Since the tribe's defeat in the conflict, Dodolu has experienced far too much.
He witnessed his father's throat being slit, saw his mother being dragged into the enemy's dwelling with grass ropes around her neck.
Subsequently, he endured even more agony and tornt, ultimately found himself bound hand and foot, offered as a sacred sacrifice, destined for that distant island.
For this still naive young boy, life and death remained a vague concept.
He only knew that when blood poured out, his father departed from him forever, never to return.
He once naively believed in the omnipotent Celestial God spoken of by the tribe's Priest, believed his fallen companions had gone to the eternal Celestial Kingdom, a place with endless food and never-ending songs...
But the tribe's High Priest had already perished, killed during the post-conflict reckoning—executed personally by that enemy Priest, keen-eyed and wearing a feather crown, a gaze so sharp Dodolu dared not et it.
The omnipotent Celestial God did not favor them.
As for that distant Celestial Kingdom, no one had ever seen it.
Dodolu had beco numb; the mont he was thrown onto the Canoe, bound hand and foot, his heart died.
He was convinced he was going to be eaten, and amid the sea's turbulence, he never imagined a miracle would occur—
Hope, to the natives of a primitive tribe, was a rare luxury.
Perhaps only the Chieftain and Priest, who held sway, envisioned the tribe's expansion and island unification.
For the ordinary native, striving to survive, gathering food, weathering the rainy season, praying the hunters avoid storms, and hoping the tribe triumphs in conflicts was their all.
...
No one had ever heard of a sacrifice surviving a sacred ceremony.
When Dodolu quietly awaited death, he never expected such significant upheaval during this customary ritual.
When gunfire roared like thunder, when enemy warriors fell, when that terrifying monster approached him and cut the ropes binding him...
Even now, barefoot on sand and stones scorched by the sun, following behind the monster, Dodolu still felt bewildered.
His mind was blank just monts ago, now it was a tangled ss.
He couldn't tell whether he was dreaming or had already died, arriving at the legendary Celestial Kingdom.
Dodolu thought of his fallen companions, childhood playmates from the sa tribe.
Together they wove grass ropes; together they honed Wooden Sabers; together they hunted and ultimately faced defeat, captured together.
Relationships within a primitive tribe were simple; everyone lived together, ate and slept together.
There was no barrage of distracting information concerning gossip or trivial news, leaving people disconnected from those around them.
Growing up in such an environnt, Dodolu had always believed his fate and his companions' would be identical; though born at different tis, they would die simultaneously.
Yet he never imagined it would be his companions who died, while he survived.
...
In a sense, apart from lacking reproductive isolation, natives and modern humans were nearly two distinct species ideologically.
Chen Zhou could not comprehend the thoughts of the thin boy trailing him, nor could Dodolu understand Chen Zhou's intentions.
He could see Chen Zhou trying to save his companions.
But if resurrection was beyond even the Celestial God, how could this nightmarish "monster" revive his companions? Wouldn't that prove the Celestial God was nothing special?
Feeling his thoughts were too disrespectful, Dodolu instinctively lowered his head, fearful of thinking further.
Silently following Chen Zhou, unconcerned about the pain in his feet, he reached the mountaintop—for the Native Tribe, a stairway to the Celestial Kingdom.
Dodolu thought perhaps the monster was returning to the Celestial Kingdom, yet Chen Zhou did not stop there.
Dodolu did not know where he was heading, only sensing he might never return to the beach, so he glanced back.
From this vantage, the two Canoes on the beach appeared minuscule, only the still-burning campfire emitted twisted smoke.
The forest transford into a dense expanse of dark green; he could barely discern where his fallen companions lay, unable to locate their bodies.
While distracted, Chen Zhou had already taken several steps ahead.
Quickly Dodolu reclaid his focus, hurriedly catching up to the monster—freedom was an unknown concept to him in his life.
At the tribe, there were always various tasks to perform, obligatory efforts from the mont he could rember for the tribe's survival and prosperity, until knocked unconscious in conflict and ultimately bound for consumption.
Everything progressed systematically, akin to a narrow bridge flanked by endless abysses.
Bridge-goers had no choice but to walk forward, constantly onward, until reaching the opposite bank nad "Death," or unless falling into the abyss midway.
Dodolu was supposed to keep walking like everyone else, until swallowed by death.
Yet his fate altered dramatically upon encountering Chen Zhou, as if a mighty hand plucked him from the narrow bridge onto a broad road.
Ahead lay countless junctions, no longer flanked by abysses; he could choose to continue along the plain road or veer onto another path, into another life.
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