Nightly plans are always ambitious, but the eternal, oppressive gloom of the Sacred Cave swiftly dealt Steven Miske a harsh lesson in humility.
He'd resolved only yesterday to act today, yet the immediate, insurmountable hurdle was illumination. Those ghostly, flickering patches of fungi offered an eerie glow from a distance, but to approach and study them? Who knew what toxins they might harbor? He tried striking flint stones together, hoping for a spark like in some campy prehistoric survival film, but achieved only jarring pain in his hands and a few useless stone chips. It seemed his grand exploration plan would remain indefinitely on hold until a reliable light source materialized.
The cavern's penetrating chill still gnawed at his marrow, a constant, unwelcome companion. Day or night was a meaningless concept here; visibility in the perpetual twilight rarely exceeded fifteen feet. The sole, unreliable illumination came from those distant, ethereal patches of blue-green fungi clinging to the rock walls.
Deeper within the cave, veins of strange minerals were faintly discernible, some shimmering with the soft, milky luster of raw jade, others a dark, congealed blood-red, as if containing some dormant, ancient power trapped within the stone.
Besides the monotonous drip… drip… drip of unseen water, elusive echoes sometimes reverberated from the deeper recesses – like the grinding rumble of immense stones shifting in the earth's lightless bowels, or perhaps the long, mournful sighs of some primordial entity imprisoned there.
The tribal elders sternly warned the children away from these dark, resounding fissures, speaking of them in hushed, fearful tones as the "abodes of mountain spirits," their words laced with profound reverence and a primal dread.
"Good morning, valued guest of the Kunlun Mountain Five-Star Luxury Cave Suite." Steven delivered his daily internal sarcasm, a small act of rebellion against the encroaching despair, temporarily suppressing his urge to explore. Survival, grim and unglamorous, remained paramount. "Today's gourmet breakfast special is… oh, what a delightful, utterly predictable surprise! The same old soul-crushing duo!"
His gaze drifted. Today, it was Tina distributing the "nutritious meals." Still clad in her simple, utilitarian hide clothes, holding a large, crude earthenware bowl, she portioned out food to each tribe member. When she reached some familiar young male warriors, she'd exchange easy words and laughter with them, even allowing an arm to be patted casually, a natural, unforced smile gracing her lips, before placing a chunk of dark red, sinewy raw meat and a scoop of indescribably colored, viscous paste on the hide or stone slab before them.
Steven noted the way those young men looked at her—with undisguised admiration and… a certain easy, almost proprietary familiarity that pricked uncomfortably at his unease.
When it was Steven's turn, Tina's smile lessened somewhat, her earlier lightness dimming, though her presence was still a vast improvement over the stony-faced woman from before. She placed the "deluxe combo" on the ground before him, seemed to hesitate as if to speak, then ultimately just gave him a quick, searching glance with her clear, large eyes before turning to continue her rounds.
"So… so bountiful! A veritable feast!" Steven felt his stomach acid and a surge of inexplicable, sharp-edged jealousy stage a joint, vociferous protest. "Option A: Prehistoric Raw Surf 'n' Turf (Cave Edition), taste profile unknown, five-star parasite rating guaranteed. Option B: Mysterious Plant Fiber and Enriched Mud Power Bar, flavor… hmm, an overly 'rustic,' deeply earthy fragrance, courtesy of Mother Earth herself. Can I… can I possibly choose Option C? C for 'Can I just embrace sweet, merciful starvation?'"
Ultimately, faced with the relentless, drumming hunger in his belly, a hunger that gnawed with increasing insistence, he capitulated.
Eyes squeezed shut, holding his breath with grim finality, he picked up a small piece of raw meat with trembling fingers—carefully selecting the least veiny, least repulsive bit—and forced it into his mouth as if it were a dose of deadly poison, swallowing with desperate speed, resolutely daring not to register the slick, coppery, gamey taste.
He then dispatched the paste with similar grim determination, the sensation akin to swallowing a mouthful of wet, gritty mud liberally mixed with bitter gall.
"Exquisite… as if!" He wiped his mouth, the nauseating aftertaste clinging stubbornly to his palate. "Cecil, take a note: if I expire from food poisoning or some horrific, flesh-eating parasite infestation someday, ensure my tragic tale is published as an anti-transmigration novel. Title it 'A Culinary Tour of the Stone Age: A High-Stakes Gamble of Taste Buds and Life.' Guaranteed bestseller, that one."
"Record saved, Sir," Cecil's voice came intermittently from his mind, still laced with faint electronic static, though it seemed a fraction more stable, more coherent, than in previous days. "However, based on existing medical databases, long-term ingestion of untreated raw meat and unknown flora correlates highly with chronic malnutrition, severe digestive system disorders, and multiple insidious pathogen infections. The probability of sudden, acute death is relatively low, though your overall quality of life will significantly, and negatively, decline…"
"Thanks for your wonderfully uplifting 'comfort,' pal! What a considerate little digital companion you are… a leaky, occasionally electrified security blanket made of pure dread!" Steven retorted irritably. He vaguely sensed Cecil's internal state was slowly self-repairing, or perhaps, more accurately, adapting to some… unseen, fundamental rule of this new, hostile world?
Drinking water remained a "brave soul's perilous game." A small, murky puddle deep within the cave served as the only water source. Tribal elders whispered that it once connected, through secret veins in the mountain's heart, to the sacred Jade Pool on the Kunlun peak, its waters so pure they reflected the very stars.
Steven had watched, with a mixture of horror and grudging admiration for their fortitude, as tribe members scooped directly from the dubious pool with greasy hide bags.
Cecil, ever "helpful," highlighted the various "microscopic darlings" floating within on Steven's retina: "Preliminary analysis: Contains at least three unknown species of parasitic ova, two suspected leech larvae (Hirudinea sub-class), and over fifteen morphologically distinct, currently unidentifiable bacterial and protist colonies. Consumption advisory: Strongly contraindicated unless subject is experiencing terminal dehydration."
"A thousand thanks for that vital update! Do protagonists in those epic adventure novels just photosynthesize or something equally ridiculous? Or maybe they come equipped with built-in military-grade water filters? Why don't I get that particular otherworldly perk! I'd rather lick the mineral-heavy, slightly metallic condensation off the cave walls than drink this 'Prehistoric Microbial Power Smoothie'!"
Then came "answering nature's call." That "designated convenience area" in the cave's deepest, most remote recess… Steven had to engage in intense psychological preparation each time, a mental battle of wills, holding his breath throughout the entire, truly malodorous ordeal. "The smell… it's a Class Five biohazard straight out of a Resident Evil endgame! Good thing characters in some web novels are apparently divine beings who don't need to use the toilet, otherwise I'd have literally, and very messily, died from holding it in by now!"
Finally, sleep. Cold, unyielding, damp rock floor. Tribe members huddled together at night, a sprawling mass of shared body heat and rough, pungent animal hides. Steven, the perpetual "outsider," could only curl up alone in a distant, even colder corner, shivering violently under a stiff, musty pelt that offered little comfort. "Other transmigrators fall into a princess's silk-sheeted feather bed or conveniently stumble upon an ancient artifact with auto-warming and self-defense features. Me? Not even a lousy pile of dry straw! Pure, unadulterated cannon fodder starting script, this is!"
He observed the tribe's daily routine with a detached, anthropological eye. Apart from when Mason and other hunters returned, occasionally, with fresh, bloody meat, life in the cave was a monotonous, repetitive cycle of grim survival.
Elders patiently knapped obsidian with flint, their gnarled hands surprisingly deft, chipping away tiny, razor-sharp flakes to fledge stone tools and weapon points.
Women pounded tough, fibrous plant bast with smooth river stones, then used needles carved from bone and sinew thread to sew rough, rudimentary clothing or weave crude carrying baskets.
In a shadowed corner lay a pile of misshapen, dull-colored earthenware pottery, perhaps one of the tribe's few, and highest, "industrial products."
Days crawled by in a depressing haze of internal complaints, sharp-eyed observation, slow, frustrating learning, constant struggle, and occasional, awkward, mostly one-sided interactions with Tina. She remained surprisingly patient with him, this "alien," often seeking him out to point at objects and repeat their names in the guttural, yet strangely melodic, tribal tongue. Steven learned with agonizing slowness, inwardly fuming: "Damn it! Don't protagonists in these novels usually get an instant 'Universal Language Comprehension' talent, or some kind of cheat-code psychic Rosetta Stone? I'm still struggling just to manage a recognizable 'hello'! Did all my blasted skill points get automatically dumped into Sarcasm and Self-Pity?!"
Through Tina (especially from what he witnessed during morning food distribution) and his daily observations, he gained a more direct, if profoundly unsettling, understanding of the tribe's marital and family relations.
Adult men and women didn't seem to have fixed, exclusive partnerships as he understood them. Tina would naturally chat and share food with different young men, and might lean against different individuals for warmth at night without a hint of jealousy or possessiveness from others.
Children, grubby and boisterous, ran freely, didn't seem to clearly know who their biological "fathers" were, and were cared for collectively by the entire group.
This was utterly mind-boggling to Steven, a complete demolition of his societal norms, yet it was perfectly natural, an unquestioned matter of course, to the tribe members.
"Okay… maybe in an environment where survival is the absolute, non-negotiable priority, this model of maximizing reproductive opportunities and distributing childcare risks across the entire community… is the optimal evolutionary solution?" For the first time, Steven genuinely tried to think from the tribe's pragmatic perspective.
But that pitiful shred of "possessiveness" and deeply ingrained obsession with "exclusivity" from his modern upbringing still made his heart clench with an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pang whenever he saw Tina laughing easily with Mason or another young hunter.
"No, no… when I… when I can skillfully wield a stone axe and maybe invent, say, penicillin from cave mold, I absolutely must… hmm, gently educate her on the advanced cultural and emotional benefits of the 'one lifetime, one soulmate, strictly monogamous' relationship model!" This wildly unrealistic, almost delusional notion became a comforting fantasy he clung to in his despair, a mental carrot that at least temporarily distracted him from the gnawing discomfort in his stomach and the ever-present existential dread.
Such distractions, however, were fleeting in the oppressive gloom of the Sacred Cave, and the ever-present reality of his situation was about to reclaim his attention.