Sha Yi’s two sentences immediately clarified the characteristics of this tree.
To put it fully, this tree is practically a treasure trove. Its branches can be used to make bows, while the lemon-scented gelatinous substance within the fibrous strands serves as an adhesive. As for the moisture in the branches, it can even be used to process the adhesive it produces—truly surprising.
Moreover, there are many such trees in this area. If we were to build a raft, the adhesive could be used to bond the wood, increasing its tightness and sturdiness, saving us from relying solely on thick vines for binding and ensuring double security.
However, the raft will eventually be submerged in water, and it’s unclear how this adhesive reacts to water. If it can’t withstand soaking, then it’s useless. Thinking this, she turned back and asked again, “What happens if this stuff gets wet? I mean, if I had tried to wash it off with water when I got stuck earlier…”
Before she could finish, Sha Yi burst into loud laughter again, nearly out of breath. After a while, he finally responded, “The sticky sap of the bamboo vine becomes even stickier when it touches water. During the last rainy season, Xi Mang tried to make water containers and accidentally discovered this. He got some on himself and tried washing it off with water, but it only made it worse. Eventually, it dried, and he had to sleep with his legs stuck together all night. It wasn’t until the next day, when he accidentally broke a bamboo vine branch, that he found the pale green sap inside could remove the adhesive.”
“However, once the bamboo vine branch is broken, the pale green sap inside disappears quickly,” Sha Yi added, picking up a tangled branch from the ground. “Like this one on the ground—it’s useless now. What do you need this for?”
She didn’t answer him immediately.
The bow and arrow were still in the experimental stage. After all, she had never truly made such a thing before. She understood the principles, the materials required, and the process, but that didn’t guarantee the bow and arrow she crafted would work perfectly.
Therefore, Sha Yi hesitated to tell him about the bow and arrow’s purpose outright. Yet, she would inevitably need his help in making it, so she’d have to explain sooner or later. This left her feeling conflicted.
As she hesitated, Sha Yi grew equally puzzled, his gaze turning increasingly confused.
With a sigh, she decided to share her thoughts and plans with him fully. As for the others, she’d ask him to keep it a secret for now. If the bow and arrow experiment failed, the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment.
Even though this group had chosen to join them, there was no guarantee everyone would understand or accept failure. For safety’s sake, it was necessary to inform them only after completion.
So, she spoke softly, “Sha Yi, during your hunts, when you encounter medium to large animals like the four-horned deer, do you ever feel it’s exhausting or even dangerous, risking injury?”
“Well…” He hesitated briefly before answering firmly, “We used to use bone spears, but they always broke. Recently, we’ve been relying on bone knives, stone knives, and those strange knives of yours. But they’re too short—we often have to get dangerously close to strike. So, injuries do happen frequently.”
As if afraid she’d worry, he quickly added, “Nothing too serious, though. We can handle it.”
“I know you’re not afraid of pain, and I know you can endure it,” she couldn’t help but smile. “But have you ever thought—if we could avoid it, why endure it? If we had a long-range weapon, we wouldn’t have to risk injury at all.”
Listening to her, Sha Yi seemed utterly lost. After a long pause, he finally ventured, “Bone spears?”
She shook her head firmly. “No.”
Sha Yi fell silent.
He would never think of a bow and arrow. This was still the early stages of primitive settlement, before tribes had fully formed.
From the giant snake they’d encountered before, it was clear this might be the end of one species’ dominance and the beginning of another’s rise.
Historically, the rise of ancient humans signaled the decline or transformation of cold-blooded giants. This was a process. Similarly, the development of productivity—from primitive to advanced—required time. The bow and arrow hadn’t yet reached their critical point of emergence.
Thus, without urgent need, as an ancient human, Sha Yi would never conceive of something like a bow and arrow. Even she wouldn’t have, if not for her modern knowledge.
But she came from tens of thousands of years in the future. She had seen and understood higher technological advancements, so such ideas weren’t difficult for her. She had needs, and the world she once lived in could fulfill them. Whatever she had experienced, she could recall—this was natural.
In contrast, Sha Yi had never seen any of this. He didn’t even understand the purpose of those ochre vines, let alone boats or rafts. The first time they crossed the river using the bathtub, his expression had been one of sheer astonishment.
“What is it, then?”
Her deep thoughts were interrupted by his voice. She snapped back to reality and pointed at the tangled brown bamboo vine branch in his hand. “This. It can be made into a new weapon—called a bow and arrow.”
“Bow and arrow?” He repeated, turning the branch over in his hands with curiosity before lifting it uncertainly toward her. “You’re saying this bamboo vine branch can make what you’re talking about? You came here to examine the bamboo vine to create a new tool?”
“Yes, and not just the branches.” She took his hand and pointed at the thick, fibrous strands hanging from the tree. “Also, this extremely sticky gelatinous sap. You’ve used it to seal water containers—I want to use it to bond things too, like the raft, which is very important to me right now.”
Seemingly overwhelmed by her stream of new ideas, he spoke haltingly this time: “R… raft?”
“Right. It’s similar to what we use for sleeping, though not identical. The effect is about the same, but it’ll have much greater capacity.” She nodded calmly. “During the rainy season, the storms are relentless, and the rivers swell, likely flooding many areas. In the past, you probably just swam your way through, like during today’s migration, right?”
He nodded but didn’t directly answer her question, instead murmuring with a hint of melancholy, “Because of this, every one of us knows how to swim. But every rainy season, many still die—not from lack of food, but from drowning in the water. No one understands why. They all knew how to swim.”
“Everyone has their limits. Even the strongest swimmers can’t endure exhaustion forever. Fatigue makes accidents more likely.” She patted his hand comfortingly and explained gently, “That’s why we need to build rafts—to replace swimming. We can’t let more people lose their lives in the water. Plus, with rafts, we can carry all our food and even venture into deep waters without issue.”
“Really?” Sha Yi grabbed her shoulders urgently, his face alight with disbelief.
She didn’t blame him for his eagerness. Faced with something entirely new, anyone would be excited—especially since he trusted her completely, and she had never let him down before.
Smiling, she nodded. “Of course. Think about it—why were we driven here in the first place? Originally, I planned to use the ochre vines to attract lightning, using its force to break trees for the raft’s main material. I just miscalculated, which led to the giant tree collapsing onto the cave. But I need to emphasize—we must try this again. Don’t worry, this time I’ll make sure everything is precise. I promise nothing like the cave incident will happen again—”
Before she could finish, he pulled her into a tight embrace. She froze, but he remained silent for a long time before whispering in her ear, “Don’t make promises. I’ll always stand by you, no matter the outcome—no matter what happens to you. I’m with you.”
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