The yellowed paper was not very smooth; without close inspection, one could see the raised fuzz and small depressions on the surface. It lacked sufficient toughness and could easily tear, with some noticeable fibers that hadn’t been completely mashed.
To put it bluntly, the overall appearance resembled the yellow paper money often burned for the deceased in later generations. A few tiny pieces of foil would make it look the same.
Despite this, Han Cheng still smiled happily because this was the closest thing to the actual paper he had produced since starting his efforts to make paper! At least now, he could finally use it to wipe his backside!
The joy that comes from "gaining" something is a very peculiar feeling that largely depends on a person's status and needs.
When people are on the brink of starvation, even half of a moldy steamed bun appearing before them can bring immense joy. But when delicacies become everyday fare, even the most delicious food no longer elicits much joy.
Having entered a primitive society, Han Cheng’s material needs were now reduced to a very basic level. If someone had dared to present this kind of paper to him in the past, as if it were a treasure, without a word, he would have greeted them with a good punch.
But now, everything was different. He not only had no intention of throwing a punch but also patted Shi Tou's shoulder repeatedly, expressing his full approval and pride in Shi Tou’s ability to make this paper.
Shi Tou’s face turned red. In the tribe, being praised by the Divine Child would make even an adult happy, let alone someone like Shi Tou, who had only recently come of age.
The Shaman, who had been feeding the little rabbit, came out when he heard the news. He used a copper knife to cut a sheet of paper into four pieces. After a brief hesitation, he went inside to fetch a few brushes he had made and a bowl. He then placed a small ink ball in the bowl, added some water, and ground it slowly with a small, thin stone to break it up. Gradually, the clear water turned black.
This ink was much better in quality than the one Han Cheng had hastily made before—it was at least thicker and without small particles.
The Shaman had put much effort into making these little ink balls. Later, under Han Cheng’s subtle guidance, he started using sticky pine resin to dip in the soot from the bottom of a pottery pot. The soot was fine and had no visible particles.
Once enough soot had been collected, it began to resemble ink. These little ink balls were the Shaman’s earlier work. He made them into small balls because he found them quite pretty. Another reason was that he hadn’t yet figured out how to make larger ink cakes.
However, as the ink became thicker and harder and the tiny ink balls became more difficult, the time needed to make ink cakes was not far off.
The Shaman finished preparing the ink and selected what he considered the best brush to give Han Cheng, eager for him to try out the noticeably improved paper.
Seeing the expectant eyes of the Shaman and Shi Tou, Han Cheng couldn’t help but sniff slightly.
At that moment, what Han Cheng really wanted to do wasn’t test whether the paper was suitable for writing with a brush but to take it to the toilet and see if it worked well for wiping his backside.
Thinking back to the miserable experiences of the past few years, this thought grew more assertive in his mind. However, with the Shaman and Shi Tou watching him so eagerly, Han Cheng felt a bit embarrassed to carry out such a test in front of them.
Additionally, it was already past dawn, and he didn’t want to go to the toilet.
So he suppressed his desire to test the paper’s most crucial function and instead took the brush from the Shaman. After dipping it in ink, he began writing on the paper.
Without overthinking, he immediately began writing the famous, grand tale known to all the members of the Green Sparrow Tribe—"Little Tadpole Finds Mommy."
Compared to the poorly made brushes Han Cheng had used before, which he had crafted from fur, this one was much better. The Shaman had made it using a mix of wolf and rabbit hair, in a ratio of about seven to three.
Not only did it have good ink absorption, but it also wrote smoothly.
With a good brush, good ink, and good paper, even Han Cheng, who wasn't exceptionally skilled at writing, managed to produce characters that were much more legible than before.
After writing a few characters, he stopped, flipped the paper over to check, and saw that the ink had bled through a bit, staining the stone table underneath.
Shi Tou, who had been happily watching, suddenly wasn’t so unhappy.
He had thought that this batch of paper was already quite good, but to his surprise, it was still unsuitable for writing and had such a noticeable flaw.
However, his disappointment didn’t last long.
The paper he was now writing had significantly improved compared to before. He was confident he could make an even better paper!
Shi Tou stared at the paper, stained with ink, and clenched his fist.
Han Cheng, who had been paying attention to Shi Tou, noticed the disappointment on his face and was about to offer some comforting words. But before he could speak, he saw Shi Tou’s clenched fist and immediately swallowed his words.
He had overthought things. Given Shi Tou’s resilience, this setback wouldn’t defeat him.
Han Cheng thought to himself, smiling slightly at the corner of his mouth, nodding gently, and continuing to write his very ugly characters with the brush.
Watching Han Cheng write "Little Tadpole Finds Mommy," the Shaman’s aging, murky eyes suddenly brightened.
It wasn’t because Han Cheng’s heartfelt calligraphy moved him but because he remembered what the Divine Child had said.
A stack of paper, as thick and large as a clay tablet, could record everything written on the tribe’s clay tablets.
When the Divine Child first said those words, although the Shaman had expressed belief, there was still a bit of doubt mixed in.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Han Cheng, but rather that the idea was hard to believe.
Since the Divine Child’s arrival, the amount of written records in the tribe had increased astonishingly.
Now, the tribe’s collection of clay tablets filled half of the room!
To think that all of this could be recorded on just a tiny amount of paper seemed unbelievable!
But now, after seeing the paper, Shi Tou had improved, and all of the Shaman’s doubts vanished.
The Divine Child had been right—the paper was the best writing material!