I am a Primitive Man

"Of course, it can record everything on the ceramic tablets."

Han Cheng recalled the instruction manuals in medicine boxes, those tiny pieces of paper that can hold many words. He nodded solemnly to the two of them.

He wasn’t lying; with the right pen and good quality paper, the potential they can unleash is limitless.

"What? You haven’t recorded everything from the ceramic tablets? That's because you didn’t make the pen and paper well enough. Keep trying..."

Han Cheng thought shamelessly to himself, shaking his head with a smile. The words etched on the ceramic tablets by Shaman and Stone weren’t very small, especially Shaman’s, because his eyesight wasn’t the best.

Under such circumstances, normal paper of the same thickness as ceramic tablets could record everything on them without requiring a tiny script. The small characters on instruction manuals wouldn’t be needed either.

After Han Cheng’s affirming response, Shaman and Shi Tou, both long-time "cultural workers" of the tribe, stared at the paper and pen on the stone table, their eyes shining excitedly.

Shaman immediately expressed his willingness to learn to make paper from Han Cheng and produce better paper.

Han Cheng smiled but disagreed.

The shaman was too old for such work; it was more suitable for Shi Tou, who had just turned 18.

As for Shaman, he only needed to handle making brushes and ink, which were smaller tasks and didn’t require significant efforts to improve—perfect for someone like Shaman.

As for Shi Tou, Han Cheng was sure he would learn how to make paper. He was confident not because he was arrogant but because he was certain of it.

"Once the paper is ready, we can use it to make sky lanterns, better than the snakeskin ones," Han Cheng said with a smile, looking at Shi Tou and speaking slowly.

As soon as those words were out, Shi Tou was energized, his chest pounding enthusiastically as he vowed to make paper well.

Seeing the two fully mobilized, Han Cheng smiled widely.

Next, he began guiding Shaman and Stone on the thought process.

The "thought process" was quite simple—Han Cheng just shared his knowledge of paper, pens, and ink with them, giving them a direction for their efforts.

After explaining this, Han Cheng took Shi Tou to make paper again, so he could advance from the rough paper-making process they had before.

During the second attempt, Han Cheng learned from the first mistake and used only the thinner inner bark, discarding the thicker outer bark. He also pounded it finer, and when placing the pulp on a simple sieve, he used less than before.

With these changes, the paper made the second time was far better than the first—much more like the actual paper, showing noticeable improvement.

This improvement was easy to understand—just like someone who failed a test with zero points, even a little effort could bring progress beyond the previous result.

But the further they went, the more time and effort it would take, and progress would become less noticeable.

This was another reason Han Cheng wanted Shi Tou to research paper-making. Stone was young and still had many years of work ahead of him. He could spend decades working on complex paper-making, while Shaman was no longer suited for this.

It sounded harsh, but it was a reality that couldn’t be ignored.

The paper made the second time was a vast improvement over the first, which greatly motivated Shi Tou. Then Han Cheng naturally stepped back and let them handle it.

Now, the Shaman had become quite terrifying. The animals in the tribe trembled upon seeing him, especially the dogs. They would rather die than approach the Shaman.

Because Shaman, with his sparse hair, had completely turned into a "hair-plucking maniac." Whenever he saw an animal, he couldn’t resist pulling a handful of fur, which he used to make brushes.

The rabbit he frequently held and a sheep from the deer pen had already become half-bald, and the fur plucking from the sheep in the Green Sparrow tribe had become incredibly intense.

Thankfully, the weather was warm now. If it were winter, those two might have suffered.

Whenever Han Cheng saw those two animals with half their fur missing, he couldn’t help but twitch his face in discomfort.

As expected, the old saying holds: an old man will always be an old man. A shaman could even give plucking fur a new twist, pulling as if he were trying to strip it bare.

At first, Han Cheng didn’t understand, but when he saw Shaman’s sparse hair, he suddenly realized why Shaman was so harsh.

Under Shaman's obsessive actions, the Green Sparrow tribe’s collection of brushes kept growing.

There were brushes made of wolf fur, rabbit fur, sheep wool, deer hair, wild boar bristles, and even chicken feathers and wild goose feathers. The shaman even used the hair he shaved off his own head to make some brushes.

It could be said that any animal with fur in the tribe had not been spared.

Recently, whenever Han Cheng saw Shaman, he couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine.

While the results were not entirely without merit, they weren’t perfect either.

The wolf fur brushes were too stiff and absorbed water poorly. The rabbit fur and sheep wool brushes were too soft and absorbed ink too much. As for the wild boar bristle brushes, those weren’t even brushes anymore; they were more like brooms.

Han Cheng watched Shaman scratch his head but didn’t feel the need to offer more advice.

Shaman had already tried every fur in the tribe, and now that they were this far, it was only a matter of time before he mixed different types of fur to create new combinations.

Days passed, and time bent the old bodies, brought new lives, and filled the fields surrounding the Green Sparrow tribe with ripened crops.

After a hearty harvest feast, the people of the Green Sparrow tribe, busy for so long, now happily carried their tools toward the vast golden sea of crops.

Glittering sweat slid down their bronze skin, and joyful smiles filled every face.

Among the chirping sounds, the wheelbarrows traversed back and forth across the stone roads, moving between the fields and threshing grounds, transporting the heavy harvest.

The sun-dried grains were placed in the grain storage, and everyone felt a deep sense of security. With the grains stored, they wouldn’t go hungry for a long time.

To live without worrying about food and clothing in this era—just thinking about it made them feel a surge of pride.

After the autumn wind passed, carrying a few yellow leaves, the area around the Green Sparrow tribe suddenly felt vast and empty. The fields were clean and neat, as though someone had purposely tidied them.

Standing on the wall, Han Cheng gazed at the vast fields, a smile spreading across his face.

The tasks that needed to be done were finished; now, it was time to head to Copper Mountain again.