Chapter Four: What Mourning Is There in Death, Where Does the Soul Journey

The elder was about to die.

In this era, death was an ordinary thing.

And along with it, sorrow would quietly spread.

The elder’s new journey was not a mere metaphor—he was truly departing.

He said he should have left long ago, but it was because Luo Zu kept him and shared the spoils of the hunt with him that he was able to remain in the settlement, spared from facing the dangers beyond.

So decrepit that even his bones were close to decay, he could no longer hunt, and if he left the settlement, he likely would not be able to gather even the most basic edible fruits.

This aging was ordained by fate, unless he chanced upon an immortal or some extraordinary encounter.

But such encounters are never so easily found.

Although Luo Zu’s impression of the primordial wilderness was one with spiritual treasures and roots scattered everywhere, reality was far less abundant.

Within a radius of ten thousand miles around this mountain, not a single worthy spiritual root could be found; the common herbs they did have could only treat minor ailments like headaches and fevers.

Even in this wild age, such sicknesses existed, and they could still afflict these robust first-generation humans.

It was only after Luo Zu created the breathing technique that such illnesses became less common.

But aging could not be reversed. It was a law of nature, the way of heaven.

Unless, of course, there really was an immortal.

Gazing at the elder’s gradually retreating figure, Luo Zu’s heart was heavy: “Sun Wukong must have felt the same back then.”

The fear of death.

The elder’s departure did not cause much of a stir in the settlement. The hunters kept hunting, children continued to be born, and life… life simply went on.

Who could say how the mother goddess Nuwa shaped humanity, or why she made reproduction their paramount concern?

No, that wasn’t quite right; Luo Zu later realized that for most beings in the primordial world, propagation was the primary goal…

Expand the tribe, then fight for territory.

Even those who embarked on the path of cultivation and found grand destinies were no exception.

Of course, Luo Zu had little direct experience, so he could not judge too readily.

Though he felt sorrow and wished to keep the elder, the elder refused.

“I remember when our companions could no longer catch prey, they would always leave us and die out there. Once, while hunting, I found a companion’s body—only a single hand remained, but I still recognized him.”

The elder’s resolve was unshakable; in this primordial wilderness, survival was never easy.

Never mind the demon tribes—just the beasts and monstrous creatures in the forests could end the lives of the weak, not to mention the strange diseases, venomous insects, poisonous mists, and even man-eating forests.

Since coming of age and venturing out to hunt, Luo Zu had encountered many strange beasts and bizarre environments.

Moreover, it was best not to go out at night in this wilderness, for there were not only fierce beasts, but also “ghosts.”

At this time, there was no concept of “ghosts”; they used the word “spirit,” a term passed down from the elders—said to have originated from a shaman.

In short, humans were insignificant here.

Luo Zu knew he must face the wilderness with humility; just because he was a so-called transmigrator did not mean he could be the protagonist of this world.

If, in the future, he could merely play a minor immortal in the great array of the gods, that would suffice.

As for the great calamity of the gods, he would avoid getting involved if he could—otherwise, he might end up conscripted onto the celestial roster, becoming a bureaucrat of heaven ever after.

The day after the elder left, Luo Zu, when not hunting by day, spent most of his remaining time—aside from eating, drinking, excreting, and his solid three hours or so of sleep—immersed in his study of mystical arts.

The Small-Scale Humanity 2.0 Project had already begun.

So first, he had to study his own brain.

The vital energy drawn in by his breathing technique gradually seeped into his fragile brain.

He had tried this before, but had never succeeded. He always failed at the threshold; whenever the energy entered his brain, he would first feel dizzy, then as if ten thousand needles were stabbing his head.

His human companions experienced the same. Whether their methods were wrong or not, no one knew, but all felt their heads pounding, as if pierced by nails.

On a night not so silent, with his companions’ snores in the background, Luo Zu tried again.

The result was predictable: he failed once more.

Sweat beaded his forehead, which he cleaned daily with spring water collected from the cave.

He took deep, gulping breaths, expelling the stale air produced by his body’s high-energy consumption.

But Luo Zu would not stop trying. The elder’s departure spurred him on, making him afraid to rest.

After seven attempts, Luo Zu felt he had reached his limit; if he continued, his fragile brain might suffer, so he decided to pause.

He would rest for one night and continue the next.

Thus, it went on, again and again, for three months.

At last, Luo Zu made progress.

On a night when the mountain winds howled, he finally broke through the barrier and saw his own “brain.”

Fleshy and sticky, moist and tender, no different from the pig brains he loved in his past life…

But this was only the first step; he now had to carefully explore the structure of his brain, observing every millimeter, every pattern.

During this period, Luo Zu suddenly discovered that his long-stagnant breathing technique was finally showing signs of progress.

The vital energy he absorbed was transforming; whereas before he could only direct it to nourish his body, now he could manipulate it at will.

“Spirit, perhaps?” Luo Zu was not some primitive caveman of this era—he still possessed the wisdom of his previous life.

He quickly identified the variable, since he was now exploring his brain, and the brain represented the spirit.

But by the knowledge of his former world… Bah, what use was common sense, now that he was in the primordial wilderness?

In any case, Luo Zu surmised that the spirit was likely the key.

He had yet to conduct further experiments within his internal world, and already the breathing technique had advanced—it was almost theatrical.

Not only had the vital energy he drew in changed, but Luo Zu also found that his two mystical arts—the Internal World and the Wheel of Creation—had both evolved.

They had leveled up.

Such surprises came unbidden.

He realized now that he had been too timid before, or he would have broken through sooner.

It was the departure of the last elder in the settlement that had spurred him, giving him such resolve.

Though the breathing technique had improved, the experiments had to continue.

This was the primordial wilderness, after all. How could he be complacent over such a tiny step forward?

The next day, he woke the hunting party even earlier than usual—half an hour before dawn they set out.

In this settlement, Luo Zu, because of his abilities, was admired by the simple “cavemen” and was respected as both hunting party leader and chieftain. Of course, there were no social classes or official titles yet, and no one had that awareness. It was simply that, when anything happened, they would come to consult Luo Zu.