I’m a chief

“Don’t miss this, friends! Great sale! There are African handicrafts! 50% discount!” On a roadside stall in the street of S city, a small loudspeaker is tirelessly repeating the sentence. Passing by, Cen Qingqin casually glances at one and smiles with disdain. The reason is obvious. As a person who has once worked in the Trade City in Yiwu, he knows that almost all of these goods have a strong atmosphere of small commodity city.

In fact, many Africans specifically go to Yiwu to buy these copycats of African handicrafts back, and then sell at high prices to tourists in Africa.

“What’s that?”

When Cen nearly goes past there, he stops unaccountably. Because in the booth, there is a black wood—carved craft which shapes like a heart, attracting his attention. What is stranger is that Cen doesn’t know why he is attracted by this so much that there is a cry in his mind, saying “get it, get it!”

“How much is this?”

Hesitated for a moment, Cen Qingqin decides to follow his instinct. As a young people of the twenty—first century, he has read a lot of Internet novel. Facing this situation, the best approach is to seize the opportunity rather than letting it go. After all, in his life of more than twenty years and nearly thirty years, this strange feeling appears for the first time.

“Two hundred.”

Looking at Cen, the owner of the booth says.

“Fifty. I have ever worked in the Yiwu Trade City.”

“Okay.”

The owner knows that Cen is an expert, and his offer is profitable. As a result, he doesn’t say too much. After all, it is just a wooden bauble, and there is a box of this thing in his home. As a shrewd businessman, he never places two same things on the stall.

“Is my thought wrong?”

Taking it in his hand, Cen has no other feelings. But this is normal.

“How can there be so many miracles in the real world?”

Okay, just regard it as a bauble.

Thinking about this, Cen shrugs and walks forward.

“Be careful!”

“What happened?”

Hearing the stall holder’s words, Cen wants to turn around. Unfortunately, before he reacts, he feels as if the head is hit by a heavy hammer and immediately loses consciousness.

In the chaos, someone people scream, some people vomit, and someone takes out a cell phone to call the police. However, no one notices that the blood which is spilled because of dropped plaque exactly falls on the wooden heart. It disappears immediately, and if there is no trace of its contract with blood, nobody will believe that it is ever here.

Being lost, Cen Qingqin feels a bad headache. Before opening eyes, he gets a series of memory in utter disorder in mind. There are blue sky without pollution, the vast wilderness, endless valley, the river in the valley, all kinds of African wild animals which only appear on screen, and black people living in this land for generations.

After accepting these memories, Cen opens his eyes slowly with profound resignation. He is born—again as a chief of an original tribe of Africa. It sounds great that he has become a ruler from a loser. However, here is the original tribe of Africa, where the living environment is very hard. It is beyond the imagination of people living in a modern city like Cen.

Despite other aspects, as a chief, even if it is the food, he can only go into the wilderness to catch prey by himself with the tribe. Because in such a little tribe, any kind of prime is an indispensable labor force. Though he is a chief, he can’t violate this rule. Only when he is old can he resign from the leading post. Precisely because of this, this man who inherited the position from his late father was hit by horns in the action of arresting, and then lost consciousness. It seems that it is the reason why Cen Qingqin can seize his body.

“Familiar grass roof, familiar taste, I was saved by the tribe and sent back to my home.” Glancing at the room, Cen slowly sits up by the support of his hands. There is no pain like his imagination and the injury has disappeared, as if he has never been hurt.

“Maybe the injury was restored when I came back to life.”

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a woman comes in with wet leaves in her hands. Cen knows that the woman wants to put these fresh leaves into the bonfire. Once this kind of unknown leaves is heated, it will produce a kind of fragrant smoke, which can effectively remove mosquitoes and kill the insects hiding in the grass roof to extend the life of the roof.

“Chief, you wake up?”

The woman looks very calm. She puts leaves into the bonfire, and then turns to Cen Qingqin and kneels down in front of him respectfully.

“Do you have any orders?”

“I’m thirsty and a little hungry. Give me some water and food.”

Cen smacks his lips. He wonders whether she is blind. Not long ago he was at the gate of death, but now he sits here as if nothing had occurred. Why isn’t she astonished at all?

But soon he understands. For these primitive people, “injury” is a matter of no concept, including the beast itself. Although they know that when hunting beasts they should aim at the key part, this is only an inheritance experience and they do not know why. The recipe spreading in the tribe is same as this. They just know there is the recipe but they don’t know how it takes effect.

Therefore, as for injury, all they can think is that someone can survive while others can’t. They don’t know the internal mechanism.