I Became The Chief Of A Primitive Village

Su Bai’s last clear memory is the rush of air past his ears and the jagged rocks racing up to meet him.

He opens his eyes to smoke from damp wood, the stink of animal hides, and a ring of wary faces that are almost human—almost. Beast‑ears twitch at every move he makes. Above him, a sky with unfamiliar constellations. Beneath him, hard-packed earth instead of a hospital bed.

The cliff didn’t kill him. It threw him into a harsh, primitive world where humanoid tribes fight over bone tools and scraps of meat… and somehow decided he should be their chief.

Su Bai is no warrior. On Earth, he was a mid-list web novelist with too many unfinished drafts and a search history full of random research. Here, that cluttered modern knowledge—crop rotation, basic hygiene, half-remembered history lessons—suddenly matters. It’s backed by a strange "Daily Assistance System" that pings in his head with quests, tips, and maddeningly vague rewards.

With it, he coaxes fields from barren soil, replaces superstition with simple experiments, and trades bloody hunts for steady harvests. Every tiny success pulls the tribe a step away from starvation—and paints a target on his back.

Shamans mutter in the smoke, guarding secrets older than any village. Beast‑eared hunters watch him with a mix of curiosity and hunger, their loyalties shifting like tall grass in the wind. As his crude wooden fences rise and the first seedlings push through the dirt, Su Bai isn’t just changing a tribe’s menu; he’s tugging at the roots of an entire era, knowing that once the world starts to move forward, it never turns gentle for the ones who pushed it.