The fish soup in the earthen cauldron was boiling, with milky white broth enveloping and tumbling the silvery fish meat.
Chopped wild green onions floated up and down on the surface, and the aroma, like vines, drilled out through the crevices of the cave, wrapping around the Tribesmen who were busy moving back and forth in the snow.
A He squatted by the Fire Pit, clutching a smooth wooden spoon, his eyes glued to the bottom of the cauldron.
He didn’t even hear his mother ask him to pass a piece of dry firewood—the fish caught yesterday using the Fish Basket piled up halfway in the cave, enough for everyone in the Tribe to have hot soup for two days, and the rest could be gutted and roasted into dried fish.
This was the most prosperous time the Tribe had experienced since he could remember.
“Alex, should we add some more spring water?”
Yuna walked over, holding a coarse pottery jar.
The rim of the jar was still stained with wet mud from the springhead.
She had just returned from the springhead on the South Mountain Slope, and the water in the jar carried a clear chill, which was just right to suppress the heat that was about to overflow from the earthen cauldron.
She watched Alex squatting by the Fire Pit, adjusting the charcoal.
The firelight reflected on his face, making the gentleness between his brows and eyes exceptionally clear.
She quietly sighed in relief—ever since Alex woke up, the Tribe was like a seed buried by snow that had finally begun to sprout slowly.
The despair of running out of food and the fear of the wolf pack were diluted by the warmth of the Fire Pit and the aroma of the fish soup.
Alex took the pottery jar and gently added some spring water to the earthen cauldron.
Only when the soup began to boil steadily again did he stand up straight.
Just as he was about to tell Yuna about finding bluestone tomorrow to make stone hoes, his eye caught John standing in the shadows of the cave entrance.
John was still wearing his shiny brown bear hide.
The snow pellets stuck to the fur hadn’t been brushed off in time, slowly melting into water in the cold wind at the cave entrance, leaving dark marks.
He was taller and broader than any of the able-bodied men in the Tribe, his shoulders wide enough to block the light from the entrance.
He clutched the handle of his stone axe, his knuckles white from the force.
Shallow marks from the last time he cleaved a wolf were still on the axe blade—that was his medal as the Tribe’s strongest Hunter.
But at this moment, this medal felt like a stone, pressing heavily on his chest.
Yesterday, when Alex returned from the river with the Fish Basket, John clearly saw how excited the Tribesmen were surrounding Alex.
Mark and Ashi gathered around Alex, asking about the weaving method of the Fish Basket; several elders held Alex’s hands, talking about cultivating the land in the spring; even the Hunters who used to hunt with him forgot to say, “Chief, you’ve worked hard,”
turning instead to help Alex sort the fish he had caught.
John knew Alex was doing good for the Tribe; the Fish Basket solved the food problem, and the Fire drove away the wolf pack.
These were things he couldn’t do.
But watching the name “Alex” appear more and more in the eyes of the Tribesmen, and the title “Chief John” being used less and less, his heart felt blocked, like a piece of charcoal that hadn’t fully burned, both stifling and irritable.
According to the rules of the Flame Stone Tribe, the Chief had to be a tough man who could lift a stone axe and fight a fierce beast.
Last winter, when the Black Mountain Tribe came to steal hides, it was he who split the opposing Chief’s arm with an axe, driving them away; the year before, when they encountered a Mammoth while hunting, it was he who led the Hunters to circle the elephant’s legs, dragging back half a Mammoth carcass, allowing the Tribe to survive the most difficult half-month.
But Alex relied on “Vines” and “Fire,” on a “Clever Skill” that John didn’t understand.
This made him feel uneasy—if they encountered an enemy like the Black Mountain Tribe again, could Vines and Fire block a stone axe?
“Chief John, come and have a bowl of hot soup!”
The woman cooking the fish soup called out to him with a smile, already holding up a wooden bowl that was steaming at the rim.
John didn’t move.
Instead, he took large strides, walking through the Tribesmen gathered around the Fire Pit.
He walked slowly, the bear hide rubbing against the rock wall with a “shasha” sound.
The previously lively cave instantly fell silent.
The Tribesmen stopped what they were doing, their eyes filled with surprise—no one dared to walk silently through the crowd like that in front of John.
Even when the previous Chief was around, John carried an aura of intimidating authority.
Alex also stood up, watching John approach step by step.
He could guess John’s thoughts.
Since the fish were caught yesterday, John had spoken much less, and his eyes always held a deep melancholy.
In this primitive Tribe that believed “strength is respected,” martial power was the foundation of the right to speak.
The prestige he had earned through technology and wisdom might be seen by John as “not tough enough.”
This confrontation was bound to happen sooner or later.
“Alex,” John’s voice was low, like two stones grinding on frozen earth.
He stood in front of Alex, taller than Alex by more than half a head, and his shadow fell, blocking most of the Fire Pit’s light.
“You used the Fish Basket to catch fish, and you made Fire to drive away the wolves.
But the Chief of the Flame Stone Tribe cannot rely solely on these ‘petty tricks’.”
“Petty tricks?” Alex frowned, but his tone held no anger.
“John, Fire keeps everyone from freezing, and the Fish Basket keeps everyone from starving.
These aren’t petty tricks; they are ways for the Tribe to survive.”
“I know.” John nodded, but his shoulders tensed up even more.
He raised his arm, revealing a long scar on his upper arm.
That was scratched by the claw of a Black Bear during a fight last year, and the edge of the scar was still faintly pink.
“But if we encounter enemies like the Black Mountain Tribe, they won’t compare who can weave a Fish Basket; they’ll only compare whose stone axe is harder and whose fist is heavier.
Last winter, I used this arm to withstand their stone axes, preventing them from stealing our hides and food—that’s what a Chief should do: protect the Tribesmen.
That relies on strength, not Vines.”
The surrounding Tribesmen fell silent.
John was speaking the truth.
In this wild mountain forest, conflicts between Tribes were always resolved by force.
The reason the Flame Stone Tribe could establish itself on the South Mountain Slope was because John and the Hunters he led were strong fighters.
Without John, they would have been annexed by other Tribes long ago.
“So you think I’m not fit to be the Chief?” Alex looked into John’s eyes and asked calmly.
John didn’t answer directly, but stepped back two paces, spread his arms, and shouted to all the Tribesmen:
“The rule of the Flame Stone Tribe is that whoever wants to be Chief must earn everyone’s respect.
Alex has won trust with Fire and the Fish Basket, but I want to compete with him—in wrestling.”
This sentence was like a piece of ice thrown into boiling soup, and the cave instantly erupted.
“Chief John wants to wrestle Alex?”
“No way!
Alex is so much thinner than John, he’s definitely going to get hurt!”
“But the Tribe’s rules…
the previous Chief also had to compete with the strongest person before he became Chief.”
A He was so scared that he quickly hid behind his mother, tightly clutching her animal hide skirt, whispering:
“Chief John, don’t fight Alex, Alex will get hurt.”
Mark also became anxious, stepping forward and saying to John:
“Chief, Alex is doing good for the Tribe, there’s no need for this competition!
We respect him, and we respect you!”
The Old Shaman, leaning on his wooden staff engraved with the Sun Totem, slowly walked out from the crowd.
He was more hunched over than usual, and the staff hitting the ground made a “dong, dong” sound, each one quieting the Tribesmen’s discussions.
“John,” the Old Shaman’s voice was soft but carried authority,
“The Tribe has just settled down; don’t cause conflict.
Alex has wisdom, and you have martial power.
You are both pillars of the Tribe; there is no need to decide a winner.”
Yuna also quickly grabbed Alex’s arm, quietly persuading him:
“Don’t agree to him.
John’s strength is too great.
Last time he wrestled Mark, he slammed Mark onto the ground in one go.
If you compete with him, you will definitely get hurt.”
Her hand was cold, trembling slightly as she gripped Alex’s arm—she had seen John when he hunted, able to lift dozens of pounds of prey with one hand.
No matter how smart Alex was, he was no match for John in terms of strength.
Alex gently patted Yuna’s hand, signaling her not to worry, then stepped forward, standing in front of John.
He looked at John’s tall body, knowing clearly that if he backed down, it would not only make John think, “He really has no strength,”
but would also sow a seed of doubt in the hearts of the Tribesmen—later, when promoting improved tools or cultivating land, someone might use the excuse, “The Chief doesn’t even dare to wrestle.”
Furthermore, he wanted John to understand that protecting the Tribe was not limited to just “brute force.”
“John, I know what you want to prove.”
Alex’s voice clearly reached the ears of every Tribesman,
“Strength is important in the Tribe.
It can drive away enemies and catch prey.
But I want you to know that wisdom is not a petty trick, just as the Fish Basket can catch fish without hacking through ice, and Fire can be made without waiting for a divine gift.
These are the skills that allow the Tribe to survive.”
John’s frown deepened:
“I don’t care about skills.
I only know that the Chief must make everyone feel secure.
If you can’t even wrestle me, how can the Tribesmen trust you to protect them when enemies appear?”
Alex suddenly spoke, cutting off John.
The cave instantly became quiet; even the sound of the fish soup boiling in the Fire Pit was exceptionally clear.
Yuna looked at Alex in surprise, and Mark also opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but was stopped by Alex’s gaze.
“But I have one condition.”
Alex looked at John, his tone firm,
“We stop short of injury.
We are both people of the Flame Stone Tribe, not enemies fighting to the death.
Regardless of the outcome, we must protect the Tribe together and ensure everyone survives together.”
John was stunned, clearly not expecting Alex to agree so readily.
He had originally thought Alex would find an excuse to refuse and had been holding back his frustration, but Alex’s frankness dispersed some of the irritation in his heart.
He stared at Alex for a few seconds, and seeing no hint of fear in Alex’s eyes, he finally nodded:
“Good!
Stop short of injury!
Whoever is thrown to the ground first and can’t get up loses!”
The Old Shaman looked at the two, knowing that further persuasion was useless.
He could only walk to the center of the cave, tapping his wooden staff on the ground three times:
“Since you both agree, we will follow the Tribe’s rules.
The competition will be tomorrow morning in the open space outside the cave.
Everyone will bear witness.
No weapons are allowed, and no killing blows.
We will only judge the wrestling match—the winner will be the publicly recognized Chief of the Flame Stone Tribe.”
The Tribesmen hadn’t recovered from the shock, looking at each other, their eyes full of complexity.
Mark walked over to Alex’s side and whispered:
“Alex, are you really going to compete with him?
John’s strength…
you can’t possibly match it!”
Alex smiled and patted Mark’s shoulder: “Don’t worry, I have a way.
You’ll know tomorrow.”
He didn’t say more, just turned back to the Fire Pit, picked up the wooden spoon, and served a bowl of fish soup to every Tribesman.
The milky white soup was steaming hot.
As he handed it to the Tribesmen, many secretly looked at Alex, and then at John standing at the cave entrance, their eyes filled with worry and expectation.
John was still standing at the entrance, his stone axe still tightly clenched, but the irritation in his heart had lessened.
He watched Alex serving the fish soup to the Tribesmen, seeing the warmth on their faces as they held the hot soup.
He suddenly felt that maybe Alex was right—a Chief shouldn’t just be a good fighter, but also someone who could ensure everyone had hot soup, and someone who could make everyone unafraid of winter.
But he still wanted the match, not to seize the position of Chief, but to see if Alex’s “way” could really protect the Tribe, as he claimed.
The charcoal in the Fire Pit was still burning, and the aroma of the fish soup drifted even further.
Alex held a bowl of hot soup, walked over to John, and offered it to him:
“Have a bowl of soup first.
You’ll need the strength for the competition tomorrow.”
John looked at the wooden bowl in Alex’s hand.
The fish soup in the bowl was still steaming, reflecting his own image.
He remained silent for a few seconds, then finally took the bowl and took a sip.
The warmth slid down his throat into his stomach, dispelling the stifling feeling in his chest and easing some of his internal conflict.
Night slowly deepened, and the wind outside the cave gradually quieted.
Only the charcoal in the Fire Pit occasionally made a “pipa” sound.
After drinking the soup, some Tribesmen were sorting the caught fish, others were repairing animal hides.
No one mentioned tomorrow’s competition again, but everyone knew clearly that the open space tomorrow morning would determine the future direction of the Flame Stone Tribe—whether it relied on John’s stone axe, or Alex’s wisdom, or perhaps, on both of them together.
Alex leaned against the rock wall, looking at the busy Tribesmen around him, and then at John sitting near the cave entrance drinking soup.
He quietly started making calculations in his heart.
He knew that tomorrow’s match was not just a wrestling competition; it was also to make John, and all the Tribesmen, understand that martial power and wisdom were not enemies, and only by combining them could the Flame Stone Tribe truly survive the winter and move towards spring.
The moonlight from the entrance slowly shone in, falling on the earthen cauldron by the Fire Pit, and also on Alex and John.
A match to determine the leadership was quietly approaching with the night.