Chapter 37: Spirit-Willed Mail to the Post Emblem World-2

“Oh, so now you know you were wrong?”
Yang Zicang looked down at the chieftain kneeling before him, a hint of mockery in his eyes. He had no intention of stooping to the level of these primitives, yet the scene unfolding before him was rather amusing.
“Ugh, ugh.” The chieftain, with all its body hair singed off, crawled forward on the ground, gesturing toward the mountain fire.
“I’m no Dragon King, I can’t put out the fire for you.”
Two burly primitives burst out from the crowd, raising rocks to hurl at the chieftain.
In the eyes of these primitives, Yang Zicang was undoubtedly the root cause of all this.
They believed the tribe leader had offended this indescribable being, and perhaps only by executing him could his wrath be quelled.
“Stop!”
But how could the primitives understand him? The rocks were already thrown, and the chieftain lay prostrate, resigning to fate without any intent to resist.
[Trajectory Dispatch!]
Bang! Bang!
The two stones landed eerily on either side of the chieftain’s head.
They clearly saw, in that instant, a faint silver-white ring emerge from Yang Zicang’s chest, along with a few lines that appeared and vanished in a flash.
The two primitives fell to the ground slap, trembling in fear.
As Yang Zicang approached, the chieftain, with its fur charcoal-blackened, looked up with tearful eyes. It whimpered, looking pitiful like a child who had been caught in the act.
“You’re the one who first ate sweet potatoes, aren’t you?”
All were burnt beyond recognition.
“Alright, alright, I can’t communicate with you lot either. Let’s do this: you all howl ‘awoo,’ so from now on, you’ll be called ‘A Wu.’ It matches the pronunciation of a certain famous brother of yours from another world.”
Yang Zicang planned to visit their tribe.
He recalled that on Earth, certain Amazon tribes had items left behind by human journalists. Perhaps the same was true here.
“Maybe the statue is in that place.”
……
Half a day later, the expectant young man followed these creatures, who regarded him as a divine being, outside a concave valley nestled by mountains and rivers.
Gathered at a large horizontal hollow deep into the cliff face, which could provide shelter from wind and rain, were numerous unclothed savages, both big and small.
The more Yang Zicang looked at them, the colder his heart grew— they couldn’t even create stone knives.
“It seems I have to search elsewhere.”
Although he was extremely unwilling to admit it, from the cliff hollow, which could be fully seen at a glance, there were no signs of human civilization or artifacts.
So, the acceleration ability wasn’t granted for nothing. He had to traverse the entire land walking, a hundred miles a day at that? Just how large was this world?
……
Several days later.
Walking through the forest, Yang Zicang suddenly stopped in his tracks as a wolf howl faintly echoed from across the mountain.
“A wolf?”
No, there were other sounds besides it— extremely indistinct human cries of pain.
Without hesitation, Yang Zicang immediately accelerated time by running and arrived at the mountain forest. In the distance, about a dozen wild wolves were skulking around, baring their fangs with a menacing aura that exuded terror.
What surrounded the wolves was a cave entrance raised half a person’s height from the ground; the screams emerged from this makeshift camp of savages.
A young man, bow drawn and arrow nocked, dashed through the woods, his deployed ability making his movements as swift as lightning.
[Deploy!]
Whiz! Whiz! Two arrows precisely pierced the throats of the two lead wolves. The sudden assault threw the wolf pack into chaos, while the distant savages stared dumbfounded at this magical “little twig.”
Yang Zicang shifted left and right, a golden aura shimmering on his fist upon punching the wolf-dog before him. But the wolf-dog showed no sign of being struck by temporal power, merely tumbling to the ground.
“This…”
Indubitably a dream training ground—he could only rely on pure physical power to contend with the wolf pack.
With Yang Zicang’s intervention, the savages’ pressure was instantly alleviated, and the battle’s momentum reversed within a minute or two.
“Woo~”
The wolves raised their heads, howling in chorus.
A robust, formidable silver wolf leaped onto a boulder and howled back in resonance, its cold, piercing gaze fixed upon Yang Zicang from the edge of the forest.
“Wah yi ah yee ah—wah ah yi wah ah yi!”
In the cave, an old wild man wrapped in animal skins gestured anxiously, signaling Yang Zicang to quickly climb a tree for shelter.
The wolfhound king paid no heed, leaping down from the boulder as the pack fell back in unison, recognizing that only their leader could face this foe.
The wolfhound king lunged fiercely.
The only “old wild man” wearing fur immediately covered his eyes, but soon heard several whimpering cries.
Boom!
Yang Zicang landed a fierce kick on the wolfhound king’s head. “Haah!” The wolfhound king tumbled several times across the ground. As it lifted its head, a rock the size of a watermelon came hurtling toward it.
Smash!
Brains splattered.
The wolfhounds scattered several paces back, wailing in sorrow. But before their howls could fade, another stone came flying.
The old wild man stood dumbfounded at the cave entrance, the other wild men gazing at Yang Zicang as if he were a deity, having dispatched these fearsome creatures with just a few moves.
In their limited understanding, it seemed that, aside from larger beasts, nothing had ever so easily slain the wolfhound king. This youth, thin to the bone and hairless, had nonetheless taken on their greatest fear alone.
Yang Zicang stepped forward to retrieve his two arrows. For now, every arrow used was one fewer, and unable to rely on temporal strikes, he knew he needed to figure out how to craft his own.
The old wild man walked near Yang Zicang and waved his arms like a gorilla to greet him. The other wild men shouted “Wahoo” with great excitement.
“Stop shouting, how annoying.”
Looking around, it was nothing but trees and a natural rock cave with still no signs of human civilization.
Petrified glyphs on the rocks outside the cave resembled children’s drawings, perhaps depicting pterosaurs or butterflies.
Though it seemed much like the previous place, Yang Zicang climbed into the cave on his own to have a look. Since he had saved the people there, the wild men didn’t stop him.
It was pitch black inside, with markings on the walls even cruder than oracle bone script.
No statues.
Yang Zicang turned back, deeply disappointed.
……
In a gentle breeze with warm sunlight, Yang Zicang stepped out from the dark cave mouth. The old wild man stood waiting with wrinkled, dried dates, grinning and holding them out to the young man who emerged.
After some hesitation, he picked one up and said, “Alright, all of you should grow well and try to invent a written language as soon as possible. I’m heading off now. See you.”
With that, he gripped his bow and jumped down the cave platform, ready to leave. Unexpectedly, the old wild man ran up and grabbed him, pointing at the bow in his hand.
“You want this? Oh no, that’s not happening.”
Most of the surrounding wild men didn’t realize the bow’s value—they were just scared. Only this sly old fellow knew a good thing and set his sights on it.
“Ooh ooh ooh, hoo.”
The old savage pointed at the bow, then babbled something to a few of his tribesmen behind him.
Yang Zicang looked on as two female savages hesitantly sized up their hairless counterpart; one of them nodded slightly shyly to the old savage and took two steps forward.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Yang Zicang waved his hand in panic, “I have no interest in becoming a live-in son-in-law here.”
He even lost the interest in demonstrating how to draw and shoot the bow to the group of savages, quickly accelerating time and vanishing on the spot, leaving the savages in a panicked commotion.
……
Three months passed.
Yang Zicang traveled hundreds of miles in all directions. The most “advanced” tribe was only at the level of cracking nuts with stones. He made stone spears for one of the tribes, but it changed nothing.
“If they can’t even polish stones, how can they make statues? There’s no civilization at all…”
Standing in the forest, Yang Zicang gazed at the boundless primordial jungle, feeling a deep sense of powerlessness. This world was unimaginably safe.
“Where on earth is the Bloodline Sculpture?”
Should he consider using the second postal opportunity…? He rubbed the post emblem that unfolded from the glow of the makeshift model, lost in thought. No, he couldn’t waste this opportunity; at the very least, he had to figure out what was going on.
Several figures of savages loomed into the woods with a “rustling” sound, having just survived a bloody battle but miraculously caught a few wild beasts.
These gains came at the cost of human lives.
Seeing the “ancestors” of humanity struggling to survive in such a harsh world, Yang Zicang let out a bitter sigh in his heart.
“This is only a dream. Once I’m gone, you will be freed.”
Ten years later.
Yang Zicang stood on a prominent, high outcrop of rock, his expression solemn as he gazed into the distance.
He had traversed every inch of an area spanning over two thousand square kilometers, yet found no trace of any prehistoric civilization.
Could it be on the other end of the continent?