Chapter 12: Arguments
The creamy suet soap washed away years of accumulated grime from everyone's bodies, sending suds floating down the river.
Introducing the idea of combing hair was simple. The tribe already had a basic aesthetic sense, evidenced by the various bone pendants they wore. Soon, braids became a common hairstyle, and for the first time, some of the women began to admire their reflections in the water.
The entire batch of suet soap was used up. Making more was a laborious process, as extracting the alkali from plant ash required continuous stirring for three to four hours.
With his hair now neatly combed, Chen Jian felt a touch of civilization. He could finally understand why later generations of Han Chinese were so particular about the right-over-left fold of their robes—it was a simple but powerful marker of their civilized identity.
The tribe gathered on the riverbank, waiting for their hair to dry. Chen Jian's presence had already subtly changed their routines. Normally, the men would have already left to hunt. Now, they lingered, knowing that if the hunt was unsuccessful, they could always fish.
Once everyone was settled, Chen Jian stepped before them, signaling that he had something important to discuss.
For any major event, obtaining the tribe's consent was essential—a primitive custom that would endure for a long time. Rights have always stemmed from obligations. When survival depends on the group, the group naturally holds the power of consent and veto.
From his past life's memory, Chen Jian knew this practice persisted even into the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. The *Zuo Zhuan* contains numerous accounts of the populace intervening in state affairs; even a king who lost the people's support would be forced to flee. In essence, it was a balance between the cost of suppression and the relationship between obligations and rights.
It was only after a long feudal era that the masses were left with only obligations. Their political rights were not restored until the Industrial Age, when the proliferation of firearms raised the cost of suppression and the masses were needed to fill the trenches in modern warfare. Only then did those who were once considered less than human finally gain recognition.
In their current reality, survival depended entirely on the tribe. Even the old grandmother, their leader, only had the right to make suggestions, not unilateral decisions. The concept of absolute rule could only emerge when food was abundant enough to support a surplus population without the need for collective labor.
The people, accustomed to tribal discussions, chatted and laughed amongst themselves. Meanwhile, the younger children were learning to count with Yu Qianer, their eyes fixed on the lumps of maple syrup in a nearby bowl.
Chen Jian raised his voice. "I want to propose a change for today. The hunt doesn't require so many people. Only eight will go."
A few tribesmen who were still unfamiliar with the number eight asked those next to them, who explained by holding up their fingers.
The hunting had been remarkably easy the past few days, especially after Wolfpi had thought to add animal teeth and bone spurs to their arrows. They had even fired some pottery arrowheads yesterday, which should prove even more effective.
Everyone agreed without objection.
"What about the rest of us?" someone asked.
"Men and women will gather roots together using the bone plows," Chen Jian explained. "The same for fishing—men and women will work together."
The women were pleased with this idea. They were used to digging up tubers bit by bit with stones. Now that they knew fern roots were edible, having the men's strength and their bone tools would make the work much faster. Previously, gathering required a great deal of patience, collecting items one by one, which most men lacked. But digging for fern roots didn't require searching far and wide, allowing the men to better utilize their strength.
Another person pointed toward the potter's wheel in the distance. "We're low on bowls. Two broke yesterday. Who is going to fire more?"
Chen Jian motioned for everyone to follow him. They gathered around the potter's wheel, their eyes filled with curiosity. They couldn't figure out how this strange contraption could make pottery, and many were eager to see it in action.
One person began to turn the large driving wheel, and a rope transmitted the motion to the smaller potter's wheel above. Chen Jian placed a lump of prepared clay onto the spinning wheel and signaled for the person below to turn it faster.
As the clay spun, Chen Jian centered it with his hands, occasionally dipping his fingers in a nearby pot of water. With a light touch, a hole opened in the top of the rapidly rotating clay. He deftly pulled the walls up, thinning them until, with a final motion, he shaped the top into a narrow-necked jar.
The clansmen's eyes widened in disbelief. The curvature of the jar was nearly perfect. To their primitive aesthetic, where symmetry and uniformity were beauty, this was far superior to anything made by hand.
As he worked the clay, Chen Jian was inexplicably reminded of the classic scene from the movie *Ghost*, though sadly, there was no beautiful woman with him…
He was snapped out of his daydream by the tribe's gasps of astonishment. Looking up, he saw them all standing there, stunned. An elegantly curved pottery pot sat before them. It was clearly not something that could be made by hand-coiling, and the process had been much faster.
This time, they weren't hesitant as they had been with the bows and arrows. On the contrary, they were eager to try it themselves.
"Alright," Chen Jian announced. "Everyone can have a turn. We'll see who learns the fastest, and they can be the one to make our pottery."
"Good!" the crowd agreed. It was a fair proposal. Since everything belonged to the tribe, it only made sense to choose the most skilled person for the job.
Chen Jian grabbed a handful of grass to wipe his hands, then stood behind the first volunteer, a burly man, guiding his hands. Pottery required a certain knack, and the man who had rushed up first clearly didn't have it. He was a great hunter, but his hands were as stiff as rocks. The bowl he produced was worse than the handmade ones—it was a lopsided mess.
The crowd burst into laughter. The man retreated in embarrassment, but he still took the strange lump he had made, determined to fire it anyway.
Several others tried in succession, but they were either too heavy-handed or too timid, and the laughter continued.
It wasn't until Wolfpi's turn that the tone of the laughter changed. His hands were too low on the clay, and he accidentally formed a shape resembling a mushroom, with a narrow base and a wide top.
The crowd below fell silent, their expressions turning solemn. Chen Jian had expected them to be embarrassed, but seeing their reaction, he couldn't help but smile knowingly.
Reproduction and survival were the most fundamental aspects of their existence, the very foundation of humanity's struggle to conquer the wilderness. A reverence for fertility was common in this era, often represented by female figurines with exaggerated breasts and buttocks. The former symbolized nourishment, while the latter reflected the deep-seated fear of difficult childbirth. As humans grew smarter, their babies' heads grew larger. *Fortunately,* he mused, *we don't have horns.*
This unintentional creation was carefully set aside. It would be fired that night and kept as a spiritual object, much like a totem for later generations.
After a few more unsuccessful attempts, a young cousin named Acorn finally showed some promise. Though his first piece wasn't perfect, Chen Jian noticed he had a natural feel for the clay, intuitively applying pressure where the walls were thickest. All he lacked was practice.
The clansmen had sharp eyes, too. When Acorn finished, they began to chant his name. A look of surprised joy spread across Acorn's face, thrilled that the tribe was entrusting this important task to him.
It was decided that two of the men with leg injuries would be responsible for turning the wheel, taking shifts to rest. They were both happy; they were no longer useless invalids but could contribute to the tribe's welfare once again. Acorn practiced a few more times, his technique becoming smoother with each attempt. Soon, the pottery he was throwing was more uniform and finished far faster than what anyone could achieve by hand.
Watching him, some of the tribespeople were envious, some were happy, and some perhaps felt other emotions that were harder to read. The division of labor in society was inevitable. In the past, it was based on gender and age; now, it was based on individual strengths. This was a small change, but it was accepted without major objection. The power of inertia was indeed terrifying.
With the first two matters settled, Chen Jian prepared to announce his third and most important proposal.
"I am going to take some people on a journey to explore the lands far from here," he said, his voice ringing out. "We will leave some people to guard our home, and we will return when the moon is full again."
His words plunged the chattering crowd into an even greater chaos. No one could understand what he meant.
"I'm going to find more food," he added, trying to clarify.
"But... the tribe has never been separated!" one person cried out.
"Yes, what if we encounter a great beast?"
"We only separate when the whole tribe migrates!"
The objections were swift and certain, which was inevitable. Even with the trust he had earned from the bows, arrows, and pottery, this proposal violated their fundamental understanding of survival. It was a habit born from generations of huddling together to face the dangers of nature; they could not imagine life apart. More than anything, it was a fear of the unknown. This fear has always lingered in the heart of humanity—nostalgia is often just a mask for the fear of an unknown future, and change always brings the unknown.
But many also supported Chen Jian. Wolfpi shouted, "I want more food! Jian must be right!"
"Yes! Think of the bows and the pottery!" others joined in.
Soon, everyone was shouting, trying to convince the others by being the loudest—a common tribal method where the loudest voice often won the argument.
As the noise swelled, Chen Jian grabbed two large clay pots. "Everyone, pick up a stone!" he yelled over the din. "Those who agree with me, put your stone in this pot! Those who disagree, put your stone in that one!"
After speaking, he picked up a stone himself and dropped it into the "agree" pot. The tribe did not object to this method. They were used to group decisions; in the past, they had relied on shouting matches, but the principle was the same.
One by one, the clansmen picked up stones and placed them into the pot representing their choice.
"Grandmother?" Chen Jian asked, turning to the old woman.
She stood still for a moment before saying, "I need more time to think."
Chen Jian nodded. After everyone else had voted, he called them to gather around. He reached into the "agree" pot and pulled out a stone, then did the same for the "disagree" pot, tossing both aside. He repeated the process, removing one stone from each pot simultaneously. Everyone watched the jars intently. Those who could count kept a running tally; those who couldn't simply stared.
The result was astonishing. As Chen Jian pulled out the final pair of stones, both pots became empty at the exact same time. It was a perfect tie.
He couldn't help but give a helpless smile. The power of habit was stronger than he'd thought. He had been too hasty. Perhaps if he'd waited a year, the outcome would have been different, but time was a luxury he felt he didn't have.
Now, all eyes turned to the old grandmother. In this stalemate, her opinion would be decisive.
She looked at the faces before her, her heart filled with hesitation. Her grandson's presence had brought so many changes to the tribe in such a short time—more food, new tools, pottery. But the risk of failure was immense, a price the tribe might not be able to pay. Would everyone who went out come back? What if they encountered a great beast? What if they fell into a swamp, or were washed away by a river? What if they got lost? What if they were attacked by another tribe?
There might be a better outcome, but the cost of being wrong was too great for her to choose lightly. At this moment, being the tribe's leader came with no privileges, only the heavy responsibility of ensuring its survival. She could not afford to be careless.
Everyone stared, waiting. Her gaze drifted over the past few days' changes. She saw the bow and arrows on her son's back and the new clay bowl in her daughter's hand. Finally, she walked to the two pots and placed her stone into the one for "agree."
A cheer erupted from Chen Jian's supporters. Those who had disagreed fell silent, accepting the outcome.
Chen Jian breathed a sigh of relief, though he still felt he had been too impatient. Fortunately, his grandmother had supported him in the end. Otherwise, he would have had to wait much longer, proving his worth with several more innovations before the tribe would agree.
Just as he was about to discuss who would go and who would stay, a wolf's howl echoed from the distance. The children immediately scrambled into the safety of the crowd, while the men formed a protective circle, looking nervously toward the sound.
A lone wolf limped toward them, whimpering and howling at the gathered people. Its front paw was covered in blood, and it seemed desperate. It was one of the few wolves that lived near their cave. They never came this close to the tribe. What was happening?