I am a Primitive Man
Chapter 936: The Noseless Shaman
Inside a luxurious room on top of the roof, decorated with a few fixed pieces of pottery, an elderly female primitive tribeswoman—looking even older than the shaman from the hunchbacked tribe—sat on a cushion woven from stacks of straw.
She looked very old; her face was not only lined with deep wrinkles but also dotted with many age spots.
Around her neck hung a string of beads made of various materials: some pottery, some copper, some stone, some bone…
Though the materials differed, their sizes were mostly similar.
The beads were not perfectly round, but each appeared smooth and shiny.
Especially the copper beads—they seemed to gleam even without sunlight.
This shine was the result of years of being worn close to the body and frequently touched by the elderly shaman herself.
In short, the effect could be summed up in two words: “handle it!”
The beads were fairly large, so the necklace itself appeared sizable.
Yet, on this old shaman’s neck, it didn’t make her look small or weak; instead, it created a sense of harmony.
This was mainly because the woman herself was not small, her body still had plenty of flesh despite her age, and when she sat down, her weight was considerable.
From the perspective of the people of this era, she should have been extremely beautiful—but no one thought so.
It wasn’t because their aesthetic standards had changed, but because she had no nose.
The area where her nose should have been didn’t just fail to protrude; it was slightly sunken, leaving only two dark holes.
This made her appear ugly, even frightening to some.
Yet this was a fate all the tribe’s shamans had to endure.
To become a shaman, one had to have one’s nose removed.
Moreover, shamans were not allowed, like other women in the tribe, to hide in the grass with male tribesmen or bear children of their own.
No one knew exactly how this tradition began, yet the tribe continued to uphold it strictly, and no one dared to disobey.
The elderly, plump shaman sat here, gently stroking the beads around her neck, a contemplative smile playing on her lips.
Although old, her hearing was keen, and she could hear the conversation outside.
Hearing it made her expression change.
“More exquisite pottery?”
“Pottery more exquisite than that of our own tribe?”
Impossible!
Their tribe was the strongest.
Their pottery looked perfect; how could there possibly be pottery more exquisite than theirs?
Those outside speaking such nonsense were foolish indeed.
She thought this to herself, preparing to tell someone from her tribe to ignore them.
But just then, a person from her tribe entered, carefully carrying a small piece of pottery.
The sunlight at the doorway was blocked by this person, leaving the pottery in shadow, so the shaman couldn’t see it clearly at first.
Seeing this, she shook her head.
This person was still naive, easily believing what outsiders said.
They claimed their tribe had pottery more exquisite than theirs—did that really mean it existed?
Couldn’t he at least discern for himself?
Still, since the person had already brought it inside, she let him stay.
Sitting idly, she figured she might as well look.
With that, the man carefully bent forward, muttering something, extending the pottery so the shaman could see its extraordinary craftsmanship.
The shaman glanced at it reluctantly, her gaze barely paying attention—until she took a proper look.
Her eyes widened instantly.
“#￥4@2…”
Excited, she took the exquisite pottery from the man’s hands with even greater care.
She held it before her, examining it closely, her eyes reflecting various emotions:
Shock, disbelief, deep admiration…
All her previous disdain vanished.
Until now, she had thought her tribe’s creations were the best—especially pottery, salt, and copper.
Other tribes didn’t even know how to make these things, let alone surpass her tribe’s pottery.
But now, a piece of such fine pottery was in front of her.
As a shaman, she was very familiar with pottery.
In their tribe, to become a shaman, one’s nose was removed before coming of age. The candidates were then called by the previous shaman to a secluded valley to secretly learn pottery-making and copper crafting, turning the copper into weapons.
After a long period, the most skilled among them would become the next shaman.
The rest became failures, powerless and doomed to stay in the valley, making pottery and copper until death.
As one of the best of her generation, the elderly shaman was highly skilled in pottery.
At a glance, she realized this small piece of pottery far surpassed anything her tribe had produced.
Holding the pottery, she examined it carefully, increasingly admiring the creator’s skill.
After studying it for a while, the elderly shaman suddenly rose from her cushion.
She walked swiftly toward the door.
Moments later, she emerged and approached the hunchbacked tribesman waiting outside.
The hunchbacked ones were stunned—never had they imagined such a person lived in such a lavish room.
The most respected shaman of this powerful, wealthy tribe looked like this!
The person who brought the pottery inside was also momentarily shocked.
Their shaman was walking out again!
Normally, a fully-fledged shaman would rarely leave her quarters.
But now, she emerged without hesitation—drawn by the small exquisite pottery from their tribe.
The elderly shaman ignored the onlookers’ surprise, walking directly in front of the hunchbacked tribesman, holding the pottery aloft.
“#￥45%…”
She spoke, her voice hoarse and fast from excitement, so the hunchbacked tribesman didn’t fully understand.
Only when she repeated herself did they grasp that she was asking where they had obtained this precious pottery.
“#￥@3…”
The hunchbacked tribesman explained their previous encounters.
The shaman listened intently.
After a while, he carefully unpacked a gourd wrapped in animal skin, containing salt produced by the Green Sparrow Tribe.
Previously poured into a bowl by their tribe’s priest, it had been carefully transferred back into the gourd for the journey.
The noseless shaman gently set her empty bowl down, took the gourd, and poured the salt into the bowl.
Crushed fine by a mortar, the salt fell in a thin stream.
Watching unblinkingly, the shaman was again astonished.
She set down the empty gourd, carefully examined the salt-filled bowl—astonished.
The salt was indeed as the hunchbacked man claimed—free of sand.
She had never seen sand-free salt before.
Just as she had never imagined pottery could be made so exquisitely.
After some time, she had water brought in a pottery jar and kindled a fire to cook.
The jar had three cylindrical legs for stability, making it convenient for boiling water or cooking.
Soon the fire blazed, and the food was ready.
The shaman served herself two small bowls of rice, adding salt from the Green Sparrow Tribe to one, her own tribe’s salt to the other.
She tasted the Green Sparrow salt first; her eyes lit up.
Unable to resist, she ate several more bites before restraining herself.
Then, tasting her own tribe’s salted rice, she frowned—what was once delicious now seemed bitter, gritty, and unpleasant.
She finished the Green Sparrow-salted rice with delight, leaving nothing.
“Phew~”
Setting down the empty bowl, she exhaled in relief, her eyes gleaming at the pottery and salt.
“This is how salt should be!”
She hugged the pottery and salt to her chest, speaking excitedly to the hunchbacked tribesman, proposing that her tribe exchange food for such goods.
The hunchbacked tribesman, already intending to trade, agreed immediately, noting they had expended considerable food to obtain them, so the exchange terms would differ from before.
The elderly shaman accepted without hesitation—these treasures were worth any food.
Under her guidance, the exchange began again.
Through the primitive barter, roughly a quarter of the goods brought by the hunchbacked tribesman returned to them.
They were ecstatic. Their priest had predicted they could trade for valuable items in the wealthy tribe—and now they had, exceeding expectations.
Using some of the goods they obtained, they traded for more pottery and salt.
After this, they no longer feared the strange-looking shaman.
Following the tribe’s custom, they clasped their hands above their heads in respect.
“@￥%%…”
The shaman, clutching the exquisite pottery, instructed them to locate the tribe that produced such treasures and offered to trade at the same generous terms.
The hunchbacked tribesman, overjoyed, nodded repeatedly, pounding his chest to show his determination.
The noseless shaman smiled. Though her smile might appear terrifying, to the hunchbacked tribesman it seemed beautiful, like spring flowers.
After bowing again, they packed the traded items, securing some to animals and carrying the rest themselves, and departed under the guide’s lead, navigating through strange caves.
The shaman watched them leave, smiling, before returning to her quarters, holding the pottery and salt carefully.
She inspected the pottery again, comparing it with the tribe’s own—her tribe’s creations were far inferior.
She sighed, realizing her tribe could likely never replicate such craftsmanship.
Looking toward the direction the hunchbacked tribesman had left, she hoped her tribe could obtain more of these precious goods, or even learn to make them.
Her expression reflected hope and trepidation.
She walked to a thick stone slab in the room, etched with a red abstract pattern resembling a tiger—a totem of the Red Tiger Tribe.
She placed the Green Sparrow pottery before it, seated cross-legged, raising her hands above her head, murmuring prayers to the tribe’s deity.
Outside, the treehouse window let in sunlight and the fragrance of blooming flowers.
The hunchbacked tribesman sat cross-legged on animal hides, joyfully recounting his story to their tribe’s elderly and wise Shaman.
This tribe lived in treehouses and thus was called the Nest Tribe.
After telling the whole story of their encounter with the Red Tiger Tribe, the Nest Tribe’s Shaman nodded approvingly, praising the hunchbacked tribesman and his group.
The next day, the treehouse below became lively again. The traded pottery and salt were organized—some loaded onto animals, some carried by themselves.
They also carried food for the journey. The animals bore loads far heavier than the people, yet walked steadily under the hunchbacked tribesman’s guidance.
The priest climbed back up his treehouse, sitting cross-legged, hands on his forehead, silently praying.
Spring had arrived; the world radiated warmth.
In Jinguan City, winter’s desolation had vanished, replaced by life. The fields were verdant, dotted with blossoms.
In the courtyard, Han Cheng tended sprouted gourd seeds, carefully watering them. Mother dogs rested nearby, their playful pups frolicking.
The pups’ curiosity led one to the seedlings, but the adult dog, Fujiang, intercepted it, gently lifting it away.
In the rice fields, Han Cheng had set up small mounds of healthy, dark-green seedlings. Both planting methods produced similar results, yet they would grow better than directly sown grains.
Admiring the seedlings, Han Cheng removed weeds and then left for the eastern side of Jinguan City, which had yet to be developed for rice cultivation.
A small plot of land had already been prepared, with trenches filled with chopped sweet sorghum stalks, remnants from last autumn, to sprout in spring.
This year, as others busied themselves with the rice paddies, Han Cheng spent two days planting the sweet sorghum stalks, which now sprouted in neat rows, resembling sorghum or corn.