The person across from me wasn’t very tall, at most just over 1.6 meters. He stared at me blankly, as if he still hadn’t recovered from his shock. At that moment, I was at a loss too, so I could only force a laugh and explain to him, “Sorry, your weapon is just too ancient—this thing can’t take a hit… It’s fine, when I get back to town I’ll buy you a new knife, I guarantee it’ll be sharper than your weapon.”

Pausing, I suddenly realized his weapon might be made of bronze, which made me even more nervous. I pointed carefully at the broken object on the ground and asked, a bit distressed, “This thing isn’t too expensive, right? It’s not an antique, is it?”

Just as I was speaking, another shout came from behind. A short kid came bouncing over, carrying the big bundle I’d dropped. As he ran, he shouted some monosyllabic words. When he saw that the man standing opposite me was left with only half a “weapon” in his hand, he dropped the bundle and charged at us, yelling, while waving something in his hand—his weapon made me laugh even more; it was actually a wooden stick.

“Oh my god, what kind of day is this? It’s not enough to run into one wild man, now I’ve met another.” I muttered to myself.

The kid rushed up to us and stopped. He seemed afraid to get too close, standing five or six steps away, staring at the machete in my hand while waving his big wooden stick, making some meaningless monosyllabic sounds, like the howls of a wild beast in the mountains.

The man standing across from me didn’t dare move recklessly either. After listening for a moment, he threw the remaining half of his weapon to the ground and raised both hands high—this gesture I understood; it’s universal, across all times and places.

The man surrendering also uttered a few monosyllabic words—my god, these monosyllabic sounds were actually a language. The kid with the big wooden stick understood; he sullenly threw away his stick, hung his head, and walked toward me, glaring at me fiercely as he came.

Was it really necessary to surrender?

I pointed at the sheep carcass soaking in the creek with my knife and tried desperately to explain, “I’m not a robber, I’m just tired from walking and hungry. I want to buy some mutton from you… I don’t eat much, at most a pound of meat, it shouldn’t cost much, right?”

These two were definitely wild men—they couldn’t even understand what I was saying!

Chapter One

Log Two: Two Wild Men, Maybe Three

After I gestured for a long time, they finally understood: I was hungry and wanted something to eat.

But clearly, they still mistook me for a robber. Next, they actually pointed at the sheep carcass, signaling for me to take the whole thing.

They were generous, but I wasn’t that bored—I didn’t need to come deep into the mountains to rob wild men. If I turned around and they suddenly shouted “police,” things would get ugly.

I tried my best to explain that I only wanted to share a portion… These wild men seemed unable to grasp it, and my mouth was dry from talking, so I simply stopped explaining. I quickly built a fire, cut off a leg of lamb, and roasted it over the flames—I’d show them by example.

The two wild men were clearly as wild as could be. They still couldn’t understand my meaning. However, they were fascinated by everything in my hands: the lighter, the machete, and the plates and bowls I took from my big bundle. Judging by their reactions, these two had seen very little of the world.

My grilling skills weren’t bad. The only regret was the lack of salt, so the roasted mutton was a bit bland. But after walking most of the day and having only eaten a few peanuts, I couldn’t be picky. The smell of cooked meat made me wolf it down.

Once I’d filled my stomach a bit, I started to recall the qualities of truly delicious roast meat. I rummaged through my backpack and found some spices. Under the stunned gaze of the two wild men, I casually sprinkled some cumin on the meat. Instantly, the aroma wafted over, and the two wild men’s throats moved as they drooled.

I cut off a big chunk of meat and handed it to them, loudly explaining, “I am not a robber. I am hungry. Eating your meat—I will pay, don’t worry.”

The wild men still didn’t understand my words, but they understood food. The two of them snatched the meat I handed over and devoured it in big bites. During this, they even knew to be polite and share with each other, which moved me—there’s courtesy even in the wilderness.

I took out the leftover red wine from my backpack, pulled out the cork, and took a swig straight from the bottle, only to spit it out immediately. The wine the boss bought was good, but after being opened and left for too long, the leftover wine had turned sour and was undrinkable.

I was about to toss the bottle when I caught the wild men’s envious looks out of the corner of my eye. So I tossed the bottle to them and explained as best I could, “Just so you know, I have no idea how many days this wine has been sitting here. It’s a shame to waste it, so if you want to drink it, go ahead. If it tastes bad, don’t blame me.”

The older of the two wild men sniffed at the bottle, then immediately set it aside, knelt down, and kowtowed to me. The younger one didn’t know what was going on, but after the older one barked a few words at him, he quickly got up and knelt down to kowtow to me as well. At this point, there was no hatred in their eyes, only gratitude.

Isn’t that a bit much? Just for a bit of leftover wine, they’re kowtowing? What kind of world is this?