I stood there stunned for a long time, then suddenly realized it was necessary to understand the other party’s language. I pointed at the remaining half of the sheep’s body and shouted, “Sheep!”

The other party sat up and, imitating my pronunciation, said, “Sheep!”

Although his pronunciation was strange, he did indeed say “sheep.” This left me feeling helpless and a bit melancholy.

Taking a breath, I continued my efforts, making an eating gesture and saying, “Eat!”

The other party seemed to understand my meaning, also made an eating gesture, and insisted on saying: “……”

……

Communication continued in this halting manner.

After a long while, the other party finally understood what I meant and began to stammeringly converse with me in their own language.

Their language consisted entirely of monosyllabic words, with very peculiar pronunciation, but I could faintly sense some similarities to our own language. However, it seemed that these savages weren’t very cultured, and didn’t know many words—just a few hundred, repeated over and over. Even these few hundred words seemed to trouble him greatly; he racked his brains to recall every word he knew, doing his best to introduce them to me one by one.

The meal proceeded with this clumsy exchange, and by the time we finished eating, dusk had already fallen. By now, the other party understood that I meant no harm, and did his best to explain something to me. Judging by his gestures, it seemed he was inviting me to stay at their house.

Their house was truly a savage’s dwelling—it was actually a cave, with a half-built thatched shelter in front. The shelter was crudely constructed, the central pillar leaning at an angle. In the middle of the house was a hearth made of cobblestones. There was little furniture inside, just a cabinet filled with clay jars, and a dozen or so animal skins hanging on the wall. There was no bed inside; even the bedding I lay on was simply spread out on the floor.

As soon as I lay down on the foul-smelling animal skin, I was nearly knocked out by the overwhelming stench.

Who knows how many savages had slept on this mat, or for how long. The mixture of various body odors was three times more terrifying than athlete’s foot, and five times stronger than poison gas. Before I passed out, I found myself vaguely missing the seat cushion of a car. Oh, it was only half a day’s journey from the car to here. At my speed, if I could have taken that seat out and used it as a bed, maybe I’d have slept more comfortably…

At dawn, I was awakened by a series of metallic scraping sounds—it seemed like someone was sharpening a knife. Half-awake, I walked out of the cave and saw that the savage was indeed sharpening a knife.

He was grinding his broken metal rod, trying hard to smooth out the break and shape it into a knife. The short savage was squatting beside him, waving my machete in his hand, his face full of delight. When he saw me coming, the tall savage immediately bowed ninety degrees, then hurriedly brought over a basin of meat soup and offered it to me…

Was this breakfast?

On the wooden tray sat a chipped clay jar, with a few bones inside, and a rather shabby-looking bronze knife beside it. The tall savage holding the jar looked very respectful—he bowed his head, raised the tray high with both hands, his face full of deference. Meanwhile, the short savage knelt beside him, seemingly waiting eagerly for me to eat…

Much later, I learned that what these two savages were doing was a kind of ritual called “offering by cutting.” It meant: acknowledging themselves as subjects, requesting the master to confirm their subordinate status, and seeking recognition for their hard work and loyalty.

As for why they acknowledged themselves as subjects… Well, I admit I don’t have the air of a king. The main reason is: under the productive conditions of the time, an individual couldn’t survive alone in the unpredictable wilderness without a group. If I hadn’t appeared, these two savages, living and hunting alone in the mountains, would likely have been swallowed up by the wild before long. And just at that moment, I appeared, my manner and bearing resembling that of a great noble from the outside world. So, the two savages wanted to join an organization and return to collective life…

At the time, I didn’t know any of this. I just casually picked up the bronze knife on the tray, sliced off a piece of meat to taste, and because I used too much force, I accidentally cut into the bone with the bronze knife, causing it to bend.

Tasting the bland meat in my mouth, I recalled a scene from the movie “Hero,” where, during a fierce fight, the protagonist’s weapon bent into a curve… Hey, so that scene was realistic after all. Bronze really isn’t as good as iron—this knife was so soft, it could barely cut meat. Hmm, maybe my grip was a bit too strong.

The meat in my mouth was a bit undercooked and seemed tasteless. After chewing a few times, I felt like gagging. I mustered up the courage to swallow it whole, then quickly reached out to the little savage, pointing at the knife in his hand—that was my machete—and explained, “I can’t give you this knife yet. It belongs to my boss, it’s very, very expensive, even I can’t afford it. Give it back.”

As soon as I reached out, the child’s face showed a look of panic. He knelt on the ground, holding the knife above his head with both hands. At the same time, the older man, seeing my gesture, also knelt down, seemingly pleading with me.

Am I really that shameless? Just because someone touched my stuff, do I make them kneel?