I am a Primitive Man

Calligraphy with a brush was not Han Cheng's strong suit. Having grown up using a hard pen and never learning calligraphy, he struggled with the brush, finding it awkward.

But there was no better way to write now than with a hard pen, so he had to force himself to try it.

If this had been later, Han Cheng wouldn’t have had the courage to write with a brush in front of others. After all, his skin wasn’t as thick as the "calligraphy masters" who could write with ink splatters all over their work.

However, this was the primitive era. Looking at the Shaman and Shi Tou, who had only stopped wearing animal skins in the last two years, Han Cheng thought it wouldn't be an issue even if he made a fool of himself.

After all, the writing of Shaman and Shi Tou wasn’t much better.

Writing was just a way to record things in the Green Sparrow Tribe, and it had not yet developed into the art of calligraphy.

Of course, this also had something to do with Han Cheng himself. He had never been able to write beautiful characters to teach them.

The rough paper was folded and cut into four pieces with a knife. One was placed on the Shi Tou table, with two stones on either side acting as paperweights.

Han Cheng sat there with perfect posture, holding the brush with great seriousness as though he were an expert.

Rough paper, rough ink, and a person who had barely ever used a brush—the combination didn’t turn out to be a miraculous success but rather a disaster.

Looking at the awkward, scribbled characters that barely showed up on the rough paper, Han Cheng felt embarrassed even though he had already mentally prepared for this.

"This thing isn’t perfected yet. Once everything is in order, writing will be much easier," Han Cheng said, trying to save face and deflecting any blame.

He would never admit that the result was due to his terrible calligraphy.

Hearing Han Cheng’s explanation, the Shaman and Shi Tou, who had never really grasped the art of writing, looked at each other with understanding.

"Of course," they thought. "With the wisdom of the Divine Child, how could he have written such unrecognizable characters unless he had already memorized 'Little Tadpoles Looking for Their Mother' by heart?"

Seeing their reaction, Han Cheng secretly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Today’s attempt had been a close call.

But he thought to himself, if he had better ink and had used a goose feather to make a proper brush, his writing would probably feel much smoother.

Shaking his head, Han Cheng pushed this thought out of his mind.

No matter how poorly his brush writing was, he still had a deep attachment to traditional practices.

Many people shared this attachment, which is why they were so outraged when so-called innovators used the excuse of "creativity" to insult traditional calligraphy.

Looking at the brush in his hand, Han Cheng realized that the brush he had made with the materials at hand was uncomfortable to write with.

On one hand, he wasn’t used to using a brush. On the other, the brush itself wasn’t ideal for writing. It didn’t hold enough water or retain the ink, and after a few strokes, he had to dip it in the ink again.

It seemed that pure wolf hair wasn’t suitable for making brushes, and he would need to find a way to improve it.

When the Shaman finally got his hands on the subpar brush, it intrigued him. After inspecting it from all angles, he tried to mimic Han Cheng’s method, dipping it in ink and awkwardly attempting to write on the back of the paper.

Accustomed to carving with a hard stone pen on clay tablets, he, too, struggled with the soft brush. On his first stroke, he pressed the entire tip of the brush flat, and in the process, he rubbed off two of Fu Jiang’s hairs.

Fortunately, the paper was thick enough and absorbed the ink well. Otherwise, this mishap might have created a hole.

"Divine Child..."

The Shaman, with ink on his hands, held up the disheveled brush and looked helplessly at Han Cheng.

Seeing the Shaman in this state, looking like a child who had made a mistake, Han Cheng couldn’t help but smile. People often say that the elderly are like children, which seems true in this case.

As people age, sometimes their behavior can resemble that of a child.

"It’s fine, just dip it in ink again..." Han Cheng said with a smile.

The Shaman, following Han Cheng’s advice, dipped the brush in the ink bowl, and sure enough, the disheveled brush returned to its original form.

As the Shaman marveled at the brush’s magic, he became more interested in this new method of writing. Dipping the not-so-good ink, he scribbled and drew on the paper. After finishing one piece, he gradually got used to the brush, which differed significantly from the stone pen.

"Write on this side."

When the Shaman finished writing on the clean side of the paper and was about to turn it over to write on the side he had already marked, Han Cheng handed him more paper.

The paper made this time was too rough, and Han Cheng didn’t dare to get too close to it.

Since the Shaman seemed interested, he might as well let him practice writing.

After finishing another sheet, the Shaman’s hands and face were covered in ink smudges, a common occurrence for beginners using a brush.

The Shaman looked at the brush in his hands and thought it wasn’t as useful as the Shi Tou pen and clay tablets, but it was still a novel tool.

After scrutinizing it, he finally handed the brush to Shi Tou, who had been waiting patiently.

Watching the Shaman’s interest in the brush, Han Cheng had an idea.

"Shaman, what do you think of this?" he asked.

"It’s not as useful as the Shi Tou pen and clay tablets..."

That’s how primitive people were. They generally didn’t beat around the bush and just said whatever was on their minds.

Han Cheng sniffed, acknowledging that this straightforwardness was commendable, though it could be a bit hurtful at times, like now.

"The problem is that the paper and brush are imperfect, and the ink isn’t very good. Once we make the paper thinner and stronger, the brush will hold more ink and be easier to use, improving the ink. You’ll see that this tool will be more useful than the stone pen and clay tablets."

"This large, thin paper can record more than two heavy clay tablets."

"All the clay tablets we have in the house could be recorded on paper of the same thickness."

Han Cheng generously forgave the Shaman’s bluntness and explained the benefits of the brush, ink, and paper. He talked about the potential of paper and brush development to the Shaman and Shi Tou, who were interested in cultural matters.

Han Cheng deliberately compared it to clay tablets to highlight how helpful paper was for writing.

He did this partly to validate the paper and brush and subtly encourage the Shaman and Shi Tou to improve the brush, paper, and ink.

This way, Han Cheng wouldn’t be tied down by these tasks and could focus his limited energy on raising the child and working on bronze-making.

As for whether the Shaman and Shi Tou could improve these things, Han Cheng wasn’t at all doubtful.

On the one hand, he knew that he could provide some guidance during their improvement process as someone with only a partial understanding.

On the other hand, it was also because of Han Cheng's confidence in the tribe's people.

After coming to the Blue Sparrow Tribe, Han Cheng had seen many such people and things.

For example, Hei Wa, who loved pottery, the lame man who did woodworking and weaving, and Third Senior Brother, who enjoyed archery…

Through their relentless efforts, each of them had achieved something in their respective fields, gaining a sense of accomplishment.

Han Cheng had once analyzed this situation. First, the tribe had enough food, which freed people from the long-term labor of food gathering, giving them plenty of time to focus on other things beyond acquiring food.

Second, it was the "simple" minds of the people in the tribe.

Because of their "simple" minds, they had few distractions. Once they set their sights on something, they continued working on it without hesitation.

Many things in life—failure or success, mediocrity or achievement—are only separated by the word "persistence."

The Shaman and Shi Tou were not lacking in this quality, which was quite common in this era, but which they hadn't noticed in themselves.

From this perspective, it was sometimes hard to distinguish between intelligence and foolishness.

As expected, after Han Cheng said these words, he got the exact reaction he had anticipated.

The Shaman and Shi Tou stood there dumbfounded, their mouths agape, staring at the simple brush, ink, and paper, their expressions blank.

Such unremarkable things could have such a significant impact.