Richard Thompson actually didn’t know much about tying knots as a way of recording things; he just knew it existed. In the era before writing, primitive people used this method to record certain events and to make contracts. The size and color of the knots all represented different meanings.

　　To see a vague concept become reality before his eyes felt truly amazing to him.

　　However, that was the entire ceremony. Afterward, the old woman told everyone to go outside and work.

　　Everyone filed out of the cave, and no one took the initiative to talk to Richard Thompson; they only glanced at him briefly.

　　This surprised Richard Thompson a bit. He thought everyone would be enthusiastic toward him—after all, he could cook! But then he realized this was only human nature, especially in this era when people still retained animal instincts, with no laws or morals, and humans weren’t particularly strong. So, of course, they’d be wary of strangers. Actually, people in later times are the same, it’s just that these people didn’t know how to hide it.

　　Richard Thompson even struck a few flirtatious poses for the young women, hoping to win their favor with his handsome looks. The two things he was most proud of in his life were, first, his looks, and second, his cooking skills. As the saying goes, cooking wins the stomach, looks win the heart—it never fails.

　　Unfortunately, all the girls avoided him, not a single one showing even the slightest interest. This left Richard Thompson feeling quite hurt.

　　Could it be that my delicate and handsome appearance isn’t popular here? Is someone like Henry Wright more attractive? Uh... actually, that might be for the best. If they all liked me, wouldn’t I be tormented by them day and night? Just thinking about it, with the way they look, is terrifying!

　　Just as Richard Thompson was fully embracing his inner Ah Q, Henry Wright suddenly came over to him and said stiffly, “Let’s go out.”

　　“Oh.”

　　Richard Thompson nodded woodenly. As soon as he turned around, he suddenly noticed many strange drawings on the stone wall to his right. He couldn’t help but walk over and look up at the densely packed murals. There were at least a hundred figures and animals, seemingly drawn with charcoal.

　　But one word could describe them: crude.

　　Like something a three-year-old would draw.

　　At that moment, the old man also walked over, glanced at the drawings on the wall, and chuckled.

　　“Tabba!”

　　Suddenly, a childish shout rang out. A small figure flew over, grabbed a tuft of the old man’s beard with a little hand, swung up, and landed on the old man’s shoulders. It was a chubby, fair-skinned little boy. He grabbed the old man’s hair with both hands, tugging and shouting, “Tabba, tell a story! Tabba, tell a story!”

　　Richard Thompson was dumbfounded. Never mind the old man—even someone as young as him would have been pulled down by this chubby kid swinging from his beard, not to mention the pain! But the old man was completely unfazed, as if he was used to it. He let the little boy pull his hair, even patted the boy’s little butt, and said with a laugh, “I’ll tell you at night, I’ll tell you at night.”

　　That’s it! I can start with these little brats. Richard Thompson suddenly tried to get friendly with the chubby boy: “Which of these did you draw?”

　　The chubby boy immediately wrapped his arms around the old man’s neck, buried his face in the old man’s dry, fluffy white hair, leaving only half his face showing, and looked at Richard Thompson timidly. After being away from delicious food, these little brats were still a bit afraid of Richard Thompson.

　　“I drew them, I drew them.”

　　The old man said excitedly.

　　“Huh? You drew them?”

　　Richard Thompson looked shocked and examined the drawings more closely. The style didn’t look like an adult’s at all! But he forced himself to say, “Wow! These are amazing! Incredible! Incredible!”

　　The old man laughed proudly, as if to say, “Everyone thinks so.” He had no idea how insincere Richard Thompson was being.

　　You really have the nerve to laugh! Richard Thompson looked up at the murals again, suddenly frowned, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu. He thought to himself, That’s odd! These drawings seem familiar, but that can’t be. I’ve never seen such ugly drawings before. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he stared intently, shock in his gaze. Could it be... could these... be the predecessors of our Chinese characters?

　　With that idea, the images in Richard Thompson’s mind began to gradually transform into Chinese characters.

　　“Amazing! Amazing! This is truly amazing!” Richard Thompson shook his head in admiration. Compared to his earlier insincere praise, this was clearly heartfelt.

　　The old man kept laughing foolishly, looking even more pleased.

　　Knotted cords for record-keeping. Pictographs. Matriarchal society. Collective system. All these were clearly features of the primitive era, but why did their power already surpass what I know of humanity?

　　Richard Thompson suddenly felt as if he were shrouded in mist, beset by countless questions.

　　After a while, he went out of the cave with Henry Wright and the old man. As soon as they reached the entrance, a brilliantly colored butterfly flew past.

　　“Wow! Is... is that a butterfly?” Richard Thompson couldn’t help but exclaim in surprise, because the butterfly was almost as big as a palm-leaf fan, fluttering through the air, and was extremely beautiful.

　　Pa!