Chapter 20: My Great-Grandmother Is the Goddess Nuwa

Heave-ho! Heave-ho!

Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp!

Rumble—

An ancient tree was felled, crashing down upon a swath of shrubs, its massive trunk leaning against another old giant nearby.

Two burly "Cave Men" wielding sharp stone axes leapt from beneath the fallen tree, scrambled atop the trunk, and began hacking away with relentless swings.

Yet, before this colossal tree, each nearly ten feet in diameter—enough that not even ten men together could encircle it—these two sturdy men seemed almost insignificant.

Even so, in just an hour, they had managed to fell it.

While they worked, the two "Cave Men" found time to chat.

"Hey, Aba, the chief says he wants us to move out of the cave. What do you think of that?" asked the man with a scar across his brow, left by a beast's claw, pausing as he spoke.

Aba, wearing grass shoes and a rope circlet around his head, replied quietly, "It's not bad."

"But I think living in the cave isn’t so bad," the scarred man said.

"The cave is too damp, and we're running out of caves," Aba answered.

The man pondered a moment. "You’re right, Aba."

"The chief is amazing," Aba replied simply.

"The chief is amazing!" the scarred man echoed, bellowing as he brought his axe down with renewed vigor.

Thud!

Lozu withdrew his fist and helped Ironhead to his feet, the boy’s eye ringed with a fresh bruise.

"The chief is amazing!" Ironhead grinned, rubbing his eye.

"Ironhead, your broken hand is healed, but it'll take some time before you’re fully recovered. Keep practicing the energy-cultivation method I taught you—connect your vital force all the way to your injured hand," Lozu advised, patting his shoulder.

"Yes, chief," Ironhead replied with a broad, honest smile.

Lozu knew his nature—straightforward and unpretentious. In truth, this was the common temperament of most of the "Cave Men" now. Their knowledge was limited, their experiences scant; with little room for scheming, they grew up earnest and sincere.

Of course, beneath that honesty lay a brutal ferocity. Against outsiders, they showed not a hint of mercy; for those unlike themselves, they were merciless, believing that all who were not of their tribe harbored different hearts and must be destroyed.

Without such ruthlessness, they could not hope to survive in the primordial wilderness.

Lozu appreciated their nature, often praising it. After all, in this wild land, survival was the first law, propagation the second. There was no room for idle musings on morality.

"Our tribe must venture out of this cave and return to our homeland if we wish to thrive," Lozu declared solemnly.

Ironhead, seeing his chief’s seriousness, grew earnest himself. He and Fireboy were Lozu’s right and left arms, the chief’s bridge to the rest of the tribe. Lozu alone could not communicate with everyone, so he had divided the "Cave Men" into groups.

With Ironhead and Fireboy as leaders, they managed the hunting party and the logistics division.

Ironhead commanded the hunters; Fireboy oversaw logistics.

The hunting party was split into three squads—usually, two were out hunting while the third rotated in. If there were injuries or losses, new members could be selected from logistics.

Logistics handled many tasks, but faced less danger than the hunters. Their work was to gather materials and craft hunting tools—spears, arrows, and the like—sort game brought back, and preserve meat for long-term storage.

Within logistics, duties were further divided: one team for tool-making, one for curing meat, and one for tending to the animals Lozu wanted domesticated, as well as managing the vegetable plots.

As for Lozu himself, he had not withdrawn from daily affairs. His main tasks were now training everyone in the energy-cultivation method, and setting out the day’s plans.

Should a level-six beast appear, he would take the lead, rallying his men to hunt the giant creature.

Beyond all this, he needed to devote himself to cultivation within his internal world—the Gourd Heaven.

Ever since becoming chief, he felt busier than ever before.

He also had to investigate the old homeland of the "Cave Men" to see what the situation was and prepare for their return.

"Home, huh?" Ironhead fell into silent reflection.

This honest man showed a trace of longing.

The word "home" was still strange to him; Lozu had only explained it once, teaching the elders, who then passed it on to the tribe.

Yet, the elders did not speak of the river valley but of the valley at Mount Buzhou.

What they missed was Lady Nüwa.

"My great-grandmother is Lady Nüwa." This was a whimsical thought that once crossed Lozu’s mind.

Absurd, but strangely solemn.

By the logic of his previous life, Lozu was of the third generation of humans, and Lady Nüwa was the "mother" of the first. That would make him her great-grandson.

In that light, Lozu found his own background rather impressive.

But then, Lady Nüwa had many great-grandchildren.

Alas, Lady Nüwa had already "ascended," so this connection was of no use.

Now, though, it was not ancestry that mattered, but their true homeland—the place that once nurtured them.

"We can go back now," Ironhead murmured, his eyes red and swollen.

"It is time to return," Lozu affirmed.

...

The news spread quickly. After he told both Ironhead and Fireboy, they passed it along to their own men, and soon the entire "Cave Men" tribe knew.

Their logging efforts grew all the more enthusiastic. Though their sense of morality was not deep, the idea of returning home stirred something in them all.

This was something Lozu had not expected.

Perhaps it was a seed planted by the departed elders, or perhaps it was a memory etched into the very blood of the primordial humans.

Home—a place never to be forgotten.

Lozu sighed deeply.

Late at night, he continued his spiritual cultivation, refining energy and spirit.

He practiced the Three Souls and Seven Spirits Shadow God method without fail, daring not to slacken for a single day.

After all, the wilderness was vast, and their homeland at Mount Buzhou was far away.

Moreover, someday Mount Buzhou would be shattered—a distant future, perhaps tens of millions, even hundreds of millions of years away. Lozu might not live to see that day, but if he strove hard enough, perhaps he just might.

Immortality.

Lozu gazed at the moon that night, recalling legends about the moon and eternal life.

Houyi, Chang’e, the Golden Crow, the flight to the moon.

But in the tales of the primordial age, Houyi was not human, but a great shaman of the Wu tribe.

Who could say when the sun would be shot down, or when Chang’e would ascend to the moon?

Lozu wished to witness such myths with his own eyes.

So he cultivated diligently, striving to survive—at least to see the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, to meet the heroes of legend.

Gourd Heaven, stir the workings of fate—begin!