I am a Primitive Man Chapter 865: Two Useful Crops

Chapter 865 – Two Useful Crops

This patch of plants looked striking. The leaves were long and narrow, sowhat similar to corn leaves.

However, there were significant differences. The leaves were much narrower than corn, more resembling sorghum, which Han Cheng’s later hotown called “shushu.”

Yet even compared with the sorghum in his mory, these plants had several differences. In fact, they resembled another familiar plant more closely.

This plant was called sweet sorghum stalks in their region.

Sweet sorghum was sowhat similar to southern sugarcane, but with several notable differences.

In terms of growth conditions, sweet sorghum could thrive further north, requiring less heat and water than sugarcane.

Additionally, sweet sorghum had long internodes—each segnt roughly equivalent to two or three sugarcane segnts—but the stalk was much thinner than sugarcane.

The difference in appearance between the two was similar to that between corn stalks and sorghum stalks.

Moreover, sugarcane usually had purple or red skin, whereas sweet sorghum was mainly green.

In Han Cheng’s childhood, sweet sorghum had been particularly attractive, especially for children.

In so places, children would follow adults on long trips to watch performances. If they got a bite of sweet sorghum, they would be thrilled.

But like most rural children, Han Cheng didn’t usually eat the sweet sorghum bought with money. Instead, he ate small corn stalks while following adults who worked the fields or cut grass.

In a cornfield, there were always so stalks that hadn’t grown properly, often only as thick as an adult’s pinky.

Even if they bore corn, the ears were tiny.

However, compared with fully grown stalks, these undeveloped corn stalks were sweeter, especially from the root to where the ear ford.

Thus, adults often cut them with sickles, remove the leaves, and leave the stalks for children to eat like sweet sorghum.

It was indeed an excellent way to keep children happy.

At least, in his childhood, Han Cheng had never been treated to such a luxury.

Adults would cut five or seven stalks with a sickle, place Han Cheng and the stalks in a shaded area at the field edge, and then start working.

Han Cheng wouldn’t make trouble until he had eaten all the stalks.

After all, children of that era had an extraordinary craving for sweetness, and these small corn stalks were much more satisfying than plain grass roots.

Seeing sothing here that resembled the sweet sorghum of his mory naturally made Han Cheng happy.

If these were truly sweet sorghum, it ant the tribe would have a tasty snack in the future.

But more importantly, the juice could be used to make sugar.

Sugar made from these stalks would taste purer than sugar derived from fruit.

Even better, the yield would likely exceed that of fruit sugar.

To confirm whether these were truly sweet sorghum, appearance alone wasn’t enough. The most direct and effective thod was tasting with teeth.

Just like determining if a chicken was young.

Han Cheng took a sickle from a companion and cut one of the thicker stalks that resembled sweet sorghum.

He removed the immature tips, peeled off the leaves, and scraped the stalk with the sickle. A white layer of “frost” fell to the ground.

His movents were very skilled.

Then, he eagerly brought the root to his mouth, biting and peeling off the outer skin.

Soon, the bottom segnt was peeled entirely.

Chewing slowly, a faint sweetness spread in his mouth.

The taste was mild, slightly tough, with many fibers and little juice.

Moreover, the sweetness was not entirely pure, carrying a slight greenish taste.

This was acceptable to Han Cheng.

After all, sweet sorghum had undergone generations of cultivation in later tis. These he encountered were still wild, primitive plants.

Additionally, it was not the season for full maturity; autumn was the ideal ti.

The stalk he just tried was a young shoot; having any sweetness was already very good.

The slight green taste was utterly typical.

Surveying this patch of primitive sweet sorghum and tasting it, Han Cheng’s face lit up. Discovering sweet sorghum here was a delightful surprise.

He had never imagined it.

Whether sweet sorghum existed in the Sichuan Basin in later tis, he didn’t know.

But at this point, separated from the future by an unknown number of years, such a situation was unsurprising.

“Divine Child, what is this?”

A companion asked, trying to hide a smile after seeing their Divine Child eat sothing unfamiliar.

So even had hearts racing, thinking the plant might be the critical rice recently described.

“This is sweet sorghum! When mature, it’s very sweet and can be used to make sugar sweeter than fruit sugar.

It can also be eaten raw, but too much can cause mouth blisters,” Han Cheng said, holding up the immature stalk he had just cut.

Hearing it wasn’t rice, the tribe mbers were slightly disappointed. But learning its uses, their disappointnt vanished, replaced by intense excitent.

Compared to people in later tis, people of this era found sweetness irresistible. Before Han Cheng made fruit sugar, the tribe had never tasted real candy.

They could only sense sweetness from fruits.

Having tasted fruit sugar later in life, Han Cheng knew its allure. Sweet sorghum, which produces even sweeter sugar, was naturally thrilling.

Looking at the stalks, their eyes sparkled a greenish hue.

A breeze rustled the leaves, producing a soft “swoosh,” as if the plants sensed the tribe’s enthusiasm and shivered.

Ignoring the plants’ “trembling,” everyone mimicked Han Cheng: cutting stalks, peeling them, and eating.

“Eat less; two bites per person is enough,” Han Cheng advised.

Although he was pretty sure these were sweet sorghum, it wasn’t autumn yet, so caution was wise.

The tribe listened carefully. So wanted more but stopped at Han Cheng’s instruction.

Second Senior Brother’s last bite was huge, almost too big for his mouth.

The sudden appearance of sweet sorghum energized the group. After examining the stalks and planting a few upright for visibility, Han Cheng led them downstream, then eastward across a swamp-like area.

While walking, Han Cheng scanned nearby plants for signs of rice.

There’s a saying: “Good fortune never cos in double; misfortune never cos alone.” For the Green Sparrow Tribe today, it fit perfectly.

Not far in, Han Cheng spotted sothing fascinating!

About seven or eight ters away grew a patch of plants, lush green, with slightly narrow leaves—smaller than the sweet sorghum leaves seen earlier.

Unlike creeping plants or grasses that grow on the water, these plants grew upright and tall.

They resembled rice perfectly.

“Stop!”

Han Cheng shouted, his voice trembling.

Everyone halted and looked at him.

Seeing the Divine Child excitedly staring at a patch of plants, the group’s hearts raced.

The Second Senior Brother felt his mouth dry and his breathing quicken.

Stone, nearby, also focused on the plants, heart pounding like a drum.

“Divine… Child, is this r… rice?”

Stone wiped his nose, sniffling from excitent, stamring.

“I… I’m not… really sure!” Han Cheng also stamred.

Luckily, his honesty didn’t cause ridicule.

Han Cheng couldn’t be sure yet. Rice was easiest to identify when grains or flowers appeared.

Even neatly planted seedlings in later tis could be distinguished from weeds, but in the wild, young weeds often resembled rice.

In Han Cheng’s later hotown, main crops were wheat, corn, peanuts, and soybeans—mostly dryland. Only small, damd waterfields grew a little rice.

As a child, he had planted rice in tiny fields, but as he grew, the fields beca neglected. He was more familiar with wheat than rice.

Thus, it was natural to feel uncertain at this point.

“Let’s go check,” Han Cheng said, leading the group closer.

He carefully examined the plants. They looked like rice but could still be similar weeds. His mood rollercoastered between hope and doubt.

After so inspection, he noticed dry stems, so fallen, so standing.

So dry stalks had remnants of grain stems, though most had no seeds.

Since last autumn, half a year had passed; wind, sun, and rain had caused most mature grains to fall into the water.

Newly grown rice-like plants remained as evidence.

Bird droppings nearby indicated that birds had fed on so remnants, but human harvesting had surpassed that of the birds.

“Look! So still have seeds!”

Han Cheng instructed.

He began examining a dry grain stalk with his hands, while others imitated him.

They carefully avoided stepping on potential rice plants.

“Divine Child! Here’s so!”

After a while, one person exclaid, holding calloused hands open.

Several tiny grains rested in his palm.

“Let see!”

Han Cheng’s heart leapt as he looked. The sight made him pound with excitent.

Others around also looked, eyes filled with anticipation.

The man’s face flushed with excitent, his hands trembling to protect the precious grains.

Han Cheng carefully took one grain from his hand and inspected it closely.

The grain was small, tapered at both ends, darkened by sun and wind.

Yet Han Cheng stared at it as if it were the most beautiful treasure, grinning foolishly.

He carefully peeled off the hard outer shell.

Although he reminded himself to stay calm as the tribe’s Divine Child, his hands trembled.

Soon, one end revealed a white, slightly translucent core.

Even though he had suspected it was rice, seeing it confird his joy.

The shell was fully removed, leaving a tiny rice grain in his palm.

It was irregularly cylindrical, off-white, slightly translucent, roughly half the size of later refined rice—but priceless to him.

“This is rice!”

After taking the grain, the group gathered, watching intently.

Seeing Han Cheng’s radiant smile, everyone grinned foolishly too.

“Peel them,” Han Cheng instructed.

He distributed grains to the discoverer, Second Senior Brother, and Sha Shidi to share the joy.

They carefully peeled grains, revealing similar rice kernels in their hands.

Everyone held the grains reverently, examining them closely, afraid of losing them.

Finally, the grains returned to Han Cheng’s hands.

He smiled at the tribe, at the patch of rice, and shared the excitent once more.

Following his lead, they carefully searched for more surviving grains, finding over a hundred more.

Marking the area clearly, Han Cheng’s group, happy and excited, continued forward, leaving a trail in the mud.

Nearby, they discovered a few more rice patches and collected so grains, but further away, they found none.