I am a Primitive Man

Humans are prone to conformity. This conformity, to some extent, can also be described as inertia or a similar phenomenon.

Take, for example, the captured members of the Sheep Tribe.

Before one of them spoke, none of them were willing to leak any information to the people of this "evil" tribe.

But once someone broke the silence, coupled with the tantalizing aroma of hot meat broth and the enormous fists of the Semi-Farming Tribe's chieftain, many of the Sheep Tribe members began to waver.

After all, speaking about the pottery not only meant they wouldn't get beaten, they'd also be rewarded with food. That was a pretty tempting deal.

Besides, someone had already revealed details about the pottery, so even if the rest didn't speak, these cruel people already knew.

Under this kind of psychological pressure, more than half of the captured Sheep Tribe members eventually chose to share what they knew about the pottery—and the Green Sparrow Tribe.

Seeing their companions gulping down the rich broth, even those who had been steadfast began to waver, hesitating whether they too should share something about the mysterious Green Sparrow Tribe.

She no longer listened to what the remaining holdouts had to say. Instead, she ordered her people to separate those hesitant ones from the others who were happily slurping soup from their coarse ceramic bowls.

Thus, the captured Sheep Tribe members were divided into three groups:

The Sheep Tribe chieftain was confined to a single location.

Those who revealed information were relocated to another area.

The remaining, still-silent group was kept in a third.

Before leaving, the priestess of the Semi-Farming Tribe instructed the guards to keep a close eye on the prisoners and prevent them from communicating with one another. If anyone spoke, beat them hard with a wooden club, no mercy.

As night deepened, the Semi-Farming Tribe's fires still burned brightly, stirred by the arrival of the Sheep Tribe. Few people had gone to sleep.

These people were thrilled by the untouched sheep and wary of the captured Sheep Tribe members, fearing they might bring harm. As a result, even fewer dared to close their eyes.

The priestess, too, remained awake. She sat atop a stone in the domed central hut, staring at the shockingly refined pottery before her, deep in thought.

A peculiar term echoed in her mind over and over: "Green Sparrow Tribe."

"Green Sparrow Tribe… Green Sparrow Tribe…"

She murmured the strange words aloud after a long period of silent contemplation, her tongue struggling over the foreign syllables.

"Green Sparrow Tribe" was the phrase the Sheep Tribe prisoners had uttered most frequently tonight.

Being extremely intelligent, the Semi-Farming priestess naturally took notice of this repetition.

"#￥D Green Sparrow Tribe…"

The Semi-Farming Tribe's chieftain ducked into the hut after completing an inspection.

Hearing the priestess mutter, he also spoke up, asking her what this "Green Sparrow Tribe" meant.

After pondering for a moment, the priestess finally answered.

She told the chieftain that the Green Sparrow Tribe was most likely the group or tribe that had created these unbelievably exquisite pieces of pottery.

This immediately excited the chieftain.

He then asked her whether the Sheep Tribe's surprising success in hunting so many sheep might also be connected to this "Green Sparrow Tribe."

Unlike the priestess, who was fascinated by the pottery, the chieftain was more concerned about how the tribe had managed to gather so many sheep.

The priestess thought for a while, then shook her head. She wasn't sure if the sheep had anything to do with the Green Sparrow Tribe.

Just then, the distant bleating of domesticated animals from the darkness echoed through the camp.

The sound suddenly triggered a thought in the chieftain's mind.

Since their tribe could raise animals, couldn't this strange tribe—the Green Sparrow Tribe—also be raising all these sheep?

The more he considered it, the more reasonable it seemed. There was no better explanation.

He shared this idea with the priestess, confident he had uncovered the truth.

But after a moment's silence, the priestess unexpectedly shook her head again.

The chieftain was puzzled.

Then the priestess led him to see the slaughtered baby sheep and the large number of dead mother sheep.

Only then did he understand what she meant.

It was like their own tribe's livestock—usually, they wouldn't dare kill the females, let alone the young ones.

Realizing this, the chieftain asked the priestess for advice: how could they get those captives, who didn't speak their language, to explain how they had managed to get so many sheep?

The priestess smiled and replied:

"By tomorrow… they'll talk."

Meanwhile, in the distant Green Sparrow Tribe, not everyone had gone to sleep either.

Several areas within the tribe were still lit by firelight.

Most notably, the granary building glowed brightest.

From within came loud, chaotic noises—shouts and scuffles.

No, the granary wasn't on fire.

It was just a group of tribe members waging a midnight war against mice.

House mice—those maddening pests—seemed to go hand in hand with agriculture.

Although the Green Sparrow Tribe had only had surplus grain for a few years, the mice had already moved in and weren't showing any signs of leaving.

Previously, the tribe's shaman had tried several tricks taught by Han Cheng to deal with them, and many mice had died as a result.

But the survivors quickly stopped falling for the traps.

Han Cheng now seriously suspected that these mice could talk—how else could they have gotten this smart, despite the shaman's relentless efforts?

Under the right conditions, fighting mice was no easier than fighting tigers. Just ask the sweating Eldest Senior Brother and the others wielding wooden clubs—they knew that truth all too well…