Chapter 5: A Surprise Return
In the distant cave, the women who had stayed behind stared out into the twilight, a nervous anxiety spreading through the group.
The golden sun had set, but the pale moon had not yet risen, casting the world in a gloomy haze. The hoot of an owl and the howl of a lone wolf only deepened the desolation.
The old grandmother peered into the darkness. From time to time, a woman would shout into the distance, but no echo returned. Normally, the hunting party would have been back by now, whether they had caught prey or not. At night, only the cave was safe.
Worry and panic were plain in every woman's eyes. For a tribe, the men were indispensable. They could not survive the winter by gathering alone, and without their hunters, they would be vulnerable to being annexed by other tribes or even attacked by wild beasts.
They worried their brothers had encountered some terrible creature; they feared something had happened to their sons.
The old grandmother was even more concerned about the future of the tribe. If those men were truly lost, the tribe would be fatally weakened. Inter-tribal marriages and alliances were based on an equilibrium of strength. If a tribe had too few men, it was likely to be absorbed by another, its young children killed.
At this stage of human development, animal nature had not yet fully receded. During the nursing period, a female's instincts would lead her to reject other males. If her young were killed, she would enter estrus again. And the children still breastfeeding in their tribe carried the old grandmother's blood; she could not bear to see such a thing happen.
A matrilineal society was not a matriarchal one. A woman's leadership was a matter of practicality, determined by the ease of tracing bloodlines and her vital role in reproduction. Men's lives were often cut short by the dangers of the hunt, leaving women like the old grandmother as the keepers and transmitters of wisdom and experience.
The fact that today's hunting party had not returned seemed to seal the tribe's fate. They must have encountered a ferocious herd that scattered them. A man alone in the forest at night could not survive.
Several women began to let out mournful cries. The old grandmother looked out at the silent forest, her eyes filled with sorrow. The hunters were all her sons and grandsons, bound to her by the inseparable link of blood.
As the sky grew darker, the despair in their hearts grew heavier.
Chen Jian's mother frantically piled branches onto the bonfire, as if trying to use the light to guide her son and brothers home. The flames cast her frantic, desperate shadow onto the stone wall, where it danced and leaped. The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the cave, while Yu Qian'er sobbed behind her mother, praying for her brother's return.
But the brighter the fire burned, the deeper their despair became.
Finally, one woman in the cave let out a heart-wrenching wail. A second voice joined, then a third, and a fourth, until their cries merged into a wave of sorrow. The sea of despair crashed against the stone walls, echoed through the pines, and startled countless night birds from their roosts.
Suddenly, a thick, rough roar echoed from the distance. The old grandmother's eyes widened. She stood up abruptly and walked, trembling, to the mouth of the cave to look out.
The women heard the excitement in the roar and couldn't help but cry out with joy. They grabbed burning branches from the fire for torches and rushed down the mountain.
In the faint starlight, they could see them: their brothers and sons, carrying prey, running toward the cave.
The roars, a mix of bestial power and human joy, carried far and wide.
Chen Jian's mother rushed to her son, hugging his sturdy body and weeping. She kept stroking the animal teeth hanging around his neck.
The old grandmother finally let her heart rest. She took out a piece of bark marked with knots and counted the returning men. Every one was there. They had also brought back five large prey animals and several birds.
Wolf Skin proclaimed the success of the hunt to the crowd, his story dominated by Chen Jian and the magical bow and arrow.
An aunt took the bow and arrow and examined it carefully, finding it hard to believe such a simple object could be responsible for such a bounty.
The people gathered around the fire, worshiping the bow and arrow. The blood of a slaughtered deer was dripped onto it in offering. Several women leaned over to drink the deer blood, a crucial way to replenish salt. Chen Jian recalled that the tribe would also sometimes travel to a dry, saline-alkali patch of land to bring back soil or lick the stones. The salt-alkali was rich in impurities and tasted bitter, but it kept them from suffering an electrolyte imbalance. Blood was a much better source of salt, but it was rare to catch live prey. While the men could sometimes get it, the women often had to rely on licking stones.
The clansmen's emotions were unrestrained but fleeting. Now that the hunters were back, their joy was simple and natural, and they quickly got busy.
The women took charge of skinning the animals and preparing the meat for roasting. The old grandmother sat by the fire, listening with a look of astonishment as Wolf Skin told the story of the bow and arrow's origin.
She had seen that kind of black-and-white bear before, when she was very young and migrating with the tribe. She had not seen one in all the years since. And this was only Chen Jian's second hunt. Could it be that the black-and-white bears were truly the souls of their ancestors, protecting the tribe?
She glanced at Chen Jian, who was standing by the fire, holding up the bow and arrow, repeating the names of the two objects in a hoarse voice. Language developed alongside humanity, and since he had a mature language system from his previous life, he could name things that had not yet appeared.
The bow, dripping with deer blood, glowed an extraordinary red in the firelight. The successful hunt gave the words "bow" and "arrow" a powerful new meaning.
After watching him for a moment, the old grandmother believed Chen Jian's story. It must have been a message from the ancestors in a dream. How else could this young man know so much? This was a wonderful thing for the tribe. Perhaps they could truly survive and grow in this wilderness.
While the women cut up venison with stone knives, listening to the tale, Chen Jian's ten-year-old sister, Yu Qian'er, chattered to her brother about how worried she had been. Even in a close-knit, blood-related tribe, there were still degrees of affection.
He looked at the little girl, who was just beginning to mature. Her face was smudged with dirt, which only accentuated her large, shining eyes. Two clean streaks ran down her cheeks where tears had washed the grime away, but now a smile lit up her face. This cute little girl might have had the same father as him, or she might not have, but they at least shared the same mother.
Chen Jian got three chicks from Wolf Skin and handed them to his sister. He found a few small woodlice in a corner of the cave, called to the chicks, and fed them one by one.
Yu Qian'er found this fascinating and immediately started turning over stones to find the very same bugs she had always hated, cupping them in her hands. She mimicked her brother, feeding the little birds. Several other little girls gathered around, looking curiously at the three chicks.
The women laughed, wiping away lingering tears and new sweat with the backs of their hands. For the men, exhausted from a long day, this probably felt like home for the first time.
Amid the laughter, Chen Jian stared at the large, plump bird in his hands. He hoped it was tasty. If the meat was sour or tough, there would be no point in trying to domesticate it; he would be better off searching for chickens, ducks, or geese.
He cut open the large bird with a stone knife, removed its viscera, and threw them out of the cave along with the deer entrails. A few wolves, which already existed in a symbiotic balance with the tribe, wagged their tails and kept a safe distance. Once Chen Jian was back in the cave, they pounced on the organs, a much easier meal than hunting in the wild.
He dug a small pit in the ground, lined it with stones, and lit a fire to heat them. He wrapped the fat bird in large leaves, and once the stones were hot, he covered them with a layer of sand, placed the wrapped bird on top, and covered everything with hot coals.
By the time the women finished roasting the venison, Chen Jian dug up his mound and retrieved the bird.
The tribespeople watched this new cooking method with curiosity. Sniffing the fresh aroma, so different from the usual smell of burnt meat, they looked on greedily, but no one moved.
The feathers on the steam-roasted bird came off with a gentle pull, revealing white, tender skin and meat that was soft, not charred. The old grandmother sniffed it; it was indeed different from their usual roasted fare. She squeezed it gently with her hands. It was much softer than the roasted meat, making it more suitable for children and those with bad teeth.
Yu Qian'er and several other children gathered around the old grandmother, staring at the strange-looking bird. The fragrance of leaves and damp earth was much more appealing than the smell of burnt venison.
Since this was the first time they had cooked this way, the old grandmother gave everyone a small piece. Those who received a portion couldn't wait, stuffing it into their mouths regardless of the heat and letting out cries of satisfaction.
Chen Jian took a small piece and chewed it. He was very happy. Although the meat was a bit tougher than that of a chicken, duck, or goose, the taste was good—not sour or gamey. In an era where one could be hungry at any moment, he couldn't afford to be picky. In any case, the bird seemed suitable for domestication.
Since this bird was edible, domestication could start here. Perhaps thousands of years from now, there would be a fifth type of globally domesticated poultry in this world.
He called his sister Yu Qian'er over and told her that if she fed the three chicks every day, they would grow up and she could continue to eat this kind of bird.
Yu Qian'er licked her lips, remembering the delicious taste, and nodded firmly.
The old grandmother smiled as she watched the children. She beckoned to Chen Jian, calling him over.
"Grandma, what kind of bird is this?" Chen Jian asked, wanting to know the tribe's name for it.
The old grandmother searched her memory for the old word. "Duo duo," she said.
"The dodo?"
Looking at the bird bones on the ground, Chen Jian was stunned by the name. He failed to notice the subtle difference between "Duo duo" and "Dodo" and fell instantly into despair.
"The dodo? Where in the world are we? This can't be some small island, can it?"
The old grandmother looked at Chen Jian's strange expression, wondering why her grandson was suddenly so agitated. She had no idea he couldn't distinguish between "Duo duo" and "Dodo."
Of course, if she had told Chen Jian that she had seen a black-and-white bear when she was a child, her grandson would have been just as excited—only one excitement was born of joy, and the other, of dread.