No matter what, a person can't possibly die from holding in their urine, right? At least he's still alive, and he still has a suspiciously cheat-like stone watch, and at least a huge amount of knowledge in his head. Even if the gene lock is gone, he once unlocked it before, so he’ll definitely be able to unlock it again in the future. Even if he no longer has true power, he still knows cultivation methods, and this is the super-magical plane of the prehistoric world—so it won’t be hard to train up again in the future.

The key now is, how should he get to the city, and how should he leave this wilderness... The prehistoric continent! It’s said that in some undeveloped areas, there are still large stretches of wild ecosystems, with tigers, bears, and wolves being common, and there might even be magical beasts, all sorts of extraordinary creatures, and even, according to rumors, remnants of demons, ghosts, and monsters. That’s really deadly...

Although Henry Clark used to be a homebody, he absorbed a lot of information while staying in, and watched plenty of wilderness survival shows and videos. Now, surveying his surroundings, he already had a plan in mind. At the very least, he could survive the night, and starting tomorrow, he’d head out of the mountains—ideally, he’d find a water source and follow it downstream, which should eventually lead to signs of human habitation.

“Step one... make fire by friction.”

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Chapter 4: The Essence of Life and Death

The principle of making fire by friction seems like child’s play to modern people—everyone knows how it works. Even some kids who like to read books know it’s just friction generating heat, which eventually ignites a fire.

But knowing is one thing; being able to do it is another.

To be clear, Henry Clark is a homebody youth. While not a total shut-in, he’s still someone who grew up in the city, a product of modern society. Let alone making fire by friction—he probably hasn’t even used a coal stove before.

Right now, it’s about four o’clock. Henry Clark gauged the temperature; it felt like late summer, still a bit hot at this hour. Judging by the situation, night would fall around seven-thirty, which meant he had a little over three hours to prepare a shelter for the night, and making a fire was the top priority.

Using some wilderness survival knowledge, Henry Clark found some dry wood, carved some grooves into it with a stone, and gathered some dry grass for tinder. Then, he used a slender stick to rub against the wood continuously. After just ten minutes, his fingers were burning with pain. Normally, Henry Clark would have given up by now, but this was different—he was in the wild, with dangerous beasts around. Having fire meant survival. He wanted to live; his great life was just beginning—how could he die so quietly?

Gritting his teeth, he kept rubbing for a whole hour. Sweat dripped all over the ground, but he was careful not to let a single drop fall on the wood. The groove was already charred black, with wisps of smoke rising now and then. His fingers were blistered, but he stubbornly persisted, over and over, until about an hour and twenty minutes later, a tiny spark flickered in the groove. Henry Clark was overjoyed and carefully transferred the spark to the dry grass, then, imitating what he’d seen on survival shows, gently blew on it. Slowly, a puff of smoke rose, making Henry Clark almost cough immediately.

But he forced himself to hold back, and only when the dry grass caught fire and his hands felt scorching did he place the burning grass onto the prepared dry wood. Instantly, the wood caught fire as well.

Henry Clark was filled with joy, though his hands hurt terribly, making him grimace and cry out in pain.

By now, it was already dusk. Henry Clark glanced at the sky, carefully added more dry wood to the fire, estimated the burn time, and then continued preparing other things for his shelter. Firewood was definitely needed—the more, the better. There was also the problem of food and water, which was tricky, since these were hard to find in the wild.

However, Henry Clark was fairly lucky. Not far from where he landed, there were wild fruit trees. He didn’t recognize most of them, but some of the fruits had marks from insects or birds, which meant they were non-toxic and edible. Also, about four or five hundred meters from his chosen shelter, there was a tiny stream flowing down from a hillside, probably formed from melted snow. This solved his urgent need for water. The weather was still hot, and he’d sweated a lot while making fire, so he drank his fill at the stream.

“Food, water, firewood—I’ve got all these. As for a place to sleep, I’ll just hang up in a tree for the night. What’s left... weapons...”

Henry Clark sat by the fire, munching on fruit and muttering to himself. The fruit didn’t taste great—rather astringent—but it was enough to fill his stomach. After eating, Henry Clark looked at the sky. It was already late, and the sun would set in about an hour. A cool breeze was blowing, making it a bit more comfortable. He didn’t linger, but started searching among the nearby trees. After a while, he finally found his target.