This made Henry Clark nervous, because he suddenly realized that the knowledge he had always prided himself on seemed to offer no advantage here.

These bamboo slips were not very old; some of them were even brand new, which indicated that people here were still using bamboo slips and wooden tablets extensively.

As the light in the stone house grew brighter, Henry Clark surveyed the entire stone house with the eyes of an archaeologist.

With every item he saw, his heart sank a little more, until he spotted a bronze lei, the kind that should only be found in a museum, casually tossed by the door—at that point, he was already feeling somewhat hopeless.

"At first, the path was extremely narrow, barely enough for a person to pass. After walking several dozen more steps, it suddenly opened up. The land was flat and spacious, houses were neatly arranged, there were fertile fields, beautiful ponds, and mulberry and bamboo groves. The paths crisscrossed, and the sounds of chickens and dogs could be heard. People came and went, working in the fields; men and women dressed just like outsiders. The elderly and children alike were all cheerful and content. When they saw the fisherman, they were greatly surprised and asked where he came from. He answered in detail. They invited him home, set out wine, killed a chicken, and prepared food. When the villagers heard there was a visitor, they all came to inquire. They said their ancestors had fled here during the chaos at the end of the Qin dynasty, bringing their families and fellow villagers to this isolated place, never to leave, thus becoming cut off from the outside world. When asked what dynasty it was now, they did not know of the Han, let alone Wei or Jin..."

Henry Clark muttered under his breath, though no sound came from his throat, it did not stop him from expressing his last hope in his heart.

According to ancient legend, the tiger is the mountain god's patrol beast.

Because of the cold kindness shown by the tiger grandmother, Henry Clark preferred to call him Mr. Hill rather than the evil tiger grandmother.

At dusk, Mr. Hill returned with the tiger. This time, not only was there a deer on the tiger's back, but two large bunches of fruit hung from its sides.

Amazingly, the deer was still alive, just scared witless by the tiger. When Grandpa Hill or Grandma Hill tossed it off the tiger's back, it was so frightened that its legs went weak, and it lay on the ground bleating, not daring to get up and run away.

Grandpa Hill took a large gray pottery bowl from the stone table, flipped the deer over, and began kneading its belly.

White milk spurted out, quickly filling half the bowl. Grandpa Hill dropped the deer, pried open Henry Clark's mouth again, and poured the half bowl of deer milk down his throat.

The milk had a faintly gamey taste, but the warm liquid sliding down his throat was like a spring rain nourishing parched earth.

Seeing Henry Clark greedily drinking the milk, Grandpa Hill's face, which bore no distinguishing male or female features, finally showed a hint of a smile.

His voice was unpleasant, as if someone were speaking while pinching his throat. If he spoke more slowly, Henry Clark might have understood, but unfortunately he spoke too fast for Henry Clark to comprehend anything.

"Hun?"

Grandpa Hill seemed to notice this problem as well, so he deliberately slowed his speech, asking word by word:

"Commoner?"

Seeing the obvious look of disdain in Grandpa Hill's eyes, Henry Clark shook his head again—he had no desire to be at the very bottom of society.

"Good family son?"

Henry Clark was surprised. "Good family son" meant someone who would serve as a soldier; Han general Li Guang and the Han traitor Dong Zhuo were both from good families. It sounded pretty good—above that were officials and nobles. Could it be that there were still class distinctions here?

When Henry Clark confirmed, Grandpa Hill seemed relieved, and his touch became much gentler, no longer as rough as before.

A bowl of deer milk let Henry Clark confirm that he was no longer tiger food, which made him very relieved.

There are many hurdles to cross in a person's life, and often, the one right in front of you is the most important.

On the tenth day in the stone house, Henry Clark's parched throat could finally produce some simple sounds. Though still hoarse, he was overjoyed, and the one who had upgraded from tiger grandmother to Grandpa Hill also seemed quite excited.

What made Henry Clark happiest was not that his throat was recovering, but that the smell of roasted meat on his body was gradually fading.

The tiger would always come over for no reason, sniffing for the scent of roasted meat with its huge nose, which put a lot of pressure on him.

His body itched terribly; the moisture in the charred outer layer was gradually evaporating, causing it to lose its elasticity and become hard and stiff.

Henry Clark could feel his body separating from the outer shell, his skin itching intensely... This was a very good sign, proving that his body was healing.

Outside the stone house was a basket woven from vines, hanging high above the ground between two giant pine trees. The pines slanted outward, and below was a deep ravine, with a not-so-large stream rushing through the mountain gorge.

Now, Henry Clark spent most of each day in this canopied basket, which made him feel incredibly relaxed. Here, he could freely take care of all his bodily needs without troubling Grandpa Hill.

Talkative Grandpa Hill began teaching Henry Clark to speak, word by word. Even though the sounds Henry Clark made were still meaningless, he never tired of it.

Soon, Henry Clark learned Grandpa Hill's identity, something he had always been proud of and was willing for Henry Clark to know.