A quiver woven from beech branches, holding fifty arrows. Any more would be too heavy.
A longbow, a Bird Beak Dagger, a White-shafted Long Spear, and a Stone Axe. A bundle of Bark Rope, a roll of Sisal Fiber and hemp cord, a fist-sized jar of lard, a small bag of Salt Stone, a Tinder Tube, a small Pottery Pot, whose lid doubled as a bowl—two uses in one—and finally, a small packet of chili peppers.
The Tinder Tube was a section of hollow pig femur stuffed with the wood shavings left over from making the longbow. The shavings were lit and kept smoldering without an open flame. Whenever he wanted to start a fire, he only needed to pick out a little, place it on some tinder, and blow on it. It was essentially a low-end firestarter.
Aside from the weapons in his hands, all his other assorted gear was packed into a rectangular, lidded Back Basket—or perhaps it was better called a box, a box woven from beech branches. If he changed into a scholar's robe and set up a shade canopy over the box, he would look just like a scholar from ancient times heading to the capital for the imperial exams.
Luo Chong checked his equipment again and again, yet he still felt he was missing something important.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced toward the crowd. A tiny figure wearing tall boots and a necklace of pig teeth kept sneaking backward.
"Qu Bing, go get my Snake Skin Water Bag."
The little fellow was still hiding behind his mother, holding Luo Chong's water bag behind his back. His mother promptly hauled him out.
"You little brat, stop hiding. Hand it over." Luo Chong rubbed Qu Bing's head as he spoke.
Qu Bing pouted, wrinkled his chubby, steamed-bun face, and handed the water bag to Luo Chong with an aggrieved look.
"Stay home obediently and listen to your mother. I'll be back soon." Luo Chong took the water bag, pinched his little cheeks, then slung the Back Basket onto his back and turned to walk into the distance.
"Waaah! Don't go, don't go!"
Little Qu Bing burst into tears and rushed over to hug Luo Chong's leg, refusing to let him leave.
The child usually loved clinging to Luo Chong, and he knew that Luo Chong treated him well. Qu Bing was also very clever. Under Luo Chong's deliberate instruction, he could already say a few simple words. That was another reason Luo Chong liked him.
Luo Chong turned back helplessly and picked Qu Bing up. After wiping away his tears, he pointed at the little companions standing in the morning mist with their bare bottoms exposed and their bodies trembling from the cold, then tugged at the small fur robe Qu Bing was wearing.
"Look, you have clothes to wear now, but they're still standing there naked in the cold. What if they get sick? Have you forgotten how you almost died of illness? Stay home and wait for me. I'm going to find clothes for them to wear."
He had no idea how much Qu Bing understood, but Luo Chong simply liked talking to him. Luo Chong believed that as long as he heard enough, he would gradually learn.
Little Qu Bing sniffed and mumbled, "You... come home... teach me... how to hit with a stick."
"Hehe, all right. I promise." Luo Chong smiled and lightly scraped his cheek before handing the little fellow to his mother.
Luo Chong carefully surveyed these pitiful primitive people. Their lives were far too hard. Since they regarded him as their Chieftain, he had to shoulder the Chieftain's responsibility and lead them toward better lives, striving to let every one of them live to a natural death instead of freezing to death, starving to death, dying of illness, or being killed.
Otherwise, he would feel uneasy, as tormented as if his own mistake had caused a comrade to die. Thus, he plunged into the morning mist without the slightest hesitation.
Luo Chong had arranged everything for the tribe. His four younger brothers were temporarily assigned to the Hunting Team, but they were forbidden to act alone. Lame began firing bricks. The women were divided into two groups, one gathering fruit and the other catching fish. The Elder remained at home to hold down the fort.
The tribespeople watched as Luo Chong's back vanished into the morning mist, worry written all over their faces. The Chieftain had said he was going to find animal hides far away and would return before the river froze, but they had never seen anyone spend the night outside the cave and live to tell the tale.
The Elder stood at the front of the crowd, facing the direction in which Luo Chong had disappeared. Suddenly, he knelt and bowed until his forehead touched the ground. He would pray for the Chieftain, hoping he could return and bring them even more miracles.
Others might not know, but the Elder understood perfectly. The Knowledge Murals on the cave walls, passed down from generation to generation, had long since run out of things to depict. But ever since Luo Chong became Chieftain, the Elder had drawn Luo Chong's deeds every evening after dinner: killing Terror Birds, firing pottery, cooking Meat Broth, making spears, making bows and arrows, tying up hair, making Leather Boots, refining oil, weaving baskets, and scooping up fish. Not a single day had passed without something new to draw.
When the previous Elder was young, he had told him that some great tribes had shamans. Shamans could communicate with the Deities and have them bless their tribes, allowing them to grow better and better. But in the Elder's eyes, their tribe did not need a shaman, because their tribe already had a true deity.
Luo Chong had left, heading northeast. That was upstream along the Small River. He wanted to find a narrow section to cross, then search for a place without trees.
Herbivores obviously could not appear in the forest. There was nothing there for them to eat. Creatures like sheep, horses, and cattle should eat grass and low shrubs, so they ought to appear on grasslands.
And Luo Chong's current task was to first make his way out of this boundless jungle.
He followed the Small River upstream for the entire morning. The trees gradually grew shorter and shorter, which delighted Luo Chong. It was a sign that he was about to leave the jungle.
He rested by the river at noon. Lunch was a pheasant he had just shot dead. He plucked out the useful wing and tail feathers, skinned it, rubbed it with coarse salt, sprinkled it with crushed chili peppers, wrapped it in leaves, and coated it in mud. The delicious, spicy mud-baked chicken filled his belly to bursting.
This was something he could never enjoy under ordinary circumstances. The tribe generally never ate lunch, and Luo Chong was only doing so to maintain his stamina. In particular, replenishing salt was even more important.
After the meal, he boiled a pot of water, filled the water bag, and then looked for an opportunity to cross the river.
He continued upstream for roughly another three hours. Then the entire sky abruptly seemed to darken. The sky was actually still bright, but the forest around him had suddenly grown dense.
On both banks of the ten-meter-wide Small River grew countless strange, nameless trees. Their trunks were iron-black and extraordinarily thick, each measuring a full five or six meters in diameter. Yet they twisted and bent in every direction, not straight in the slightest, and were extremely short.
They were called short, but they were still more than ten meters tall. A tree over five meters in diameter that was only a dozen meters high—was that normal?
But Luo Chong did not care about any of that. He only knew that this place was extremely convenient for crossing the river.
The trunks of the Black Trees were less than five meters tall. Above that, they were entirely canopy, their massive branches growing in a tangled, crisscrossing mass. The branches reached across and intertwined with those on the opposite bank, blotting out the sky and covering the entire river like a natural bridge.
The canopy was incredibly dense. At its lowest point, it was only three meters above the water, and some slender branches even drooped into the river. Only a few wisps of faint light reached the river, filtering down after layer upon layer of diffuse reflection. He could barely make out his surroundings.
A hazy veil of mist shrouded the river, hiding what lay beneath the water. Not a sound came from the surroundings. The eerie atmosphere was suffocating.
It was far too quiet. Something was seriously wrong. How could such a huge forest not have a single small animal? Even the cry of a bird would have been something.
~
~
~
~
~
Thank you to Bookworm Loves You for the tip. Thank you for your support.
As usual, I'm asking for all kinds of support. I'll develop in silence and take whatever you've got.
Qing Shu heard that people who love supporting authors never have bad luck. (Grinning)
Before you continue