In front of the forest, Quan Hao suddenly realized his team to the pool he first discovered. The cool water made everyone cheer. The buckets were thrown on the ground one after another. People rushed to the edge of the pond and knelt on the ground and drank wildly. No one understood the preciousness of water better than this group of refugees who survived the disaster at sea and endured thirst for several days under the sun.

It was not enough to drink enough. A short man took off his shirt and jumped into the water, swam into the center of the pool. Inspired by this, the others followed suit and jumped down like dumplings. The clear water body was immediately stirred by eleven black loaches, and Quan Hao quickly roared. When the people in the water looked over, he showed his harpoon and pointed his finger downstream. These people were dirty. If eleven people were bathing in the water, the mud on their bodies could completely dye the entire pool water. How could they drink it?

The benefactor still has to listen to the words. People turn around and swim downstream.

Quan Hao didn't want to go into the water, nor did he want to stay nearby. The big men took a shower and didn't look good. He walked around the neighborhood and came back after about half an hour. All eleven men got ashore and were much cleaner. He ordered them to dress up and fill the bucket with the water in the upstream. He took these people back home.

A total of seven whole buckets were brought back on the water-filling journey, four and half buckets of nearly two hundred liters of water. There were also many fresh seasonal fruits. Of course, only seven men were qualified to bring back the fruits. Those four men could not even carry the entire bucket of water, so they could only regretfully discard the delicious fruits halfway through the way. Quan Hao was not sympathetic, and he did whatever he said. Otherwise, it would be unfair to the other seven people. He could not even match his prestige with one bowl of water. The loss of his prestige was even greater.

He himself also gained something. After a simple exchange, he learned the pronunciation of more than a dozen words from men. They were all simple words, from one to ten numbers, and then they were asking what they saw. Mountain, tree, water, and stone. He found that some of the words spoke exactly the same as those in Mandarin. For example, "one" they also read "yi", "shan" they also read "shan". There are some slight differences, "seven" is read "cut", "nine" is read "hook", and "water" is read "sui". More people have no common points at all. For example, "tree" they read "shen".

The situation is complicated. If they say that their language is related to Chinese, nearly one-third of the pronunciations of similar or close to modern Chinese can be proved. However, it is still too early to determine that this language is a branch of ancient Chinese. First, there are too few specimens, and second, words with completely different pronunciations account for a larger proportion.

The big buckets of fresh water caused a sensation in the camp. Everyone knew that the island was full of water. Since then, the last worry of the refugees no longer exists. There are also fresh fruits that are mouth-watering, but unfortunately they are all private property, and others can only watch and be greedy. Quan Hao decisively announced that he would send people to the Southern Peninsula to pick fruits from tomorrow. There were more than twenty fat fish waiting to be put into the pot, all of which were caught by women with simple wooden guns. They piled together into a hill. So many fish can't be eaten in a day, and the temperature on the island is high, and the fish will rot overnight. If you want to store it for a long time, you can only dehydrate and dry it into dried fish. No matter what, women continue to fish and continue to fish, it will cause waste. It is better to liberate some people to pick fruits.

When the little girl returned to the camp, she also brought him some news. Boy C could not hold on, but the other child and the old man were awake.

Quan Hao was a little sad. He had always cared about Boy C's condition and had fed him a few pills. Unfortunately, the medicine did not work. Without systematic medical methods, he could do nothing and could only wave his hand and instruct someone to bury his body.

When someone came to carry the boy's body away, another patient, the old man, attracted his interest. The old man was only 1.5 meters tall, lean and thin with his waist, with an inverted triangle head and eyes squinted. Three strands of sparse beard on his chin were dirty and curled. He lay half lying under a tree, and saw Quan Hao sitting up slowly, saying something in a hoarse voice. Of course Quan Hao couldn't understand, but he saw the old man clenching his fist with his right hand and put his left hand on his right hand, and saluting him slightly.

He was shocked. This etiquette was the bowing ceremony of ancient China. Other refugees expressed gratitude and only knew how to kowtow. The old man was indeed a little different. It seemed that he had at least a certain level of education. The ancients believed that knowledge and etiquette were the same, so there was a word called knowledgeable and well-educated. According to the old man's performance, he might be able to read.

Quan Hao walked up to him and squatted down. He looked at him, and also learned what he saw on TV, pretending to bow. Of course, this is not the point, the point is the words he wrote on the ground next. This time he wrote no longer the word dragon. He also accidentally remembered that he remembered the capital number of filling out the bank statement. One, two, three, should belong to the ancients' writing style.

After writing a piece of paper, Quan Hao immediately raised his head and pointed to the words on the ground excitedly. "Recognize?"

The old man's face was full of doubts, and he looked at the word "One". He stretched out his dry index finger and learned to outline it. After writing it twice, he shook his head, leaned down and wrote and painted on the sand. He wrote not easily, but he kept writing a line of ten words before stopping. He pushed his body backwards and made a gesture to read.

Although the old man was shaking his hands, the strokes of the characters were still easy to identify. They were typical square characters. The only problem was that Quan Hao did not recognize any of the ten characters. It was not that he did not have enough knowledge of ancient Chinese. Even if he was a text of Qin Xiaozhuan, he could only recognize a small part of it from simplified Chinese characters, and the rest would be familiar. Unless it was earlier Warring States period, or even bronze oracle bone inscriptions, because Chinese characters had not been fully systematic, modern people could be completely confused. The ten characters written by the old man had long deviated from the style of early writing, and were even simpler than Xiaozhuan, but Quan Hao looked at each of them more unfamiliar, which was almost impossible. He had to do a call and let the old man continue to write.

The old man looked at Quan Hao strangely, lowered his head and wrote ten words. Unfortunately, none of Quan Hao dared to say that he knew each other, but there was a word that looked familiar but couldn't be called up. He had to invite him again.
Chapter completed!