Lin Zhan was an elite member of the Jiaolong Assault Team. He spoke eight languages, specialized in infiltration behind enemy lines, and had mastered hundreds of wilderness survival skills. Then, during a mission, he plunged headfirst into the Stone Age. Faced with his fellow tribespeople, who carried stone spears, wore animal skins, and didn’t even know how to make fire, Lin Zhan felt the half-pack of salt and the military knife in his pocket, then forced a smile more painful than crying.
From the start, it was hellish difficulty: the tribe’s only fire-maker, an old shaman, insisted on burning this “heaven-sent omen”; the most valiant warrior chief thought his soft, tender flesh wouldn’t even make a decent snack; the entire tribe of fifty had only enough food for three days; and outside the cave, the saber-toothed tiger’s footprints were so fresh they gleamed.
“All right,” Lin Zhan said, rolling up his sleeves. “How hard can it be to build civilization from scratch?”
He thought he’d come to be their savior.
On the first day, his fire-by-friction singed the old shaman’s beard.
On the second, the whole tribe watched as he taught them to dig a latrine.
On the third, he captured the boar king alive, only to be chased all over the mountain by the pig.
The tribespeople went from shock to numb acceptance:
“This divine messenger... doesn’t seem very reliable?”
“But the fish soup he makes really is delicious.”
“What kind of divine artifact is this ‘flush toilet’ he keeps talking about?”
It wasn’t until Lin Zhan wove a fishing net from vines and hauled in fish half a person’s height;
Fired clay into pottery and cooked the first pot of hot soup;
Used traps to capture beasts alive and raised the first livestock;
And even drove off a savage raider tribe with chili powder...
