From the shape of that boar-like creature covered in long, razor-edged spines, Chen Xu casually named it the Arrow Boar.
Whether it truly shared lineage with the common pig was irrelevant — in this primitive world, he alone decided what things were called.
And if these names one day survived the passage of millennia, etched into the pages of some ancient bestiary, then they would be deemed the official ones — the true nomenclature of civilization's dawn.
After a long and fruitless attempt at communication, Chen Xu finally gave up on extracting useful information from the ape-man chieftain. The problem was simple: the so-called "Ape Tongue" was far too crude — a jumble of grunts and gestures barely capable of expressing the most basic meanings.
"Forget it," Chen Xu muttered. "I'll have to see it for myself. These apes can't even count — they've no idea how big their tribe really is. I can't afford mistakes on my first conquest."
He sent the ape chieftain to cut bamboo, then barked orders at the others, commanding them to clear the cave of filth and rinse the floors with water. All the while, his thoughts wandered.
Maybe it's time to start teaching them proper speech… This primitive chatter is unbearable.
Soon, the morning's labor came to an end. The woodcutters returned, bundles of dry branches slung over their shoulders, while those who had gone for bamboo came back with crude spears ready for refinement.
After breakfast, Chen Xu gathered the tribe around the fire. He picked up one of the bamboo spears, showing them how to temper it in the flames. Once the apes grasped the technique, he joined in, hardening every spear they had made that morning until they gleamed with a faint amber sheen — weapons fit for battle.
When the work was done, Chen Xu pointed to fourteen of his strongest warriors.
"Carry your spears," he ordered. "The rest — guard the cave. Keep cutting bamboo, gather firewood, and follow the same process to make more spears. We'll need them ready when we return."
Having arranged the tribe's affairs, he took up the deerskin map he had hastily sketched the night before and signaled for the ape chieftain to lead the way toward his former tribe.
The chieftain, clearly worried about his own people's fate, did not hesitate.
Soon, fifteen armed warriors led by Chen Xu disappeared beyond the small mountain, vanishing into the vast expanse of jungle.
This time their path ran parallel to the river, winding through dense undergrowth and humid air thick with the scent of life. Chen Xu leapt from tree to tree as they went, occasionally plundering bird eggs while adjusting his map — refining the vague lines, marking dangerous zones, and bringing clarity to the unknown.
After three hours of travel, they reached a damp river valley. The ape chieftain halted and approached Chen Xu, excitement gleaming in his eyes as he babbled incoherently.
They had arrived. Even without understanding his words, Chen Xu could tell from the sparkling eyes of his warriors.
He raised a hand for silence, unrolled his map, and marked their location with a dark dot of charcoal. According to his calculations, this valley lay to the north of their home mountain — not far in a straight line. Yet between the two stretched several perilous regions, forcing them to take a wide, looping detour.
Tracing the route they had taken, Chen Xu licked his lips, shaking his head. "Damn it… we walked half a day just to circle around."
Then something clicked. "So this place isn't far from the riverbank where we hunted before. No wonder they could scavenge along the shore. That means when we descended the mountain last time, we must've gone west. Could there be some fierce beast lurking beneath those cliffs?"
On the map's eastern side, a large black circle — drawn in heavy charcoal — separated the nearby river from the mountain. Both tribes had instinctively avoided that zone. Whatever lived within that circle was clearly no ordinary predator.
"Interesting…" Chen Xu murmured, eyebrows lifting. He carefully rolled up the map, slid it into a hollow bamboo tube, and slung it across his back. In this age of stone and fire, the map was his most precious tool — a treasure he could not afford to lose.
"Lead the way."
The landscape matched the chieftain's earlier description: a narrow valley carved by an old river. Chen Xu surveyed the terrain, then nodded for them to proceed.
The ape-man gave a triumphant shout and eagerly pushed aside the thick foliage, revealing a faint, narrow path — a trail worn smooth by years of passage.
They walked upon a carpet of damp leaves, slipping past thorn thickets until the valley opened before them. The river here was shallow, filled with smooth, rounded stones, likely a branch of the main stream. The reddish soil gleamed under the sunlight — bare and lifeless despite the heavy moisture in the air.
Steep slopes enclosed the valley on both sides, overgrown with strange, spiked plants. Only the central stretch was flat, enclosed by natural walls of bramble, like a hidden sanctuary untouched by the chaos of the wild.
On one side, the rock face was hollowed by time, leaving a cavernous recess large enough for shelter — the unmistakable mark of habitation.
"What a remarkable spot," Chen Xu murmured. "The only threat here would be the beasts that wander in by chance. Aside from that, this place is near perfect."
No sooner had he spoken than the ape chieftain and nine of his warriors dashed toward the cave, vanishing inside. Moments later, shouts and howls echoed from within — a chorus of excitement and alarm.
When the chieftain emerged again, he was followed by more than thirty ape-men — old and young, men and women alike.
Among them were over a dozen females in their prime, strong and healthy despite the faint hunger in their faces. Chen Xu's eyes lit up — not with desire, but with the realization of potential.
In this Stone Age world, the number of childbearing females defined a tribe's future. His current tribe had only five. A single accident could spell extinction. Now, with these new women, his people might truly flourish.
Perhaps, he mused, this was how matriarchal societies were first born — not from philosophy, but from survival itself.
Under the chieftain's guidance, the newcomers approached timidly. After a brief hesitation, they prostrated themselves, laying down their weapons and tools in surrender.
Such was the law of the Stone Age — perhaps it had always existed, or perhaps it was born anew under Chen Xu, the "Fire God." Either way, the truth was absolute: the strong ruled, and the weak submitted.
Escorted by his four elite guards, Chen Xu stepped forward slowly, like a monarch inspecting his newly conquered subjects. He examined each one — the children, thin but healthy; the elders, frail yet unbroken; the women, weary but strong.
Satisfied, he nodded once toward the ape chieftain — a silent command of acceptance.
The chieftain's face broke into a grin, and he roared a series of guttural cries that filled the valley, translating Chen Xu's approval into something the others could understand.
The surrendered apes rose to their feet, forming ragged lines, awaiting their new leader's orders.
Chen Xu looked upon them — his first conquest, his first unification — and felt a thrill of quiet triumph.
The sun was still high, the jungle not yet cloaked in danger. He turned, spear in hand, and strode out of the valley.
His elite warriors followed close behind. The rest, driven by the ape chieftain's shouts, gathered their meager belongings and left their homeland without protest.
Thus began the first migration of Chen Xu's tribe — a step toward something greater, the birth of dominion in a world still half wild, half dream.