They Call Me Chi

I am Zhi, the property of the Yellow Water Tribe, a breathing object. All my value lies in silence and labor. Until that day, we dig out the "resurrected" You from the soil. The unfamiliar syllables in his mouth were regarded as oracles. I saw him igniting the first ungodly "technological" fire, teaching us to tame each other with law, and replacing blood with "class." The tribe grew and expanded like weeds, carving its glory onto the bronze and stone walls. They respected him as a "wisdom enlightener", a prophet of civilization. And I am still Zhi, with those eyes that are ignored by everyone. I saw: fire brought warmth, but also burned away the ancient forests and songs; the law curbed blood feuds, but weaved a more delicate web of slavery; glory united people's hearts, but also fostered unprecedented greed and suspicion in the dark. I recorded in silence. Record how the stone ax turned into a bronze halberd, record how equal hunting turned into labor for taxation, record how the light in the eyes of the "wisdom enlightener" gradually moved from compassion to loneliness, and finally solidified into a cold calculation.