I am a Primitive Man-Chapter 820: The Wind Tribe Chief Who Wants to Challenge the Divine Child

I am a Primitive Man-Chapter 820: The Wind Tribe Chief Who Wants to Challenge the Divine Child

Chapter 820: The Wind Tribe Chief Who Wants to Challenge the Divine Child
The reason Han Cheng was misled is quite simple.
Tofu skin, if taken literally, is naturally understood as the outer layer of the tofu.
When Han Cheng had tried to make tofu skin before, he had been pursuing exactly that idea.
No matter how he tried, he only began working after the boiled soy milk had been coagulated with brine.
Under those circumstances, it was of course impossible to make tofu skin. Even if he pressed the tofu forcefully, squeezing almost all the liquid out, what he would get was only dried tofu, not tofu skin.
Now, after listening to Cao Qing explain how she had made tofu skin, Han Cheng finally understood everything clearly!
Coincidentally, the last batch of soy milk had not yet been made into tofu, so Han Cheng immediately decided to try making tofu skin again, following Cao Qing’s method.
If he succeeded, it would add a new ingredient to the tribe’s pantry.
He poured raw soy milk into a ceramic pot and heated it over a flame until it became cooked soy milk.
The cooked soy milk was then scooped into a large vat. After a while, a thin, film-like layer indeed formed on the surface.
Han Cheng reached in, trying to lift it out, but quickly gave up—too hot to handle with bare hands.
Since pure handwork wouldn’t do, he turned to tools and grabbed a wooden spatula used for turning vegetables.
He inserted the spatula at the edge of the vat and gently lifted. The not-yet-formed tofu skin came up with some soy milk dripping from it.
Han Cheng held it with the spatula and waited for the excess soy milk to drip off before transferring it to a clean bamboo pole he had placed nearby.
He began draping it over the pole.
This attempt made Han Cheng give up on using the spatula to lift tofu skin entirely.
Using the spatula, the tofu skin stuck together in overlapping patches. Pull too hard and the thin skin would tear. It was even trickier than the failed pancake flip he had attempted earlier.
Holding the spatula, staring at the unattractive tofu skin on the bamboo pole, Han Cheng frowned and started thinking of a solution.
Soon, he set down the spatula, instructed Cao Qing and the others in the kitchen, and walked outside.
After a short while, he returned with two split bamboo slats.
The bamboo slats were over a meter long, about three centimeters wide, and two to three millimeters thick.
Han Cheng cleaned them and brought them to the vat of soy milk.
By this time, a new thin layer of skin had formed on the surface.
Han Cheng held one slat in each hand, inserted them vertically at the edge of the vat, and lifted.
With his movements, the entire thin film was lifted completely and, unlike with the spatula, remained fully spread without sticking together.
He let it drip briefly before draping it neatly over the bamboo pole.
The whole sheet of tofu skin had no excess folds, let alone overlapping layers like before—it was perfect.
After indulging briefly in his success, Han Cheng returned to the vat. With a moment’s patience, another layer had formed on the soy milk.
He lifted it again using the two bamboo slats.
The idea of using two bamboo slats did not come from nowhere; while figuring it out, he remembered seeing a bald shopkeeper use bamboo slats to flip enormous layered pancakes for breakfast back in the future.
Applying that method worked perfectly.
After lifting several sheets, he handed the task to Cao Qing, who had been watching closely.
The method of making tofu skin was initially Cao Qing’s discovery, and Han Cheng improved upon it, making it even more perfect.
It was like how Cai Lun improved papermaking based on his predecessors’ work, producing better paper.
Well… not precisely the same—Han Cheng also had his “source of joy”…
Because tofu skin was essential to her personally and earned her high praise from the Divine Child, Cao Qing worked diligently, efficiently, and skillfully, without tiring, more effectively than the “Super Calcium Tablets” claimed to have miraculous strength.
In less than half a day, several bamboo poles of tofu skin were ready in the Green Sparrow Tribe’s large dining hall.
With the new ingredient in hand, Han Cheng personally cooked in the afternoon.
He placed a cleaned pig’s head and eight pig trotters in a large vat, layered the square-cut tofu skin in the middle, topped it with pork, added water and seasoning, and instructed the fire to simmer.
A good braised meat dish requires careful selection of ingredients, seasoning, and control of the fire.
Han Cheng had never professionally made braised meat, but producing something edible—even if not perfect—was manageable.
He was cooking for the tribe, not for sale, so no “risky leaps” of commerce were involved, and there was no concern about loss.
As for whether someone might complain about the taste, that was not a consideration.
The tribe’s members were hearty eaters, capable of finishing two or three pounds of boiled meat without trouble. With the added seasonings, unanimous approval was inevitable.
Sure enough, before the braised meat was even finished, the Shaman, Eldest Senior Brother, and others had followed the aroma to the kitchen, greedily sniffing and reluctant to leave.
After instructing the fire tenders to cook slowly on low heat, Han Cheng checked the weather outside and retrieved a ceramic bowl from an odd-looking building.
He removed accumulated snow, revealing the contents: pig livers from pigs slaughtered earlier in the season.
Cooked and stored in what he called a refrigerator, this truly functioned as one.
The building, layered every fifty centimeters, held clean ice from the river, surrounded externally by fresh snow. Ingredients stored inside were kept cold, preserving them effectively throughout the winter.
Limited resources not only motivated ingenuity but also allowed people to make full use of available materials. Though simple, the result was valid.
He sliced the pig liver, shredded some pickled vegetables, and cut fresh tofu skin into strips. Cooking them together and adding a bit of baby bok choy at the end produced a delicious, tangy pig liver soup.
“Delicious! Delicious!”
As Han Cheng expected, the tribe’s members were voracious eaters. Not only was the tofu skin entirely eaten, but even the braised meat soup was ladled over millet and devoured.
Cao Qing ate the most braised tofu skin, following Han Cheng’s instructions as recognition for her discovery.
Soybeans truly were miraculous!
The former Huangguo Tribe chief, tasting tofu skin, recalled how their tribe had once collectively rejected this excellent food and felt how ignorant they had been.
Han Cheng, watching the food vanish, felt again that he was a hidden genius. Not only had he reached the top in flute craftsmanship, but now he had done so in cooking.
High places are cold…
A shameless Divine Child, full of self-congratulation.
If culinary experts from the future heard this, they might well bonk him on the head with a ladle…
Surprises come every year, but this year was extraordinary. The accidental appearance of tofu skin delighted Han Cheng immensely.
Even more happiness came from the return of Brother Sha, Mao, and the trade team.
Seeing the timid, fur-wrapped members of the Wind Tribe, Han Cheng’s smile broadened.
Though the old primitive man had earlier assured him he would persuade the Wind Tribe and the neighboring Wind Tribe to migrate in winter, Han Cheng had remained unsure of their success.
Unlike the Pig, Sheep, and Huangguo Tribes, the Wind and neighboring Wind Tribes were not destitute—they could survive independently.
After spending over half a year earning food and salt through road-building, persuading them to join the Green Sparrow Tribe proved even more challenging.
Having lived among so many tribes for over ten years, Han Cheng understood tribal chiefs well.
Most chiefs, if their tribe could sustain itself, rarely sought to join another tribe, regardless of its apparent wealth or comfort.
If this were not the case, the Green Sparrow Tribe would have far more population growth from neighboring tribes.
Knowing this, Han Cheng devised strategies to attract the Wind and neighboring Wind Tribes to continue working and assimilating gradually.
Yet, despite all his plans, these two tribes now arrived collectively, intending to join his tribe.
Seeing the old primitive man smiling proudly, Han Cheng realized why he had confidently promised to persuade the chiefs—he had faith it would succeed.
Indeed, the old primitive man was truly talented, capable of convincing his chief and completing the task.
Reliable and persuasive, the old primitive man proved skilled in oration, hidden beneath his usually quiet demeanor.
Han Cheng thought he could rely on him as a tribal envoy in similar future situations.
Feeling gratified, he warmly shook the old primitive man’s hand.
“Tell me how you convinced your chief to bring the rest of the tribe to join us,” Han Cheng asked earnestly.
The old primitive man smiled humbly, then tried to pull his hand free.
Sensing this, Han Cheng let go, assuming he would now explain the negotiation verbally.
But the old primitive man surprised him. Freeing both hands, he bent over, lifted one leg, and touched his shoe.
Han Cheng wondered if the old primitive man had an itchy foot.
Before he could fully grasp it, the old primitive man removed his shoe.
Holding it, a mixture of excitement and solemnity on his face, he declared, “We reasoned with the chief, but he didn’t listen. I hit him with the shoe, and then he agreed…”
Han Cheng was dumbfounded.
Where was the eloquent verbal debate he had imagined? Where was the intellectual sparring? Instead, persuasion was enacted with a shoe!
Ah, one cannot overthink human nature…
Observing the old primitive man proudly holding the well-traveled shoe, Han Cheng lamented silently.
In the future, if he needed to persuade a tribe, he could send the old primitive man—no need for verbal argument. Just remove the shoe, present it to the target, and even the toughest would submit.
“Good! You did very well!”
Han Cheng gave the old primitive man two thumbs up as he reluctantly put the shoe back on.
Initially wanting to shake his hand warmly, Han Cheng reconsidered after recalling the shoe incident.
After understanding what had happened since their return, he praised the Wind Tribe and neighboring Wind Tribe members highly.
Having completed formalities, Han Cheng approached the Wind Tribe chief, visiting the tribe for the first time.
His principle: first honor those who contributed to the tribe, then attend to the newcomers.
Wrapped in furs, the Wind Tribe chief stood in the Green Sparrow Tribe courtyard, utterly stunned, barely reacting to the old primitive man’s story about persuading the chief.
His dazed eyes swept over the outer courtyard: herds of deer, flocks of sheep, grunting wild boars, crowing chickens, towering caves, throngs of people…
Everything was overwhelming.
On the way here, he had already been amazed by sights he thought were the tribe’s entirety, only to realize now they were just a small part.
This, he realized, was the true, benevolent Green Sparrow Tribe.
“Hello, welcome to the Green Sparrow Tribe.”
Han Cheng approached, smiling, extending his hand.
“￥%DF…”
The old primitive man translated, explaining Han Cheng’s identity and words.
The chief, seeing this seemingly weak, young man before him, went into stunned silence again.
How could such a person hold the highest position in this tribe?
After a moment, the chief’s eyes lit up—he realized he could join this tribe.
Because the leader looked weak, defeating him would be easy.
Following tradition, if he challenged and defeated this person, he would become the tribe’s top leader.
Then, he could lead more people, control the cave-like stronghold, and claim all the abundant resources…
Excellent! Truly excellent!
The thought of becoming chief and controlling everything made him tremble with excitement.
He who had resisted joining the Green Sparrow Tribe before now had no objection.
Nor did he resent the old primitive man who had “persuaded” him.
Had it not been for the old primitive man’s intervention, he would never have discovered such an opportunity.
Han Cheng, seeing the chief’s dazed expression replaced with alert eyes after their handshake, smiled inwardly.
Through friendliness, gentle words, and refined demeanor, he had successfully guided someone from cold and hunger to the warmth of spring…
He felt magnificent! Truly remarkable!
“#￥%…D…”
At that moment, the enlightened Wind Tribe chief spoke.

Chapter 820: The Wind Tribe Chief Who Wants to Challenge the Divine Child