Chapter 16: We Survived
"What will your tribe do in the future?"
"I don't know… Just survive."
Faced with Chen Jian's question, Song gave a reluctant answer.
The people of his tribe had chosen him to lead them to a better future, but now, he couldn't see that future at all. The groans of the injured, the gnawing hunger, and the terror of the night had left his people in despair.
They had the same skin color, the same features. Why did these people have the protection of their ancestors? Why did they have bows that could shoot birds from the sky and pottery that could hold water?
Chen Jian looked into Song's eyes, then turned to discuss the matter with his own clansmen.
He was eager for these people to integrate into his tribe.
First, his tribe's tools, like their nets and bows, could support a larger population. Second, with the future settlement of primitive agriculture, more people would not be a burden, but a powerful foundation. Third, the threat of a hidden enemy two hundred miles away made him uneasy, and he needed to prepare for it early.
He knew he couldn't explain these reasons clearly to his tribe, so he simply made his proposal and waited for their consent.
The hearts of the women in his clan melted as they looked at the pitiful children of the other group.
As mothers themselves, a natural compassion overrode rational thought, and they agreed without hesitation.
The men considered their recent hunting successes and saw no problem. While ancient experience dictated that large groups must eventually separate, that was before they had bows, arrows, and new fishing techniques. It seemed that old wisdom could now be discarded.
After gaining the tribe's consent, Chen Jian stretched out his hands, took Song's, and said, "Join our tribe. We will survive together, and we will face your enemies together."
"Join you?"
Song didn't understand the statement. Chen Jian thought for a moment and explained, "We are all from the same ancestor. If you don't believe me, look. Are you not the same as me? The same skin, the same eyes, and we even speak the same words."
Song nodded. He believed it. He just didn't understand what it meant to "join."
Chen Jian did not explain further, but instead turned to the power of ritual.
He took out a clay pot, filled it with water from the nearby stream, and cut his finger with a stone axe. Dark red blood dripped into the water.
Grabbing the hand of the somewhat dazed Song, he cut his finger as well.
Song looked down, watching as their blood mingled in the water, dyeing it a faint pink.
Chen Jian held up the pot and shouted, "From this day forward, the blood of our two peoples is merged into one! There is me in you, and you in me. We are inseparable! Should anyone violate this oath, the ancestors will withdraw their protection!"
After speaking, he took a sip, then handed the pot to Song. "Now, I carry the blood of your tribe within me. If you drink, you will carry the blood of our tribe. We will be one family."
Song had never heard such words, let alone such an oath. But he knew that losing the protection of the ancestors was a terrible fate—it was the very situation his people were in now.
He thought it over. This seemed to be the best possible outcome. To become one people meant his clan could have enough food, just like them. They could have these exquisite clay pots!
He looked back at his clansmen. Their eyes were full of hope. They all agreed.
So he hesitated no longer. Imitating Chen Jian, he repeated the oath, took a drink of the water, and passed the jar to the tribesman behind him.
The bewildered clansmen finally saw a glimmer of light in the darkness. One by one, they cut their fingers, letting their blood drip into the pot.
When the jar was passed to Lang Pi, he did not hesitate. He was captivated by this first taste of ceremony and felt that the pot was heavier than the first deer he had ever killed.
"The blood of our two peoples is merged into one! There is me in you, and you in me. We are inseparable!"
Dozens of voices shouted together as they took turns drinking the water mixed with their blood. It tasted a little salty, but it was full of hope.
The only small imperfection was that the last person to drink did not smash the jar heroically, but instead placed it carefully on the ground, afraid of damaging it. The moment lacked a certain flair.
After exchanging names, the two groups quickly began to chat, sharing their experiences. In their isolated lives, every small detail was fascinating.
The men circled Lang Pi and his cousins, asking about the bows and arrows. When they learned the story, they looked at the young Chen Jian with newfound admiration.
Of course, Lang Pi couldn't resist boasting that adding fletching to the arrows had been his idea, and he gave a live demonstration.
The fire had attracted some birds, which liked to search for food in the grasslands after a blaze.
With the twang of a bowstring, a nearby black bird was pierced by a feathered arrow. A few of the newcomers gasped, trembling and not daring to touch the quivering shaft.
Lang Pi smiled triumphantly, forgetting that he hadn't been much braver the first time he'd seen it.
The women asked about pottery, dried fish, and other things, lamenting how fortunate the other tribe was to have received the guidance of their ancestors.
Then they moved on to the eternal topic among women: children. In this era, men often didn't know which child was their own, but a woman always knew who had crawled from her own body.
After the tragedy they had endured, memories of children lost or separated brought a few tears, a few hushed whispers, and a few sighs, all mixed with words of relief—life would be better now. Chen Jian had promised them a life they had never dared to imagine.
Chen Jian took out a few pieces of maple syrup from a pot. He gave one piece to each of the new clan members and a few extra pieces to the children, then distributed the rest to his own people.
The sweetness in his mouth dispelled the last of Song's doubts. This was a simple age, unaccustomed to intrigue and deception. The more formal the ritual, the more profound its impact.
"Where are we going now? Are we going home?" Song asked.
"No, not yet, but we will soon. Our family will have prepared fresh meat and fish for us, and they will be happy that you have joined."
It was a grand promise, but the mysterious maple syrup and the powerful bows gave these newcomers unshakable confidence, as if that promise was already within their grasp.
Chen Jian had someone cut down a few small trees and weave some stretchers from rattan. The men with injured legs were placed inside, and with four people carrying each one, the load was not heavy.
The newcomers were filled with wonder at this novel sight, but the original clan members were used to it. Jian was always coming up with strange new methods.
Chen Jian checked the wounds. There was no sign of pus yet, but in an age without medicine, even a small injury could be fatal.
Although the injured men appeared calm, they were filled with anxiety. They had seen too many clansmen die horribly from infected wounds, had seen the terror of them trembling and curling into a ball before death, and their hearts were heavy with worry.
"Keep moving. I will find a way to stop the bleeding. I will cure you," Chen Jian promised.
As they prepared to leave, Song and a few of his tribesmen stopped by the fire. After murmuring a few words, they picked some unburned bones from the ashes and carefully wrapped them.
He planned to make them into pendants, so that his fallen kinsmen would always be by his side. He also hoped they could somehow see the life Chen Jian had promised.
After a final farewell, the group of dozens extinguished the fire and left. Song's people kept looking back until the tall trees and long grass hid the site from view. Finally, they turned their faces forward and embarked on an unknown journey.
Along the way, Chen Jian deliberately brought up topics that he knew would interest them, which not only fostered harmony but also eased their anxiety.
He picked some prickly greens and had the injured men eat them. The bitter taste was hard to swallow, but Chen Jian told them it could stop bleeding, so they forced it down.
His bag was full of wild chrysanthemum leaves, wormwood, and other antibacterial herbs, but it wasn't time to apply them yet.
The number of trees gradually increased, and the distant mountains grew closer. It was clear they would not reach their home today.
All along the way, Chen Jian had been searching for wild beehives. He finally found one just as the sun was about to set, hidden inside a tree hollow.
Seeing a few thick trees nearby and noting the late hour, he signaled for everyone to rest there for the night.
The women lit a bonfire. Lang Pi led the men out to hunt and quickly shot a half-grown wild boar, bringing back a jar of its blood as well.
Standing under the tree with the hive, Chen Jian watched the bees returning home, already thinking about adding another dish to their dinner.
The women shook their heads, warning that bees like that would sting a person to death, and the hive was far too large. They had only ever dared to harvest from small hives.
But Lang Pi shouted, "Jian will find a way! If he says he can do it, he will!"
The newcomers watched Chen Jian with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety, a flicker of disbelief still in their hearts.
To shelter from the wind and rain, the bees had built their beeswax nest deep inside the tree hollow. A simple knock on the trunk confirmed it was teeming with life.
Chen Jian had a fire lit near the tree, stuffed it with fresh grass, and soon a thick smoke enveloped the hive. It was the time of day when the bees returned to the nest, and the cooler weather made them less aggressive.
Surrounded by smoke, the bees grew confused. They returned to their nest one after another, beating their wings to drive the smoke away and protect their queen.
Chen Jian picked up a stone axe and cut a new hole below the main entrance. He lit another small, smoky fire there, adding wormwood, which was excellent for repelling insects. He then had several people blow forcefully into the new opening.
Thick smoke billowed up through the tree hollow. Unable to bear it, the bees poured out of their original entrance, swarming around their queen. They abandoned their home and flew off into the distance, no longer concerned with stinging any intruders.
You couldn't just smoke them at the entrance; that would suffocate them and provoke the survivors to attack. By leaving the main entrance clear and introducing the smoke from below, the bees had an escape route. It was a timeless principle: always leave your enemy an out.
This time, without Chen Jian needing to say a word, people rushed forward and began pulling out the honeycombs. Instead of immediately putting the sweet treasure in their mouths, they handed it to Chen Jian first.
The women came over, squeezing the honey from the combs with their hands and pouring it into clay jars.
Seeing the jars fill with honey, the newcomers' reverence for pottery deepened. They hoped that they, too, could use such jars one day.
They were told that back at the camp there were many jars, so many that they were even used for eating… They couldn't even imagine what kind of life that was.
Chen Jian took a jar and spread the honey on the wounds of the injured men. Pure honey is a natural bactericide and will not spoil if kept free of water. In an age without antibiotics, it was an excellent way to protect wounds from infection.
Someone cut down some branches and planted them diagonally around the campsite to ward off any predators that might approach.
Over the bonfire, the wild boar had been butchered and skewered on sticks.
Honey was spread over the pork, and as the golden liquid was heated by the fire, it gave off an intoxicating aroma. The pig's skin gradually turned a deep brown, the scent of meat and honey caramelizing together.
The thirty-odd newcomers had never seen such a way of eating, but seeing how accustomed the original nine were, they couldn't help but sigh in wonder.
One of the women melted some lard in a pot, and when it was sizzling, she added the white bee pupae and larvae. With a crackling sound, the white grubs slowly turned golden, their aroma filling the air. She was already quite skilled at frying.
The newcomers stared at the feast, swallowing hard. Forget a better life—if they could have a day like this every day, they would be content.
The sweet and fragrant wild pork masked any gaminess. Everyone got a large piece, stuffing it into their mouths before it had a chance to cool and chewing greedily.
Song swore he had never eaten such a delicacy, not even once.
And the fried golden bee pupae had a flavor that lingered, the savory crust giving way to a soft interior.
As for the mutton soup Lang Pi had been raving about, Song couldn't even begin to imagine it. Could there be anything in the world better than honey-roasted pork? What could that possibly taste like?
Chen Jian watched the group gobble down their food. He knew that after this meal, they had truly become part of the tribe.
As Song had said before, survival was their only hope for the future.
Now, Song stared blankly at the yellow flames, a complete believer in the life Chen Jian had promised.
The tribe had survived. And they would live better.
He silently took out the bones of his kinsman, laid them flat in the palm of his hand, and held them before his eyes.
It was as if he wanted his fallen kin to see this moment—to see their people's laughter and hopeful eyes, to see that their bloodline would be passed down on this earth instead of turning to dust and bone.
"Mom," he whispered. "We survived…"