Gently cracking the bird egg, Chen Xu peeled back its fragile shell and held it aloft, signaling the apes to pay attention. Before their eyes, he poured the viscous yolk into his mouth, slurping it up as if savoring a summer ice cream. A single smooth gulp, and the egg was reduced to an empty shell.
He smacked his lips, relishing the creamy texture, and for a fleeting moment, memories of his childhood surfaced—wild picnics with friends, swallowing raw eggs straight from the nest. A pang of nostalgia tugged at him, but the raw, untamed scent of the primeval forest quickly pulled him back to the present. This was no longer the world of Chen Xu the boy; he had become something else entirely.
Sighing softly, he picked up another egg, gesturing toward the remaining ones. The apes, mirroring his actions, began to eat in imitation. Chen Xu paid them little heed, eating silently and methodically, reconnecting with fleeting fragments of his former life. After consuming over twenty eggs, he finally pressed a hand to his stomach, a wave of metallic, coppery sweetness rising violently, nearly forcing him to bend over and retch.
The raw, primal life of the forest was still unfamiliar to him. With a deep breath, Chen Xu waved the others forward, giving them permission to eat. Only then did the remaining apes dare to approach, initially fumbling but gradually adapting to the task. While raw bird eggs were nutritious, overconsumption quickly became cloying; by the time they had eaten sixty or so, a handful remained, which Chen Xu buried in soft soil to prevent other forest creatures from discovering them.
Satisfied, he gathered the apes around, explaining the mission ahead. He reminded them that another conflict might be imminent and that they would need to contribute. His foresight dictated this rest period: by now, the apes would have grown comfortable and let down their guard, busy scavenging the remnants of the earlier hunt. This gave him a perfect opportunity for a calculated maneuver.
Chen Xu was confident that even though these apes were not the sharpest minds, they had witnessed his prowess with the hyena pack. Some recognition of difference, some spark of understanding, would exist within their simple consciousness. Reasoning, after all, is a gift of thinking creatures.
Hence, he armed the remaining ten weaker apes with bamboo spears—not for offense, but as a psychological ploy. To the primitive minds of these apes, such a display of authority was revolutionary, incomprehensibly advanced, yet unquestioned. They had seen the Fire God in action; their loyalty was implicit.
Forming a tactical array, Chen Xu led the four experienced hunters, followed by the ten spearman apes, in a disciplined, enveloping formation. The ten on the flanks held their spears menacingly but were forbidden to strike. The four hunters retained autonomy but were instructed to intervene sparingly, to avoid revealing their full capabilities. Communication with the outer apes was delegated to Ape One, as even Chen Xu's limited grasp of their language risked dangerous misunderstandings in a life-or-death moment.
Silently, they advanced, moving through the narrow corridors of the forest along paths worn by wildlife, reaching the edge of the beach without alerting the apes busy collecting scavenged prey. The scene before them was clear in the late afternoon light: ten apes, armed with crude stone weapons, were absorbed in gathering edible portions from animals torn apart by the tyrant sabertooths. Their focus was absolute, and no sentries were posted. Clearly, they were seasoned at this task, yet so engrossed they were blind to the world around them. Hunger and routine had dulled their vigilance.
Chen Xu's confidence swelled. The apes' inattentiveness gave him the advantage he needed. Slowly, he raised five bamboo spears in his left hand, one in his right, emanating an aura of concentrated readiness, as if a drawn blade stood before them. Though the apes could not comprehend qi, they could feel its oppressive presence, reminiscent of the tyrant sabertooths' earlier dominance.
Coupled with the Fire God's legendary feat against the hyenas, the apes froze. Fear and awe etched their faces as they clustered together, forming a defensive wedge. At their forefront stood a muscular ape, its own aura weaker than Chen Xu's but still imposing, undoubtedly the hunting party's leader. Whether he was the tribe's chief remained uncertain.
Behind Chen Xu, the four hunters struck postures of readiness, while the ten peripheral apes mimicked combat stances, emitting low, rhythmic calls. The sudden show of strength caused the scavenging apes to falter. Only the leader remained firm; the others took a wary step back, their cries echoing along the sand.
From the river, the menacing silhouettes of the submerged killer crocodiles surfaced, likely emboldened by the tyrant sabertooths' absence. Though they dared not leave the water, their eyes glittered with hunger, fixating on the apes trapped between Chen Xu's approach and the river. Forward lay the Fire God, behind, the crocodiles; the apes found themselves caught between a predator and a predator.
As Chen Xu pressed forward, the hunting party's leader clenched teeth, letting out a fierce roar. A crudely sharpened stone was hurled toward Chen Xu's face while he lunged forward like a tiger breaking its cage. The target, however, was not Chen Xu himself, but one of the accompanying apes.
The strike was deliberate and intelligent—a primitive tactical maneuver. The leader sought to exploit Chen Xu's evasive focus, to carve a path back to the forest for his people, aware that any direct confrontation with the Fire God would be fatal. His priority lay in survival for his kin; the others would follow his lead.
With the leader's movement, the remaining apes screamed and surged forward. Rocks whistled through the air, yet Chen Xu remained undeterred. Observing their simplistic but effective attempt, he could not help but feel a sense of playing music to cattle: his complex psychological and tactical designs were utterly lost on these primitive minds.
Clearly, this operation's deeper intent—subtle control and intimidation—was too sophisticated for the apes to grasp. For them, only raw, overwhelming force spoke a language they understood.