I am a Primitive Man
Chapter 863 – Purple Soil
At this moment, Han Cheng and his group could only be described as pitifully wretched.
Except for a few female primitives who had accompanied the tribe, everyone else in the group was bearded and disheveled. Han Cheng himself, already a father of two children, looked no different.
Moreover, each person had lost a noticeable amount of weight. The clothes they wore when leaving were now somewhat loose.
Indeed, controlling one’s mouth and moving one’s legs is truly the supreme method for weight loss.
Even if one cannot fully control the mouth, being able to walk and travel is still quite an achievement.
Despite Han Cheng’s careful efforts on the journey to provide additional nutrition for the tribe members whenever possible, after such grueling travel, everyone had grown extremely thin.
If it weren’t for the fact that everyone wore leather clothing reinforced with sturdy vine armor, their clothes would likely have been reduced to tatters by the journey.
“Move! Let’s go down!”
After a short rest at this spot, Han Cheng called out to the group, slung his backpack over both shoulders, securely fastening the straps, and began descending.
The others responded immediately, hoisting their packs, readying their weapons, and following him downward.
Two people carrying vine shields moved ahead, covering Han Cheng with their protection.
Ensuring the safety of the Divine Child was a principle they all followed.
Even without instructions from Wu, the Master Senior Brother, or others, they would instinctively act this way.
With them present, nothing could harm their Divine Child.
After days of trekking, the group finally reached an area with a broad, open view. Excitement welled up inside them—not as ecstatic as seeing an oasis after days in the desert, but still substantial.
Regardless of whether this was truly the “south” as the Divine Child had spoken, the wide-open view alone was enough to lift spirits.
They descended the hill and, after some time, walked past it entirely.
Upon stepping onto flat ground, everyone, including Han Cheng, felt a surge of exhilaration.
“Go! Over there! Once we reach it, we can rest properly.”
Han Cheng pointed ahead.
From his vantage on the hill, he had already surveyed the terrain and noticed a small river.
In this era, where there is water, there are fish. Of course, this refers to naturally occurring surface water, not artificial sources like tears, sweat, or saliva.
Reaching this water source early allowed them to drop fish traps, securing part of their food supply.
They could also boil water in ceramic pots—some for cooling and drinking, while others were used for washing and soaking their feet.
Along the journey, Han Cheng had insisted that soaking feet in hot water become a mandatory routine. This method effectively reduced fatigue, extending the group’s endurance.
Han Cheng had resolved that, regardless of whether this was truly the south, they would rest properly here.
The previous mountain crossing had been incredibly exhausting. Without adequate rest, some individuals may struggle to withstand the journey, potentially falling behind.
Most importantly, he himself was nearing his limits. Compared with Wu, Second Senior Brother, and other true primitives, Han Cheng—the half-trained, self-taught primitive—was still physically less hardy.
As they headed in the direction Han Cheng had indicated, at least two people with large shields constantly flanked him.
Further ahead, four people with long spears cleared the grass, startling potential snakes or hidden creatures.
Along the way, someone also struck a copper gong a few times, signaling nearby animals that the Divine Child of the Green Sparrow Tribe was patrolling—warning all creatures to avoid him, a clear “king inspecting the mountains” message.
Shitou and several skilled archers kept their bows ready.
If a large predator, like a tiger, was startled but didn’t actively attack, they let it leave. Smaller animals, however, were often struck by one or more arrows.
Walking while hunting this way often yielded plenty of prey—sometimes more than they could consume in a day.
By the time they reached a small river about two li away from the hill, Shitou’s team had already hunted several small animals.
The river wasn’t wide, roughly three meters across. After choosing a suitable campsite, the experienced group immediately got to work.
First, they stomped down patches of wild grass, cutting down areas that couldn’t be flattened by foot with sickles.
Then they drove wooden stakes around the perimeter, tying ropes to create a basic defensive measure.
During this process, some lowered fish traps into the water, while others dug small pits to form fire breaks for cooking.
Han Cheng, accompanied by several others, inspected the surroundings, searching for plants known to grow only in the south.
After some time, he returned disappointed—none of the southern-only plants were visible.
He wondered if those species didn’t yet exist in this world.
Otherwise, how could they have failed to encounter any during their journey?
Perhaps the tribe’s original homeland had been too far north.
Returning to the temporary camp with a habitual sense of disappointment, they found the fire already lit and two ceramic pots of boiling water.
In another pot, food simmered, emitting a delicious aroma. Chicken wings skewered on sticks had been roasted to perfection.
“Divine Child.”
Second Senior Brother, crouched roasting meat, smiled and handed the cooked wings to Han Cheng.
Chicken wings, mostly skin and bone, had little meat. Only the Divine Child enjoyed them; others preferred meatier portions, such as drumsticks or breast.
Han Cheng smiled and accepted the wings, nibbling slowly.
Truly, a foodie’s best companion is food itself.
Second Senior Brother, after prolonged focus on roasting and influenced by Han Cheng’s guidance, had perfected his skills.
The wings in Han Cheng’s hand, if sprinkled with cumin and chili powder, would be nearly perfect.
Taking a bite, Han Cheng’s mood, previously dampened by the absence of southern plants, improved dramatically.
Indeed, good food has a remarkable ability to cure many negative emotions.
For now, he focused solely on enjoying the meal, observing Second Senior Brother’s meticulous roasting—a pleasure that helped forget worries.
Half a wing gone, Han Cheng, lips glossy with oil, suddenly stopped. His gaze was fixed on the soil at Second Senior Brother’s feet.
This moist soil had been dug up during the creation of a small fire pit, compacted under the Second Senior Brother’s feet.
Han Cheng had noticed it before but hadn’t paid attention. Now, he couldn’t look away.
He jumped over in a few steps, crouched beside Second Senior Brother, and examined the soil closely while hastily finishing the remaining chicken.
Throwing the bones to an impatient dog, he grabbed some soil and observed it. His face lit up with excitement.
“Come, a few of you, follow me!”
Han Cheng dropped the soil, picked up a nearby copper shovel, and addressed those noticing his unusual behavior.
Those selected immediately felt a sense of sacred duty, ready to protect the Divine Child and witness the miracle.
However, shortly after leaving the camp, Han Cheng stopped. Using the shovel, he pried up a patch of soil.
The soil, exposed to the air, was exactly as he hoped—purple.
“Let’s go farther.”
Heart racing, Han Cheng urged his companions onward.
After another 100–200 meters, he dug again. The soil remained purple.
“Ha ha ha…”
Over two li from the camp, seeing the soil he unearthed, Han Cheng couldn’t help laughing aloud.
Those following him were confused. They had witnessed every step but didn’t understand what he had discovered.
If it were a plant, they could comprehend, but this was just soil.
They examined it repeatedly. Aside from the purple color, there seemed to be no difference.
Some speculated it might be helpful for pottery or brick-making. Others joined in the Divine Child’s joyful laughter.
Han Cheng’s joy wasn’t about the soil itself, but what it represented.
Red soil in Lingnan, yellow loess in Central China and Guanzhong, fertile black soil in the northeast, and purple soil concentrated in the Sichuan Basin—all remembered from geography lessons.
Now, encountering abundant purple soil in their location, how could he not be excited?
While purple soil exists elsewhere, Han Cheng was sure that the majority is found in the south.
Traveling south from their tribe for many days and now finding purple soil confirmed they were indeed in the south.
He suspected their location was the Sichuan Basin, given their tribe kept adorable giant pandas.
These pandas had been brought from nearby bamboo forests by the bear tribe.
In ancient times, aside from the fertile “land of abundance,” giant pandas were also found near the Sichuan Basin, such as in the Qinling region.
Given their tribe’s previous location had pandas, it wasn’t far from the Sichuan Basin.
Now, having traveled south through mountains to a broad vantage point and discovering purple soil, it was almost sure they were in the famed Sichuan Basin.
Consequently, their original tribe location would correspond to the Qin-era Guanzhong area.
Understanding this brought Han Cheng a sense of clarity.
Terrain evolves slowly. Some features, such as the Himalayas being lower in height, differ from the past, but many remain mostly unchanged.
Thus, his geographic assessment was likely accurate.
Even if incorrect, it mattered little. Establishing a local standard for his tribe was sufficient.
In the “wild” era, many things could be defined freely, especially units of measurement and naming conventions.
“This is the south we sought! We’ve found a place to resist the cold!”
After a brief moment of giddy delight, Han Cheng smiled, announcing the joyous news.
Hearing this, everyone cheered loudly.
They had journeyed far from the tribe, enduring hardship, to find a safer location that was resistant to the increasingly severe cold.
Now, the Divine Child confirmed they had reached the south, fulfilling their quest.
Strictly speaking, the Sichuan Basin is located in southern China. The Qinling-Huai River line, familiar in later times as the north-south boundary, lies just north of the basin.
Even if the climate differed, this line still held reference value.
To the north, rugged mountains blocked cold air, ensuring the area’s suitability for winter survival.
After celebrating, Han Cheng and the group returned to the temporary camp via a semicircular path, digging in other spots along the way and finding consistent purple soil, which reinforced his assumptions.
Upon returning, Han Cheng shared the discovery with the camp. Everyone’s joy was palpable—they had found a prime location for the tribe.
“Divine Child, why does purple soil indicate the south?”
Not all were blindly joyful. Shitou asked this reasonable question.
Han Cheng, having washed his hands, resumed eating reheated chicken wings slowly, explaining:
“This type of purple soil is mostly found in the south, and we have been traveling south for some time…”
Following his explanation, many nodded, feeling more knowledgeable.
Reaching the south brought immense relief to the tribe members.
They feasted on the available food, soaked their feet in hot water, bathed in the river, shaved using copper knives on stone, and assisted each other with their hair care.
The women combed their freshly washed hair with combs made from sheep’s horns.
Their arrival had brought vitality to an otherwise desolate place.
After chores were complete, though night had not yet fallen, many rested in tents.
The exhausting journey left them utterly fatigued.
Han Cheng, reflecting on his future tasks, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The once noisy camp gradually became quiet.