The native woman never imagined even in her dreams that this "dead person" could co back to her doorstep.
She cautiously uttered the na of Kulu.
But Kulu showed no sign of joy, he directly kicked the native woman to the ground, pinned her chest, and asked fiercely.
"Where is my child? Where is my son?"
Originally, she thought that having an acquaintance among the Demon’s ssengers would grant her so favors, the native woman planned to cozy up for benefits—
In the primitive tribe, spouses are not fixed, their moral concepts are very superficial, and it’s not uncommon for won to abandon their husbands and seek out a stronger warrior.
Now that the missing Kulu has returned to the island, and with a changed appearance, he beca a more reliable figure.
When the native woman was full of joy, she forgot about her own child.
Only when she was heavily thrown onto the beach did she rember the matter concerning the child, seeing Kulu’s fierce attitude, ominous foreboding rose in her heart.
"We can have another one..."
She didn’t answer Kulu’s question directly, instead, she uttered sothing Kulu least wanted to hear.
...
Unlike most of the natives in the primitive tribe, Kulu was a rare child who grew up smoothly under the doting of his parents.
Because of this family environnt, it shaped his distinctive family values.
He valued his spouse, and his child, far more than other natives.
When he went out to fight, he always thought about his wife and child at ho, and when they divided the spoils of war, he would always keep a share for his family.
After the failed island landing operation, when captured and gradually learned Chinese, under the influence of Hua Xia culture, his sense of family beca even stronger.
Chinese people inherently value family and familial cultural heritage greatly.
Between ruler and subject, father and son, even between husband and wife, or friends, there are ancient stories showcasing extraordinary ties.
Listen to the Leader tell new myth stories.
The myth that moved Kulu the most was about Yu the Great controlling the floods.
In that myth, there is a father and son, nad Gun and Yu, they as mbers of the sa family, passed on the sa enterprise, ultimately accomplishing the great feat of flood control.
Although there are no details about the interactions between this father and son in the story, this grand and romantic plot always fascinated Kulu.
In his dreams, he wanted to hold his child and tell him this story—
In that safe and sturdy cabin where they could cook various delicious dishes.
He also wanted to teach his child to speak Chinese, write Chinese characters, recite Three Character Classic, recite Thousand Character Text.
Kulu knew his son was very intelligent and would surely learn this knowledge quickly. He believed both Saturday teacher and the Leader would appreciate this clever little guy.
Every night on the island, he would miss his child, the continuation of his bloodline.
And now, all those beautiful mories shattered with this woman’s words.
...
"What happened to my son?"
Kulu’s voice trembled, his knee on the woman’s chest instinctively applied more pressure, pressing her so hard she could hardly breathe, like a fish out of water, only able to open her mouth and breathe heavily, unable to speak a word.
It’s often said that onlookers see more than the participants.
Sunday, wearing Night Vision Goggles, coldly watched all this, seeing that Kulu was about to crush the woman to death, stepped forward to separate the nearly deranged man.
"Let ask."
Grabbing the back of Kulu’s neck, he moved him aside, Sunday squatted down.
"Now, I ask, you answer.
It’s best to tell the truth, or he’ll be your example."
Sunday’s voice wasn’t as mature as Kulu’s, carrying the unique childishness of a teenager.
Yet his tone made the woman shiver, like a beast gently licking blood off its lips, hiding fierceness ready to devour at any mont beneath the calm exterior.
...
The woman nodded tremblingly, listening carefully to Sunday’s first question, fearing punishnt for not hearing the question clearly.
"Where has his child gone?"
Sunday asked.
The native woman’s eyes flickered a bit, she hesitated to answer—
"My son is very smart, the new Priest is very fond of him and took him to beco a junior Priest, now he’s sleeping in the Priest’s room."
...
After hearing her answer, Sunday shook his head softly, not speaking again; he simply pressed the native man next to the native woman into the sand, then took out a multi-functional Military Saber, cutting off one of his ears.
The native man’s hands were tied, unable to resist Sunday. The cloth in his mouth had not been removed.
After having his ear cut off, he couldn’t let out a loud cry to vent the pain, only able to whimper, in agony, rolling continuously on the sand.
"See, every ti you lie, he suffers."
Sunday smiled slightly, continuing.
"But you don’t need to worry, as long as you keep lying, what happens to him will happen to you too.
I’ll ask you again, where has Kulu’s child gone?"
...
The native woman tried hard to turn her head, looking at her new spouse beside her, the not-so-firm defense line in her heart finally gave way.
Through her intermittent narration, Kulu understood the ins and outs of the matter—
Soon after his disappearance, the native woman, unable to go it alone, agreed to the proposal of forming a new family with another native man.
Kulu’s child originally lived in the hut with his biological mother and stepfather.
At first, the child could still sleep indoors, but later his biological mother and stepfather found him a nuisance and drove him outside.
Even during the rainy season, he could only rest on the open ground without any shelter.
Perhaps because the natives adapt well to the natural environnt, or perhaps because the child was tough.
He survived two entire long rainy seasons, along with the exclusion by his biological mother and stepfather, as well as hunger, without having his life taken, only becoming more emaciated.
But the threats within the tribe were far more than these few.
The biological mother chased him out, yet would secretly give him so food; other youths bullied him, but wouldn’t take his life.
The child was like a resilient insect, struggling hard within the tribe.
Until he was selected by the drunken Leader to beco the "banquet" ingredient, then the threat rose to a level where he had to choose between risk or death.
According to the woman, it was an evening.
Kulu’s son put in all his effort to run out of the tribe, under the watchful eyes of nurous warriors, he leaped into the sea, swimming towards the opposite bank, disappearing from sight.
The enraged Leader ordered several waves of arrows, and also led warriors to throw over a dozen Wooden Spears.
So said the child was hit and died in the water, others said he wasn’t hit and might have swum to the opposite bank.
Of course, it’s more likely that the child wasn’t hit, but neither did he have the strength to swim to the opposite bank—
He drowned on the path of escape.
...
"I’ll leave it to you to handle."
Sunday patted Kulu’s shoulder, grabbing the rope that tied the native man’s hands, dragging him, missing an ear, still writhing in pain, to the side.
The previous handling was Kulu’s private matter; he didn’t want to care about the outco.
He never had been a father, nor had a spouse, and couldn’t understand Kulu’s feelings, only knowing this silent man was feeling terrible right now.
It’s best to leave others’ matters to themselves to resolve.
Sunday never forgot the purpose of this island landing.
...
The decisive ear-cutting action just now had already made this native man see clearly what kind of ruthless character he was dealing with.
Facing Sunday’s subsequent inquiries, he dared not conceal any information he knew, spilling everything out like a bamboo tube pouring beans, honestly.
He originally thought his submissive behavior could earn him a lifeline.
Never expecting just after answering the last question, Sunday flipped him over from lying face-up, making him face the sand, then drew out the Long Saber.
Hearing the strange sound of the saber unsheathing, the native man had anticipated what would happen next, pleading continuously.
However, Sunday was unmoved.
The Long Saber slowly pressed into the sand like a shark lurking underwater, revealing only its sharpened blade, swimming to the native man’s neck, effortlessly cutting open his artery.
The gushing blood poured downwards, soaking the already damp sand with a more intense stench.
Gingerly retracting the Long Saber, stepping firmly on the native man’s head to prevent splattering blood from staining his clothes.
While using the native man’s twitching body to wipe the blood-stained Long Saber, Sunday turned his head to observe Kulu’s situation, expertly returning the saber to its sheath.
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