Chapter Ten: The Salt Mines and the Wild Boars

More than a week had passed since the conflict with the wolf hares, and Sun Licheng had begun to adapt to his new life, having completely transformed into a primitive man—no, to be precise, a primitive goblin.

A lot had happened during these days, some things delightful, others less so.

First, the happy news.

Sun Licheng’s proficiency with the javelin had soared. For targets around twenty meters away, he could now hit eight or nine times out of ten.

Next, he had begun to build his own little wooden house. Since discovering the field mice, his food supply had become stable, giving him more time to work. He had thus put building the hut on his agenda. Compared to his previous earthen shelter, the wooden house required much higher craftsmanship and standards, so he had to proceed slowly. Lacking proper tools, Sun Licheng was still stuck at the stage of preparing timber.

Lastly, he had upgraded his fur clothing. The pelts of wolf hares and field mice were much softer than his previous catches, so he replaced some of the furs he wore with these softer rabbit and mouse skins, making life much more comfortable. In the process, he even fashioned a pair of large shorts from rabbit skin.

Here, with the wind whistling underfoot and no one around to mock him, Sun Licheng, as a modern man—or rather, a goblin with a modern Earthling’s soul—insisted that having a pair of shorts was still very important.

The ideal was beautiful, but reality was harsh. The untreated rabbit-skin shorts were stiff as a board. After putting them on and trying to run a few steps, he chafed himself so badly he cried out in pain. Helplessly, he threw them aside and continued his “stylish” existence.

Now for the less cheerful matters.

First and foremost, the wolf hare herd of the great meadow had begun to migrate toward its edges. Under the leadership of that large gray hare, there was even a vague tendency to seal off the whole meadow, which would seriously affect Sun Licheng’s field mouse digging.

Sun Licheng felt furious at the rabbits’ domineering behavior, and so...

Well, nothing came of it. The moment he thought of that gray hare, capable of summoning lightning, Sun Licheng immediately lost his nerve.

“The heavens are unfair!”

He could only howl at the sky in frustration.

Secondly, Sun Licheng’s physical condition had begun to decline. Since arriving in this world, he hadn’t eaten any salt. Although animal blood contained some, as his physical activity increased, he was running a chronic deficit.

Of course, Sun Licheng didn’t realize that his greatest stroke of luck was that the deity residing within his body was still slumbering and hadn’t come to cause trouble.

The god’s slumber had something to do with Sun Licheng’s occasional practice of Tai Chi; the exalted one was kept busy reinforcing his own shell, consuming a great deal of divine power.

As time passed, Sun Licheng’s understanding of this land deepened, and his senses grew keener.

Now, whenever he entered the forest, he could spot animals and birds from a distance. Of course, he never dared provoke the birds in the trees; he had no desire to mess with a flock of lunatics—every encounter with them was a losing proposition.

Amidst the mocking cries of the birds, Sun Licheng crept along the riverbank into the woods. Before long, he spotted a group of animals ahead.

It was a herd of sika deer, grazing leisurely on the grass. These deer were no different from those on Earth—rounded heads crowned with branching antlers, and below the antlers, a pair of trumpet-shaped ears that flicked now and then as if eavesdropping on every sound around them.

Though Sun Licheng was careful, the sound of him lowering his javelin startled the deer, who fled in panic.

He cursed his bad luck and pressed on into the forest.

Perhaps the fleeing deer had startled the other wildlife, for after walking for a long time, Sun Licheng saw no sign of prey.

Just as he was growing dejected, the same herd of sika deer appeared ahead.

Sika deer were difficult to hunt, and his weapons were poor; this time, Sun Licheng decided to follow the herd, hoping to find something valuable along the way.

To these locals—the sika deer—Sun Licheng, or rather the foreign goblin, was an outsider. The deer were intimately familiar with the terrain and everything around.

A long trek began as the sika herd led Sun Licheng over hills and rivers. On the third day, they brought him an immense surprise.

Guided by the deer, Sun Licheng passed through a narrow valley and, before long, saw a shimmering stream winding down from the mountains to the north, its banks lined with towering pines. Many mountain antelopes and elk drank at the river, and the moist, fertile land on both sides seemed vibrant and enchanting.

The sika deer crossed the stream and gathered at the foot of a small hill, drinking from a pond. To Sun Licheng’s astonishment, after drinking, the deer didn’t leave but instead approached a cliff face, stretching out their tongues to eagerly lap at the rock, which greatly puzzled him.

After the deer left, Sun Licheng stayed behind to observe. Other animals soon arrived to drink and lick the stone, even a few huge mammoths. Once all the animals had gone, Sun Licheng hurried to the rosy-hued cliff, stretched out his tongue, and gave it a lick. Instantly, his face lit up with joy.

A salty, pure taste spread over his tongue.

“It’s a rock salt deposit!” Sun Licheng cried out in excitement.

Salt is a vital mineral for all life, and an essential foundation for civilization’s progress—a crucial raw material. For example, the furs he wore could be tanned with alum and salt; properly tanned pelts lost their stench and became wonderfully soft. With salt, food could be preserved for much longer, reducing the time he needed to spend hunting and letting him expand his range.

Rock salt forms as layers in closed basins where saline water evaporates, often a few to several hundred meters thick, and appears near salt springs as an evaporative product. Most rock salt is impure, containing calcite, potash, sand, and clay, often with a bitter flavor, but the salt here was exceptionally pure and could be eaten directly.

This was, without doubt, the best news he’d had since arriving in this world.

When fortune comes, it cannot be stopped.

Soon after discovering the salt deposit, Sun Licheng noticed the abundance of wildlife in the area—it was an ideal hunting ground. Especially when he spotted a herd of wild boars, he could no longer resist the temptation of fresh meat and decided to try his luck.

There were about seven or eight boars in the group, the largest weighing no more than 150 pounds, with some piglets among them—a whole wild boar family. To his relief, boars under 200 pounds don’t have tusks.

“A pit trap? No, the ground’s too hard to dig. Gravity trap? Can’t do it—by the time I find a big rock, the boars will be gone. Spring trap? Ugh, I’d have to whittle branches. What a hassle...”

Torn over what trap to use, Sun Licheng wore the look of a man struggling with constipation.

The more he thought, the more he realized: “These boars aren’t much of a threat—why go to all that trouble? I’ll just rush in and take care of them!”

After carefully studying the boars’ route, he picked a tree by their path and climbed up. To avoid being detected, he erased his tracks and scent with rotten leaves before climbing, in case the boars caught a whiff.

He waited patiently, and soon the boars arrived. Up close, the piglets’ stripes were clear, while the adults looked burly. Wild boars were nothing like domesticated pigs—small-eared, short-tailed, long-snouted, bristly, black-hoofed, and much uglier, but full of vigor.

Sun Licheng waited until the last, half-grown boar passed beneath him, then leapt down and drove his spear hard into its neck. With a wretched squeal, the other piglets froze for a moment, then scattered in panic. The struck piglet flailed desperately on the ground, and chaos filled the woods.

All animals have an instinct to protect their young. The leading boar, hearing the squeals behind, whirled around, eyes bloodshot, and glared at Sun Licheng, who hadn’t quite regained his feet. With a heavy grunt, it charged him, lowering its head and gaping mouth as it barreled straight for him.

Sun Licheng dared not meet it head-on. He dodged aside, and as the boar thundered past, he drew his magic beast bone knife and plunged it into the boar’s back. The boar let out a piercing shriek. Though small, the knife was razor-sharp, especially with its jagged bone edge like a tiny saw. Using the boar’s own momentum, he sliced a long, deep gash down its back.

This boar, not large to begin with, was driven by protective instinct rather than size. Now, grievously wounded, it instantly lost the will to fight and, howling, fled headlong into the woods, never looking back.

Sun Licheng, knife in hand, braced himself for the legendary berserk counterattack of a wounded boar. But after a long wait, nothing happened. All that remained was the twitching piglet on the ground and a pool of blood.

“Seriously... That worked?”

It really had. The hunt ended with this bit of drama, and his prize was a half-grown piglet. Sun Licheng felt as if he had taken the head of an enemy general amidst a chaotic battle.

Though the piglet weighed only a few dozen pounds, Sun Licheng was thoroughly satisfied. After all, his weapons were so crude that the spear tip had broken with that one strike. Luckily, the boar had run off; if he had faced a three- or four-hundred-pound beast, he would have had no choice but to run for his life.

Not only had he found salt on this expedition, but he’d also bagged a wild boar—a tremendous haul. He cut some brambles from the nearby woods, wove a basket, and packed the piglet inside, along with several large chunks of rock salt, then set off for his own camp. There was still much work waiting for him.

Now, at last, he had salt...