I am a Primitive Man
Chapter 813: The Big Boss Pretending to Be a Newbie
“Divine Child, play again, play again!”
The next day, right after dinner, everyone eagerly gathered around Han Cheng, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Music knows no boundaries of nation or era. Especially music that spreads widely and remains popular, it possesses a natural charm.
Of course, crossing racial or cultural barriers isn’t easy—otherwise, there wouldn’t be the saying “playing the lute to a cow.”
The members of the Green Sparrow Tribe, who had never heard a flute before, were enthralled last night by Han Cheng’s rendition of “Farewell,” feeling as if they were floating on clouds. The experience was extraordinary.
Though they couldn’t articulate it, they could genuinely sense the beauty of the music.
So today, right after dinner, everyone impatiently watched Han Cheng, hoping that the revered Divine Child would perform once more.
Seeing their shining eyes, Han Cheng was suddenly reminded of his childhood, when half the village would gather in someone’s courtyard after dinner, staring at a fourteen-inch black-and-white television.
Unfortunately, now he was no longer part of the audience—he had become the fourteen-inch black-and-white TV itself…
Of course, Han Cheng didn’t want to disappoint them. He picked up the bamboo flute again and played “Farewell” in front of everyone.
As the flute sounded, the crowd instantly quieted, captivated by the beautiful notes. In the firelight, watching the Divine Child play, many female members of the tribe had glowing eyes.
Previously, they had thought that strong men who could acquire lots of food were the most attractive. But now, seeing the Divine Child playing the flute, their ingrained notions wavered.
Han Cheng felt a quiet satisfaction seeing their awestruck gazes.
Of course, if these starry-eyed women were modern girls, Han Cheng would be overjoyed to have so many fangirls.
But with his third-rate, barely competent flute skills, performing publicly in the modern era would likely earn him stones rather than fans.
It seemed the women of the primitive era were easier to impress.
“Divine Child, play again! Play again!”
After the performance ended and silence lingered, someone shouted, still wanting more. As one led, the others joined in, unable to get enough of the exquisite flute.
Seeing this, Han Cheng could hardly refuse. He placed the flute to his lips again, letting the melody of “Farewell” flow, and the crowd fell silent, utterly entranced.
“Divine Child, play again! Play again!”
Late into the night, people who usually slept early were wide awake, captivated by the beautiful music.
“Sleep! No more playing!”
When the Divine Child Han spoke, their clamoring ceased.
No one could blame Han Cheng. After playing “Farewell” more than ten times, his lips were chapped, his brain slightly oxygen-starved, yet the crowd still shouted for more.
Moreover, they hadn’t even paid for a “ticket”—their repeated demands were unreasonable.
Thus, Han Cheng put them firmly in their place.
“Sleep well tonight, work hard tomorrow, and I’ll play for you again tomorrow night.”
With this, the previously disappointed crowd revived instantly.
Han Cheng rubbed his sore lips and smiled wryly. Sometimes, being too talented came with its own troubles…
“Cluck~ Cluck~ Cluck~”
At the Green Sparrow Tribe’s chicken pen, a chicken squawked in panic, but even so, it couldn’t escape the Divine Child’s grasp.
Han Cheng held a rooster by its wings, plucking three or four feathers before releasing it, then caught another unlucky bird.
At this moment, Han Cheng resembled Shaman in his early days when making brushes, displaying a tendency to become a “feather-plucking maniac.”
Fortunately, his targets were only chickens, ducks, and geese.
After the commotion subsided, Han Cheng left with his harvest.
The poultry slowly calmed down once the two-legged creature departed.
Han Cheng placed four chicken feathers into a three-to-four-centimeter bamboo tube, secured them with tree resin, and pressed them onto a circular bronze plate about three centimeters in diameter.
Once stable, he tossed the simplified shuttlecock into the air—it fell feather-side up, bronze-side down.
Satisfied with the result, Han Cheng picked it up and tossed it again, this time catching it with his foot before kicking it upward.
Kicking shuttlecocks wasn’t his strong suit; after two kicks, he missed.
“What’s Brother Cheng doing?”
Little Xing’er had been born recently, so Bai Xue had more leisure time, carrying her daughter and trailing Han Cheng like a little tail. Curious about this strange new activity, she asked.
“This is a shuttlecock. You kick it with your foot. Doing so strengthens the body. During winter sports, we’ll make kicking a shuttlecock a competition for women. Whoever kicks the most gets a reward.”
Han Cheng explained with a smile.
He kicked twice more, increasing the count from two to three, feeling subtly proud at the noticeable improvement.
“Try it yourself.”
Han Cheng handed Bai Xue her daughter and encouraged her.
“I don’t know how,” she shook her head.
“No worries, it’s easy. You’ll get it once you try.”
Han Cheng’s tone was that of an experienced veteran guiding a cute newbie.
“Kick with your foot flat, don’t use too much force. Pay attention, and you’ll reach my level.”
“Mm-hm.”
Bai Xue nodded obediently, a mix of nervousness and curiosity characteristic of a beginner.
After Han Cheng’s careful guidance, she tossed the shuttlecock into the air.
“Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop…”
Seeing the feathered shuttlecock bouncing on her foot, Han Cheng twitched. Really? Such an influential figure pretending to be a newbie? The slap to his ego was immense…
“Brother Cheng, your teaching method is wonderful!”
For her first attempt, Bai Xue kicked twelve times consecutively, admiring Han Cheng. Even his thick skin flushed red at her praise.
“Eh, Brother Cheng, why is your face so red?”
Seeing her innocent expression, Han Cheng suddenly felt like fleeing…
The shuttlecock quickly became a craze in the tribe. Rarely engaging in leisure activities, the women were thrilled to receive these feathered shuttlecocks, kicking them whenever they could.
It reminded one of modern people hiding cards at their waist, ready to strike.
If it were just the shuttlecock, it might not have been enough. But paired with a horn-shaped comb as a reward, the craze made perfect sense.
Unlike ordinary wooden combs, horn-shaped combs were comfortable and visually appealing, captivating tribal women.
During winter sports, awarding horn combs to the top three in the shuttlecock contest ensured the women were motivated.
Rewards were personal, not communal, reflecting the tribe’s growing sense of private ownership.
“Clang~”
Near the smoldering bronze casting furnace, Heiwa held a suspended bronze gong in one hand and a wrapped mallet in the other, striking the center.
The gong vibrated, producing a louder sound than before, but still far from the Divine Child’s standard.
Heiwa was frustrated. Despite meticulously crafting the mold and minimizing gaps, the gong’s sound remained unsatisfactory.
Previously, he sought challenges. Now, he regretted it—the bronze gong was extremely difficult!
Time was pressing; winter and snow could arrive at any moment.
Han Cheng examined the unfinished gong and offered advice: “Place it in the forge, heat it thoroughly, then hammer the protruding central section thinner.”
Copper, unlike iron, can’t be repeatedly forged, but heating thick parts and hammering them thin works.
Han Cheng recalled his childhood experience, patrolling with older cousins using gongs to alert villagers to theft. Though a small memory, it helped him now.
Understanding the issue, Heiwa began heating the gong in the forge. Using a hand-cranked bellows, he raised the temperature, eager to see the finished gong.
Once sufficiently heated, he used tongs to place it on a flat bronze ingot, hammering the protruding center until thinner.
With careful, skillful strikes, the gong’s surface was smoothed.
“Clang!”
After meticulous work, the bronze gong was complete. Hung by a rope, Han Cheng struck it—the sound was much louder than before.
Not perfect by modern standards, but usable. Heiwa’s eyes shone; he learned that even cast items could be refined.
The weather grew colder. Though snow hadn’t fallen, winter’s arrival was palpable.
A cold wind swept through, yellow leaves fell, and wild grasses bent.
Yet, at the future Wild Duck Station, cheers rang out.
Led by the elder primitive man, the Feng Tribe, the neighboring Feng Tribe, and the Green Sparrow Tribe road teams met and celebrated.
Hands clasped tightly, faces beaming, they laughed heartily. After months of toil and sweat, they had completed the road before the snowfall!
Though some bridges still needed construction, the road’s main body was finished.
Once the last section was compacted, they clasped hands again, no longer members of separate tribes, but people united by a common goal.
“Let’s go! The road is done. We can now proceed to the main tribe!”
Shi Tou smiled at everyone.
Months of wind, sun, and independent road surveying, teaching Mandarin and Chinese characters to two tribes’ youths, had tanned and strengthened Shi Tou, leaving him more confident.
Some paths must be walked alone, but after traveling them, one gains experience and growth.
After spending half a year with both tribes, Shi Tou knew them well and understood that one of their main motivations for working on the road was to visit the main tribe once completed.
With the road finished, Shi Tou immediately proposed the idea.
After his invitation, a brief pause was followed by louder cheers. The youths of both tribes jumped with excitement, full of joy and anticipation.
The adults were equally thrilled. After so long, they could finally visit the kind main tribe and meet the benevolent Divine Child!
However, the jubilation was soon dampened by an elder from the Feng Tribe.
Though he too wanted to visit the main tribe, seeing the falling leaves, bent grasses, and feeling the cold, he decided they must prioritize preparations before winter.
They needed to return to their tribe, bring back food and salt from Green Sparrow, and inform others of plans to continue working in the main tribe during winter.
This had to be done before snowfall, or things would become troublesome.
Although the elder wished to go immediately, practicality dictated caution.
Age brought wisdom, especially in a time with limited access to knowledge and experience. Elders were generally wiser than the young.
Thus, while the others celebrated visiting the main tribe, the Feng Tribe elder considered the long-term needs.
His reasoning silenced the cheer. Everyone realized the elder’s advice made sense: they must first return to their tribe, then head to Green Sparrow.
Although understanding this, it was still disappointing—they had waited so long, only to face this delay.
Seeing their concern, Shi Tou smiled, as did the Green Sparrow Tribe members.
If the elder worried about other matters, they might not have been able to help. But given their experience surviving winter snowfalls, this was manageable.
“Even with snow, travel is possible. We have a way…”
Shi Tou reassured the elder, and gradually, the previously disheartened members began smiling again.