"Splash!"
A somewhat crude fishing net was flung into the broad river. Moments later, it was dragged back up with brutal force, several river fish thrashing desperately inside.
On the nearby riverbank, some elderly Thousand-Handed People were digging for wild vegetables. Farther away, in the farmland, strong Thousand-Handed People were busy at work. A few Thousand-Handed children could even be seen herding small domestic fowl.
If one ignored their strange appearances, everything before them was almost indistinguishable from the ancient days of Earth Civilization.
Zhang Yang had transformed into a tiny reed seedling and hidden himself in the soil, quietly observing everything without missing the slightest detail—especially the Thousand-Handed People's exchanges.
Indeed, although they had mouths, those mouths grew on their abdomens. Naturally, they had no tongues with which to produce syllables. The hands of the Thousand-Handed People were their most skilled tools of communication.
This was probably also why the Thousand-Handed People had been able to develop such a grand and elaborate culture of hand seals.
Their hands were also somewhat different from human hands on Earth. Each palm had six or seven fingers, and each finger was nimble, with four joints, allowing them to perform many more intricate movements.
Moreover, since their mouths grew on their abdomens, they served as alternative gathering tools. Thus, even an ordinary Thousand-Handed Person with only two hands could communicate with their fingers at any time and in any place.
But this was no ordinary sign language.
Once a Thousand-Handed Person made a relevant hand gesture, every Thousand-Handed Person within a hundred meters could instantly receive the information conveyed by it, even if they were facing away.
This mystery was Zhang Yang's primary target of investigation.
He was in no hurry. Even though he was dealing with the most ordinary, lowest-level Thousand-Handed People,