Starting from Robinson Crusoe-Chapter 63 - 22: Plans_3

Chapter 63: Chapter 22: Plans_3
He only thought about the benefits of Fruit Tree Valley, forgetting its most fatal flaw—it was too far.
From the small river upstream, it stretched over ten kilometers.
The land route was bumpy, and the waterways were unpredictable.
During the rainy season, the river was wide for rafting transportation, but the weather was unsuitable. In the dry season, the weather was fine, but the river was narrow and easy to run aground.
Relying on his strength alone, trying to transport all the supplies into the valley was impossible within a year or so.
"Unless..."
Chen Zhou flipped forward two pages of his notebook, staring at the cannibal tribes’ island visit schedule in a daze.
"If only I could capture a few natives to help me, but how could I capture them alive and civilize them?
Wouldn’t that be too dangerous?"
A straightforward and honest Friday couldn’t represent all cannibal tribespeople. After all, they were primitive people who wouldn’t blink an eye at killing.
Even if they weren’t as smart as modern people, they were brutal enough.
Even someone as simple as Friday gradually changed over a year with Robinson, giving up eating humans, not wearing clothes, and eating raw food.
Reflecting deeply, Chen Zhou didn’t think he could tame several tribespeople at once.
So he quickly gave up on this dangerous idea and decided to stick to the old plan—first find a suitable place to build a house on either side of this mountain, and after establishing the first base, slowly migrate into the island.
"There’s still twenty-eight years, no rush."
He kept convincing himself, but his desire for the natives, like a regenerative power, kept surfacing in his mind, unable to be let go.
Unlike Robinson, he didn’t feel lonely or isolated.
After only twenty-odd days on the deserted island, while being alone could be boring, it wasn’t unbearable.
But one person’s ability has its limits, and to live comfortably, external help was necessary.
He originally pinned his hopes on the "mystery reward," but thinking about the useless phone case in the box, Chen Zhou felt a chill in his heart.
Counting on that prank-like "reward" was undoubtedly hopeless.
Relying solely on his hands, without the help of large machinery, any project would be measured in years.
Twenty-eight years might seem long, but they can’t withstand setbacks.
How long would it take to cultivate twenty acres of farmland by the river?
How long to build a sturdy and beautiful house?
How long to manufacture water-driven mills and threshers?
How long to fire pottery, build a brick kiln, and forge furnaces?
How long to breed and tame hundreds of goats?
Once all this is done, there would be very few days left to enjoy life.
Touched the calluses on his hands, thinking of the endless work ahead, Chen Zhou irritably closed his notebook.
Logically speaking, survival challenges indeed involve hardship, but one can’t always suffer.
Who could endure being a black slave for twenty-eight years?
After careful consideration, he still wanted to find a way to deal with those natives.
Of course, haste makes waste, and whether it’s violent oppression or trickery, both are mere fantasies.
Practice leads to truth.
Chen Zhou planned to start observing these natives for a few years from this December.
Once the flintlock gun was modified, his shooting skills honed, and he had sufficient self-defense capability, he would capture one for close contact to see if they were like Friday or cold-blooded and cruel.
If they were all as honest as Friday, then gentler methods could be employed for gradual enlightenment.
If they were beyond redemption, then they could only be served lead bullets.
Shooting these savage cannibal tribespeople, Chen Zhou felt no psychological burden.
Having made up his mind, he added a few logs to the fire.
The rain showed no sign of letting up, and the bread porridge had already cooled.
Looking outside, only the torrential rain could be seen. He didn’t know if the sailboat had been torn apart by the storm.
Took out silver cutlery to give the cat and Lai Fu some bread porridge.
Thinking that there was nothing to do tomorrow, still leisurely, Chen Zhou uncorked a bottle of Aler Wine, took a sip, and savored its soft sweetness with a hint of date aroma, his face slightly flushed.
"The Captain’s collection of fine wine is truly exceptional; even someone like me, who doesn’t drink, finds it delicious."
"Another sip."
The silver spoon scooped porridge, unsure if he was eating food with alcohol or drinking alcohol with food.
Chen Zhou’s thoughts gradually became confused, his body slowly softened, and he slipped off the low stool, collapsing next to Lai Fu, and began snoring.