers.

The fire-starting tube was a hollow segment of pig leg bone stuffed with wood shavings left over from crafting the longbow. Igniting the wood shavings kept them smoldering without visible flames. When needed, just pull out a bit and blow on it atop kindling to ignite it—a low-end version of a fire striker.

Apart from weapons held in hand, all other miscellaneous equipment was placed in a rectangular covered backpack, or box—essentially a beech-branch woven box. If dressed in scholar robes with a canopy on the box, it would resemble an ancient scholar heading for the capital exams.

Luo Chong checked his gear repeatedly, always feeling something important was missing.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a small figure, wearing long boots and a pig-tooth necklace, constantly dodging behind others.

“Qu Bing, bring back my snake-skin water bag.”

The little one hid behind his mother, holding Luo Chong’s water bag with his hands behind his back until his mother pulled him forward.

“Boy, stop hiding and give it here,” Luo Chong said while ruffling Qu Bing’s hair.

Qu Bing pouted, his chubby face wrinkled as he reluctantly handed over the water bag to Luo Chong.

“Stay home obediently, listen to your mother. I’ll be back soon.” Luo Chong took the water bag, pinched Qu Bing’s cheeks, then slung the backpack over his shoulder and turned to walk away.

“Waaaah, no, no!”

Little Qu Bing burst into tears, hugging Luo Chong’s legs to prevent him from leaving.

This child usually clung to Luo Chong, knowing Luo Chong treated him well. Moreover, Qu Bing was smart and had learned some simple words under Luo Chong’s deliberate teaching, which is why Luo Chong liked him so much.

Helplessly, Luo Chong turned around, picked up Qu Bing, dried his tears, pointed at the kids shaking naked in the morning mist, and tugged at the small leather coat on his body.

“Look, you already have clothes, but they are still freezing naked. What if they get sick? Do you remember when you almost died from illness? Stay home patiently and wait for me. I’m going to find clothes for them.”

Regardless of how much Qu Bing understood, Luo Chong enjoyed talking to him, believing that with enough listening, he would gradually learn.

Little Qu Bing sniffled and muttered, “You, come home, teach me, stick fighting.”

“Hehe, good, I promise you.” Luo Chong smiled, pinched his cheek, and handed the little one back to his mother.

Carefully surveying these pitiful Ancient People, their lives were extremely difficult. Since they regarded him as their Chief, he must take on the responsibility of leading them to better living conditions, striving for everyone to age naturally rather than die from cold, hunger, sickness, or being killed.

Otherwise, he would feel uneasy, like the pain caused by his own mistakes resulting in the sacrifice of comrades. Thus, he resolutely plunged into the morning mist.

All tribal matters were arranged by Luo Chong. The four younger members were temporarily assigned to the hunting team but forbidden from acting alone. The Lame Man started making bricks, women were divided into two groups—one gathering fruits, the other fishing—and the Elder stayed home to oversee things.

The clan members watched Luo Chong’s silhouette disappear into the morning mist, their faces filled with worry. The Chief said he would go far to find animal skins and return before the river froze, but they had never seen anyone survive spending a night outside the cave.

The Elder stood at the front of the crowd, facing the direction where Luo Chong disappeared. Suddenly, he knelt down and bowed deeply. He would pray for the Chief, hoping the Chief returned with even more surprises.

Others might not know, but the Elder was clear. The knowledge murals on the cave walls, passed down generation after generation, had run out of new content to paint. However, since Luo Chong became the Chief, every evening after dinner, he painted what Luo Chong did—killing terror birds, firing pottery, cooking meat soup, making spears, crafting bows and arrows, tying hair, making leather boots, refining oil, weaving baskets, catching fish—never stopping for a single day.

The previous Elder told him when he was young that in large tribes, there were Shamans who could communicate with spirits to bless their tribe’s prosperity. But in the Elder’s eyes, their tribe didn’t need a Shaman because they had a true deity within their tribe.

Luo Chong headed northeast, upstream along the small river, looking for a narrow crossing point and searching for areas without forests.

Herbivores obviously wouldn’t appear in the forest; there was nothing for them to eat there. Creatures like sheep, horses, and bulls should eat grass and low shrubs, so they would likely be found on the plains.

Luo Chong’s current task was to leave this endless jungle first.

Walking upstream for an entire morning, the trees grew progressively shorter, greatly pleasing Luo Chong. This was a sign that he was about to exit the jungle.

He rested by the river at noon. Lunch was a freshly shot pheasant. After removing the useful feathers and tail plumes, the skin was directly peeled off, smeared with coarse salt, sprinkled with crushed chilies, wrapped in leaves, then coated with a layer of mud. A delicious spicy beggar’s chicken was prepared, filling his stomach completely.

This was a luxury he couldn’t enjoy regularly. Normally, the tribe never ate lunch, but Luo Chong needed to maintain sufficient energy, especially replenishing salt.

After lunch, he boiled a pot of water, filled the water bag, and looked for an opportunity to cross the river.

Continuing upstream for about three hours, the sky suddenly darkened, though it was still bright. However, the surrounding forest became densely packed.

On both sides of the 10-meter-wide river grew countless unknown strange trees. Their trunks were iron-black, very thick, with diameters reaching five to six meters, yet they grew crooked and short.

Though described as short, they were still over ten meters tall. But for trees with diameters over five meters to only be more than ten meters high, was that normal?

Regardless, Luo Chong knew this place was perfect for crossing the river.

The black trees’ trunks were less than five meters high, with their upper parts entirely consisting of canopies. Thick branches intertwined with those on the opposite side, forming a natural bridge covering the entire river surface.

The canopy was thick, with its lowest point only three meters above the river, and some finer branches even hung into the water. Only a few faint beams of light filtered through the dense layers, barely illuminating the surroundings.

A thin mist enveloped the river, obscuring the underwater situation. There was no sound around, creating a suffocating atmosphere.

It was too quiet. Something was wrong. With such a vast forest, how could there not be a single small animal? Even a bird’s chirp would be welcome.