I am a Primitive Man Chapter 5: Law abiding Primitive men

What Han Cheng had dreaded earlier—being divided up and devoured by these primitive folks—never came to pass.

As the senior brother issued his summons, everyone inside the cave sprang into organized action without delay.

The aged primitive tasked with tending the fire hauled over bundles of dry twigs and thicker logs, stacking them onto the existing woodpile. The weak flickers of flame quickly leaped higher, casting a vivid glow across the entire cavern.

A couple of male primitives wielded slender stone blades to strip the hide from the freshly snared rabbit, while a third one yanked out the plumes from a hapless pheasant.

A group of five or six nimble women primitives snatched the one- to two-foot-long fish that the senior brother had picked out from a nook in the cave, skillfully impaling them on wooden sticks before positioning them above the blaze to cook.

It wasn't long before the savory scent of roasting fish permeated the air within the cave.

The little primitives, who had been full of energy and bouncing around only seconds before, fell silent as the delicious smell of cooked fish spread everywhere. They clustered near the flames, mouths watering while they fixed their gazes on the fish sizzling over the heat.

A few of the tiniest ones couldn't resist licking their fingers in eager expectation.

Not much later, the skinned and defeathered wild rabbit and pheasant joined the feast, pierced on wooden prongs and set to roast alongside the others.

Observing this simple yet hearty barbecue and inhaling the mouthwatering smells, Han Cheng felt utterly captivated, as if under a spell.

Even though he noticed they skipped cleaning or eviscerating the fish, and the rabbits plus pheasant merely lost their outer coverings without gutting, the ravenous Han Cheng overlooked such small imperfections.

All he craved was to fill his empty belly right away.

Particularly when the initial batch of seven or eight fish came off the fire and landed on a flat stone, Han Cheng's hunger surged so fiercely that he longed to lunge forward and gobble them up.

Yet the harsh truth held him immobile like a carved figure, forcing him to remain in place, eyes locked in desperate yearning, powerless to act.

In the midst of his frustration, surprising developments unfolded.

The pack of famished young primitives, faced with the alluring aroma from the roasted fish, held back from dashing in to seize and consume them. They stayed huddled close by.

But their gazes burned with an even fiercer hunger.

This sight touched Han Cheng deeply.

Back in the modern era, kids would have grabbed every scrap of such limited grub ages ago.

In today's world, youngsters hold far greater value than grown-ups, particularly during gatherings with food. Whether adults feast properly matters less, but the little ones always get priority to eat their fill.

From enduring a handful of such meals—where rowdy children monopolized the lazy Susan, or sharing a table meant dodging grubby hands that tainted favorite dishes or spat out gnawed pork ribs back onto the platter—Han Cheng had grown wary of dining alongside bratty kids.

That ordeal felt far less pleasant than savoring a solo bowl of stir-fried noodles.

"Gulu gulu."

As thoughts of future plentiful repasts crossed his mind, Han Cheng's gut rumbled once more. After all, since his arrival, he hadn't touched a morsel for almost two full days and nights.

Every bit of the meal, from rabbit to pheasant, ended up arranged on a stone slab close to the fire. Yet nobody reached for it. They all lingered, awaiting something specific.

While Han Cheng puzzled over this, the senior brother, who had lingered apart, approached. He ripped free a pheasant drumstick along with half the breast, setting them atop a broad leaf.

Pausing briefly in reflection, he added a rabbit's rear leg to the pile on the leaf. Grasping it carefully in both hands, he headed straight for Han Cheng.

The senior brother's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he strode right by without a glance. Reverently, he laid the steaming, aromatic portions in front of the elder primitive before stepping away.

It appeared the senior brother commanded significant respect within this group.

Disregarding everyone else, he returned to the food area, claimed the leftover half-roasted pheasant, snatched five more fish, and departed alone.

Once he was gone, the rest advanced, but no wild scramble ensued. They claimed their shares in a calm, structured fashion.

Following the senior brother came the hefty second senior brother. He seized a one-legged rabbit, with shiny drool trickling from his lips.

He itched to hoard all the rabbits, yet eyeing the junior brother who stared intently at the one in his grip, he restrained himself.

Reluctantly, he broke off two more rabbit legs and left them on the stone. Then he picked the biggest two fish and walked off.

Similar to the senior brother, three women and two kids departed in his company.

Naturally, far more trailed the senior brother—five women and seven children of differing ages.

The sharing of the meal wrapped up quietly and efficiently.

The males who secured portions, joined by their kin, settled into spots around the cave and started devouring their evening meal.

Males formed the core of those claiming food, though not entirely— the final taker was a woman whose partner seemed to have a leg wound that hobbled his steps badly.

Han Cheng realized the provisions fell short for all in the cave. Thus, as the last woman primitive stepped up, just a foot-long fish remained on the slab.

She displayed no frustration, simply lifting the fish and guiding her two skinny children plus her even skinnier, limping spouse to a shadowy corner.

In contrast to other households where males dug in first, this woman clutched the fish and bit into it herself.

After consuming half, she passed the rest to her injured husband.

The man didn't start with the flesh; instead, he dug out the cooked fish guts. He wolfed down a couple mouthfuls of meat, cracked the bare fish spine with his fingers, crunched it between his teeth, and then offered the final third to the two starving young ones.

The tiny primitives, saliva pooling from their endless craving, tore into the remnants like ravenous pups.

The senior brother, beneficiary of the prime pickings, had already polished off his supper. He'd downed over half the pheasant and almost an entire fish.

He extracted every bit of innards from the pheasant's body cavity, sparing only the liver. Clutching the leftover guts, he made his way to the injured man's family, passed the bundle to the woman primitive, and murmured a short phrase.

With that, he pivoted and departed.

The limping man and his wife regarded the senior brother with thankful eyes. Staring at the coiled intestines they held, their faces lit up.

The male grabbed the guts, hobbled to the cave's mouth, and soon came back. The pheasant intestines now appeared cleaned. He gave them to the woman, who twisted them onto a stick and held them over the fire to sear.

Hunger gnawed at Han Cheng, and seeing the woman primitive roast those chicken guts for her loved ones stirred intense jealousy in him.

Nearby, the elder primitive perched on the earth, methodically savoring the roasted drumstick in a relaxed manner, differing from the frantic gorging of his tribesmates.

Truly, across all times, the elite never lacked. And invariably, those in power enjoyed a cushier existence than the common folk.

This wretched elder, hogging so many fine eats by himself—wasn't he worried about stuffing himself silly?

Tormented by his empty stomach and glaring at the old one, who had wrapped up the drumstick and now tackled the rabbit leg, Han Cheng inwardly vented his spite.

Han Cheng conceded he'd wrongly maligned the elder primitive moments ago. Far from cursed, the old fellow deserved praise, nearly bordering on awe-inspiring.

This revelation hit as the elder, having casually finished the rabbit leg, lifted the juicy pheasant breast and extended it toward Han Cheng's lips.