I am a Primitive Man Chapter 931: Telling the Shaman to Go
Previously on I am a Primitive Man...
The primitive with the hunchback twisted around to gaze at the valuable pottery carried by his own people, then contrasted it against the beautifully crafted pieces right there, grasping at once the reason behind this tribe's smug behavior.
Should his tribe own pottery so splendid, they'd probably display the same level of arrogance—or even greater.
No surprise they scorned his tribe's offerings with pottery this stunning.
Yet, consider the salt?
The tasty salt!
His group hadn't just delivered pottery; they'd also transported pure white salt!
Recalling the salt, the hunchbacked primitive's confidence surged suddenly.
He rose swiftly, snatched a container of the savory salt from their pile of items, and carried it across, setting it down in front of the tribe's leader, whose nose pointed skyward with only his chin visible.
“@4@#34!”He bellowed strongly, gesturing toward the salt jar.
The leader, keeping his chin elevated, dipped his head just a bit to peek at the container. With a haughty huff, he lifted it back up, radiating superiority and total command.
Luckily, trade awaited. After posing so grandly for a short time, he crouched down gingerly to lift a gourd close by.
Uncapping it, he cautiously tipped out a portion of salt.
He dangled it before the hunchbacked primitive's eyes, then formed a cup with his hands to gather it, gently spilling the salt back into the gourd.
As though worried a prolonged stare might cause the valuable salt to disappear.
This qualified as genuine salt!
It not only enhanced flavors in meals without any odd aftertastes but was utterly pure.
Differing sharply from the salt the hunchbacked primitive knew earlier, which was just so-so in taste and mixed with tiny specks of dirt and sand.
Never having encountered superior versions, he'd figured all salt resembled what his tribe used.
Now, facing true, spotless salt, the leader deemed the hunchbacked primitive's folks as deceitful.
Noticing the primitive's fixed stare on his hands and the gourd, the leader pondered briefly before allowing a few minuscule salt grains to cling to the hunchbacked primitive's hand, though with clear hesitation.
Following that, he clutched the gourd, rose to his feet, and hoisted his head once more—though not quite as lofty as initially, since too high would prevent discreetly eyeing the primitive's reactions.
As the leader tilted his head upward and narrowed his eyes, the hunchbacked primitive replayed the recent sight and scrutinized the salt specks in his hand, utterly shocked.
No dirt, no sand—unthinkable until this moment.
But here it was, visible right before him.
After some time, the hunchbacked primitive lifted the salt to his lips and sampled the minute grains with caution.
The contrast to prior salt hit him instantly—his eyes widened in astonishment.
This salt lacked any grittiness, no bitterness or sharpness, and above all, its flavor was superb!
Overwhelmed with wonder, he realized that in a trade of food for pottery and salt, he could be so amazed by mere basics.
“@#4W3…”
Crouching in admiration, he wagged his head and queried the leader about sourcing such treasures.
He doubted the tribe crafted them on their own.
Items of such immense worth exceeded his tribe's skills entirely.
Before, this tribe had swapped these valuables with his own for food. Had they the means to create them, they'd never trade away sustenance—they'd boast openly instead.
With no common tongue between the tribes, the hunchbacked primitive and leader struggled to converse. After handing over half a gourd of salt, they at last uncovered the treasures' source.
True to his guess, the tribe didn't produce them; they came via barter from yet another group.
That group, similar to his, brought rare wares to swap for provisions.
Contrasting this tribe, they remained ignorant of the other group's origins or destinations.
One key variance: the other group lacked big animals; they bore their loads on backs or lashed to broad poles for hauling.
The hunchbacked primitive guided his animals, laden with his tribe's wares, departing the settlement.
On this occasion, they failed to secure the desired food; rather, they surrendered half a gourd of salt to uncover the enigma of that tribe.
Such an outcome was unprecedented in their earlier deals.
Gripping his beasts' leads in one fist and his tool in the other, he peered over his shoulder.
The leader confronted their exit path, chin thrust even higher.
The hunchbacked primitive itched to wheel back, bash them with his implement, or slay to claim the prized goods—but he held back.
This restraint stemmed not just from grasping their vanity—if his tribe held such assets against a mightier foe, they'd act identically, maybe with greater disdain—but also from the tribe's wise one’s directive: in dealings with outsiders, strike only if struck first.
He understood the rationale.
His tribe's food-gathering differed from the norm.
Others foraged from flora or pursued game, but his procured sustenance via swaps with fellow groups.
Those groups resembled yielding plants; ruin them, and yields cease.
By sparing those groups, his tribe could harvest food and items time and again through pots and seasoning.
This insight fueled their prosperity over others.
Where cunning ensured endurance, folks sharpened wits and toughness—like the hunchbacked primitive's kin.
Amid these musings, the hunchbacked primitive urged the band toward nearby clans.
Unlike prior ventures, spirits sagged.
Many still pondered the marvels witnessed, dreaming of owning them.
Just the hunchbacked primitive and some companions fretted.
Their survival hinged on pots and salt for provisions, yet superior versions now rendered their stock obsolete for barter.
This spelled dire straits.
He fretted: if further clans mirrored the recent one, what fate awaited his people?
Insight proved scarce; most lived plainly, eyes on the near.
Days of travel later, they arrived at another clan.
Fortune favored: his dreads proved unfounded. This clan welcomed them as warmly as ever.
The hunchbacked primitive sighed in ease.
Post-trade, they pressed on to remaining clans.
Seasons shifted; fresh sprouts graced leafless boughs, verdure crept back to withered fields.
The aged hunchbacked primitive shepherded his band homeward.
This outing stretched beyond the typical, as the trio of planned trade spots had snagged finer pots and salt elsewhere, compelling extra stops to offload all.
Spring bloomed fuller, the band grew eager, yet the hunchbacked primitive stayed solemn.
Even amid garlanded women, he shunned merrymaking.
Partly from years and savvy, but chiefly from their brush with the unknown.
Not the wasted days irked him—time meant little—but the superb pots, the fine salt, and the bearers trading them elsewhere.
They'd yet to meet those bearers.
“#￥5@3…”
After mulling, he declared, urging the group to hasten the trek and shelve breaks till camp, hastening their return.
Their discovery defied all precedent; no such trial had tested the tribe.
Swift return allowed briefing the wise one and gaining counsel.
The wise one held sagacity; he'd chart the course through these novelties.
Two asses, yoked to the timber drag crafted by Mao-Ear and kin, lumbered ahead at the second kin's calls.
The drag's prongs shattered soil lumps, while borders tamped down stragglers.
Han Cheng toiled over the ground's prep, then refined it with a wee tool and blended in beast droppings.
Such diligence served seedling growth—no slacking permitted.
The drenched, husked grain in the yard had puffed up notably…