After three or five gulps, his legs stopped trembling. After seven or eight more, his arms regained about half their strength. When half a bag of sweet fermented rice had settled in his stomach, his chest no longer felt tight, his scalp stopped tingling, and his back gradually straightened.

　　“Disai hou#&……％！（Master’s boldness）” His hearty act of drinking the sweet fermented rice won him a round of applause and quickly brought him closer to everyone.

　　“Disai, disai!” The man in the blue round cap also took the opportunity to come forward, first grabbing the surface of his own pants on his thigh and rubbing it repeatedly with his hand. Then he pointed to the area near Peter Bolton’s thigh wound, blushing as he gave a thumbs up, “Jianshi, zhaige! (Sturdy, this one!)”

　　“You mean the fabric of the jeans.” Peter Bolton could understand what the thumbs up meant, and his gaze hesitantly swept to the area near his own thigh wound. In an instant, he suddenly understood.

　　He had really wronged the man in the blue round cap! What this person was interested in just now wasn’t his thigh at all, but the jeans on his thigh. More precisely, it was the denim fabric!

　　If it had been the clothes worn by the blue round cap and the others, they would probably have been torn to shreds by the wolf’s claws. But the jeans he was wearing only had three slashes and had effectively blocked most of the wolf’s attack!

　　“Zhaige, zhaige! (This one, this one!)” The blue round cap doctor was finally cleared of “charges” and was so happy he danced with joy.

　　“Jeans, pants worn by cowherds, made of canvas!” Feeling deeply guilty for having wronged a good person, Peter Bolton smiled as he handed the leather pouch back to the man in the black round cap, pointed to his own jeans, and explained loudly.

　　“Sturdy! (Sturdy!)” The black round cap smiled and gave a thumbs up, expressing his admiration for the sturdiness of the jeans. As for the rest of Peter Bolton’s words, he seemed to turn a deaf ear.

　　“Used for herding cattle, that’s why they’re called jeans!” Now that he had figured out the blue round cap wasn’t a “pervert,” Peter Bolton was no longer in a hurry to part ways with the group. He squatted down, picked up a stone, and drew a picture of a shepherd boy and a cow in bold strokes. Then, he pointed to the pants on the shepherd boy, then to his own jeans, and explained loudly, “Herding cattle, worn for herding, sturdy!”

　　“Sturdy!” The two round caps and the group of cloth headscarves finally understood the first word in his explanation and all gave a thumbs up in unison.

　　“Canvas!” Peter Bolton, greatly encouraged, pressed on and drew a sailboat on the ground, pointed to the sail, then grabbed the fabric of his jeans, “Canvas!”

　　“Fanbo!” The group all looked enlightened, their faces full of satisfaction.

　　“I, myself!” Peter Bolton then drew a little figure pointing to his own chest, and did the same gesture. “I! Myself!”

　　“Exia!” The group pointed to their own chests and corrected him in unison. “Zaixia!”

　　“You!” Peter Bolton grew more confident, drew another little figure, and pointed to another person across from him.

　　“Ru!” The group pointed at Peter Bolton and corrected him in unison, their voices brimming with genuine excitement.

　　“I, Peter Bolton!” With the introduction started, communication between both sides would surely get smoother. Full of confidence, Peter Bolton pointed to himself again.

　　“Disai! (Master!)” The group stepped back half a step and cupped their fists to him in unison.

　　“Disai, no!” Peter Bolton waved his hands anxiously, trying again to introduce his name, “Disai, no, Peter Bolton!”

　　“Disai!” The group cupped their fists to him again, firmly refusing to repeat his name.

　　“You’re the disai, your whole family are disai!” Peter Bolton cursed them in his heart, but there was nothing he could do.

　　“Disai#&……％！（Master’s great skill）” Seeing that Peter Bolton no longer insisted, the group thought he had accepted the title “disai,” and were quite pleased, immediately chattering away in the local language.

　　“Heavens!” Peter Bolton beat his chest and stomped his feet in despair.

　　This was probably the most miserable transmigration in history—no old grandpa, no system, and he couldn’t even speak the local language! Heavens, why don’t you just strike me down with lightning!

　　“Boom!” A muffled thunder sounded in the distance!

　　It was going to rain—a sunshower before sunset. Dark clouds rolled over the mountains, but above everyone’s heads, the sky was still blue.

　　“Heavens, screw your ancestors!” Stimulated by the thunder, a surge of defiance welled up in Peter Bolton’s heart. He cursed loudly, squatted down, grabbed a stone as a pen, and wrote furiously on the ground: “Myself, I, Peter Bolton!”

　　“&……％￥￥#！（Master can write!）” The cloth headscarves were shocked, shouting as they all backed away, their eyes turning to the black round cap.

　　The man in the strange black round cap strode forward, squatted down, looked at the writing on the ground in astonishment, “Disai#％￥￥？（Master is literate?）”

　　He quickly realized this way of communicating was much more direct. The man picked up another stone, squatted across from Peter Bolton, and wrote furiously, each character in authentic traditional script: “Master is literate? Variant characters? Is Master’s name Peter Bolton, or is it a dharma name? I am Chang’an Brian Brooks, greetings!” (Note 1)

　　As long as they could communicate, it was good—even if the other party wrote in traditional characters, and with even more strokes than usual!

　　In that instant, Peter Bolton was so happy he almost jumped for joy!