White smoke rose in spirals as the furnaces at the Green Sparrow Tribe's quarry burned fiercely, mirroring the fiery enthusiasm of the people laboring in the surrounding fields with various tools, working to produce more grain.
During this bustling ti, Han Cheng was not idle either.
He and Shi Tou carried baskets filled with ash from burnt plants and walked through land that had been scorched by flas but not yet cultivated. They marked out a large, roughly rectangular plot of land using handfuls of the ash.
As the Green Sparrow Tribe's farmland continued to expand, the farthest plots were now more than five li (approximately 2.5 kiloters) away from the settlent. The land they were about to cultivate lay even further, across the river, increasing the distance from the main settlent.
The growing distance of farmland from the tribe posed significant challenges, particularly when transporting harvested crops to the threshing floor. Han Cheng and Shi Tou were now selecting and marking a flat, elevated area far from the settlent to construct a new threshing floor.
The old threshing floor would still be used, but the new one would allow nearby fields to unload their harvest directly, making transporting threshed grain back to the settlent easier.
The sight of the bustling workers and the flourishing fields filled one’s heart with satisfaction.
At this mont, Han Cheng suddenly understood why so many people in China have an enduring connection to the land.
The land represents hope—white stead buns, floral-patterned skirts, pork for the New Year feast, and sticky, sweet White Rabbit milk candies.
But the tribe still had much to accomplish. Beyond cultivating and planting fields, expanding courtyards, and building more houses, an extrely important task awaited: creating a plan for the settlent.
These areas needed to be clearly divided into functional zones, including where people should live, where pigs should be raised, and where grain should be stored.
With the tribe's growing population and the increasing variety of resources, such planning had beco essential.
Only with proper organization could the settlent avoid its current sense of slight disorder and crowding.
So many tasks had to be tackled—small, fragnted ones that could not be ignored.
That was life: a collection of many little responsibilities, where one misstep or emotional outburst could turn everything into chaos.
Plans for the Copper Mountain residential area would have to be delayed once again.
After marking the threshing floor, Han Cheng dusted off his hands and clothes. Looking around at the busy fields, he sighed with a hint of helplessness.
Spring planting was just as crucial as the autumn harvest and could not be delayed. After all, people care for the land, and the land fills their bellies.
anwhile, Shaman wasn’t idle either. After feeding the rabbits, he strolled to the long rows of grain storage rooms.
The Green Sparrow Tribe’s granaries now boasted an impressive scale: 20 rooms arranged in two rows, standing in a grand formation.
In the entire tribe, Shaman’s favorite place was the granaries, apart from the rabbit pens.
Whenever he saw the heaps of grain or the jars filled with stored food, Shaman felt an unparalleled sense of contentnt.
“What a sin!”
Hugging a rabbit and stroking its fur, Shaman looked at the granaries, now nearly a third empty. Stroking the rabbit absentmindedly, he lanted with heartfelt sorrow.
These days, the phrase “What a sin!” had beco Shaman’s catchphrase. He said it every ti he saw how much food the tribe ate at every al. He said it when he saw a child gnawing on a large bone without breaking it open to suck out the marrow. And now, looking at the gradually emptying granaries, he repeated it over and over.
Of course, Shaman’s lantations stemd from the perspective of soone who had reached a point of prosperity and security—a sentint only possible for the older generation after they had achieved abundance and stability.
Muttering “What a sin,” Shaman’s deep satisfaction with his current life was unmistakably conveyed through each phrase.
“What a sin!”
Before long, Shaman found himself lanting again in the granary. However, unlike the earlier remarks, which were tinged with contentnt, this ti, his sorrow was genuine and heartfelt.
Shaman had ventured to the innermost room of the grain storage.
Due to its secluded location and the narrow paths leading to it, this area was rarely visited. Even Shaman, who ca daily to inspect the grain and bask in the satisfaction of abundance, seldom squeezed into this corner.
Near the wall, near the far corner of the room, lay a pile of husked grain that had sohow spilled out of its storage bin.
Shaman, who had always cherished food, imdiately lost all interest in petting his rabbit. Hugging the rabbit tightly, he squeezed out of the cramped space and roughly tossed it back into the rabbit pen.
He then grabbed a small broom, a tiny clay bowl, and an oil lamp before hurrying back into the granary.
“Squeak!”
When Shaman entered, several dark shadows scurried away in a panic, vanishing almost instantly, leaving only faint squeaking noises in their wake.
Caught off guard, Shaman jolted from the suddenness of it all.
But the initial fright quickly gave way to uncontainable fury.
More than half of the grain that had spilled out on the ground had been reduced to empty husks, thoroughly ruined.
Amidst the pile of grain were nurous small, black droppings.
“What a sin! What a sin!”
Holding a handful of the ruined grain, Shaman’s voice trembled with grief and rage.
From the droppings, the fleeting shadows, and the squeaks he had heard earlier, Shaman instantly identified the culprits:
Rats.
When had these wild pests made their way into the tribe’s granary? And how had they managed to ruin so much grain?
Primitive people were naturally fierce, young or old—especially when protecting their food. At monts like this, their ferocity reached an extre.
Shaking with anger and heartbreak, the Shaman trembled for a mont before trying to squeeze into the crevices to catch the pests. He wanted to grab each one by the legs and smash them to death.
Of course, such a thod was hardly effective against the rats that had infested the granary.
After futilely swatting around, an exasperated Shaman stord out of the granary. Not long after, he returned, ard with a bronze dagger in one hand and a bronze axe in the other.
His gritted teeth and enraged expression lent him an imposing aura.
“Let’s see you eat now! Let’s see you eat!”
“Die, you pests, die!”
Shaman muttered under his breath as he stabbed into crevices with the bronze dagger, cursing the rodents with every thrust. His anger surged so intensely that he wished he could reduce every one of the intruders to pulp.
However, he had underestimated the cleverness and agility of the rats hiding in the shadows.
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