The Cambodian’s Chinese wasn’t good, he just smiled at Zong Hang, and Apa had to interpret.
They were indeed talking about Yi Sa.
Zong Hang could never have imagined such a life.
This tuk-tuk bar was hers, with the Cambodian only renting it, regularly sharing profits with her. Not just the tuk-tuk – in the floating village on Tonle Sap Lake, she also rented out a simple wooden boat, one of those canoe-like vessels with propellers that tourists rode for sightseeing.
And that was far from all.
Reportedly, her rental business spread along the Mekong River, from Laos upstream to Vietnam downstream. She was like an all-powerful international landlady, signing leases throughout the river basin. Unlike those tycoons who invested heavily in buildings and roads, she dealt exclusively with small businesses.
The kind of small businesses that most people wouldn’t even consider.
For instance, providing fishing nets to Laotian fishermen who caught giant Mekong catfish in rapids, buying complete sets of steaming equipment and ingredients for old women selling rice noodles in Vietnamese floating markets, providing used cars to hunters tracking wolf spiders in the jungle along the Cambodia-Thailand border – not gifts, all rental arrangements with profit-sharing.
So she never stayed long in one place, because she had to collect rent. Her rental properties bloomed north and south, waiting for her to count money – sometimes receiving cash, sometimes fish or other goods of equivalent value, which she would sell before going to sign new leases.
To Zong Hang, it sounded like an Arabian Nights tale, and deep inside, he suddenly developed a kind of longing for Yi Sa.
The kind of longing that he knew he could never achieve in this life.
He was stunned for a while, then asked Apa: “What does that wave line mean?”
Apa’s face again showed that mischievous smile.
He said he had asked the Cambodian what this Yi Sa was like – was her temper good? Was she harsh with tenants?
The Cambodian thought for a moment, then drew a diagram to answer.
In simple terms, don’t be fooled by her face and smile. This Yi Sa was quite emotional, but her emotions weren’t unpredictable – there was a pattern.
Based on his long-term observations and discussions with other tenants, Yi Sa would have several days each month when her temper gradually became explosive, her whole person becoming sarcastic and caustic, finding fault with everyone, and bringing misfortune to whoever crossed her path.
He then marked the approximate dates of the last occurrence and predicted dates for the next, relieved that he had just avoided it, but the next rent collector would inevitably be unfortunate.
Looking at the curve, Apa had a sudden realization: “Is it because she’s having her period during those days?”
Then he and the Cambodian burst into laughter together, their handsome seventeen or eighteen-year-old faces becoming equally sneaky and rat-like.
Zong Hang disapproved: “Have you no shame? Discussing such things about a young woman!”
His disapproving glance swept across the paper, and though unintentionally, he remembered the dates.
After some thought, he realized the day he was beaten fell within that trough period.
…
On the way back, Zong Hang was still lost in a kind of unreal daze, pulling Apa to talk about Yi Sa-
“Do you think she can make money this way?”
These trivial small businesses, even with profit-sharing, how much could they yield? She had to travel across countries, and though Southeast Asian countries weren’t large – Cambodia was only about the size of China’s Guangxi – but still, frequent travel was tiring…
“Isn’t she afraid of something happening to her, being a woman alone?”
He’d heard many parts of Southeast Asia were quite chaotic, especially those border jungles – if someone had ill intentions toward her, she could die without anyone knowing.
“She must have someone backing her up, right?”
If not back, at least a gang and she’d need to be politically savvy and maintain good relationships all around.
But Apa had no curiosity about Yi Sa: “Young Master, why do you care about her? People like that are too complicated, better to stay away.”
True, Zong Hang felt lost.
He lived an ordinary life, so he often dreamed of meeting those legendary, marginal, seemingly cool characters. Now he suddenly realized the problem wasn’t opportunity but who he was: those people were like a gust of wind blowing past – even if it hit him, it wouldn’t dance with him.
He wasn’t a great kite that could ride the wind to the heavens, just newspaper covering a window, excited to flutter briefly when the wind passed, then continue sticking to the window.
Zong Hang sighed.
The next day, as usual, he was woken by room service.
After eating, he went downstairs to wander, from the front desk lobby to the garden, and finally to Long Song’s office.
It was a large office, with administrative staff coming and going, and phone rings overlapping. Long Song invited Zong Hang to sit at a desk and took a photo of him looking at documents, planning to send it to Zong Bishing at the right time.
Having faked so much, Zong Hang felt embarrassed and suggested to Long Song that maybe he should resume normal internship soon – staying in the room all the time was making him sick.
Long Song breathed a sigh of relief; he also felt guilty about deceiving Zong Bishing like this.
He pointed to the desk where Zong Hang sat: “How about starting with administrative work tomorrow?”
Not knowing what administrative work involved, Zong Hang casually flipped through the documents on the desk. Several consecutive pages were guest lists, but each only had seven or eight people, with place names in Khmer and English printed at the top.
He read the first one: “Prek… To…”
Long Song explained that this was the hotel’s vehicle service. Some guests didn’t like tuk-tuks, complaining about the dust, and were too timid to go out alone, so they preferred to sign up for the hotel’s daily tour itineraries. They counted the number of guests going out each day, and these documents were for today.
Then he asked: “Do you like bird watching?”
That list was for those going to the Prek Toal Bird Sanctuary, departing in the afternoon. Long Song thought if Zong Hang was interested, he could tag along.
Asking if he liked “watching birds,” Zong Hang remembered his friends’ dirty jokes about “birds” back home and almost convulsed with laughter.
Long Song’s Chinese wasn’t good enough to catch this nuance, assuming Zong Hang wasn’t interested, so he pointed to the next page: “There’s also a trip to the floating village, interested?”
Zong Hang said: “I get seasick, I don’t…”
Suddenly he realized.
Didn’t Yi Sa rent a small tour boat in the floating village? She’d collected rent in Siem Reap and left – where did she go?
The next rent collection point? The floating village seemed to be right next to Siem Reap, and if he wanted to run into her by chance, he needed to hurry – she never stayed anywhere long.
He said: “…I don’t mind going for a look.”
As he said this, he smiled at Long Song, just like during their first meeting, with both corners of his mouth and eyebrows curved upward.
The smile made Long Song forget to question the logical inconsistency between his two sentences.
Zong Hang now harbored a fan-like infatuation with Yi Sa.
True, he might never have the chance to dance with the wind in this life, but he could let this great wind blow past him one more time.
In the afternoon, accompanied by Apa, Zong Hang boarded a fully loaded minivan heading to the floating village on Tonle Sap Lake.
Tonle Sap Lake is Southeast Asia’s largest freshwater lake, connected directly to the Mekong River through waterways – on a map, it looks like a large tumor growing on a thin intestine.
The remarkable thing is: that for most of the year, the Mekong River’s water level is relatively low, and Tonle Sap Lake serves as its supply lake, continuously feeding water into it, keeping the Mekong River full, strong, and flowing downstream.
But during the rainy season, heavy rains fall throughout Southeast Asia, with rainfall from multiple countries converging into the Mekong River, causing its water level to surge far above Tonle Sap Lake – following the principle that “water flows downhill,” large amounts of river water flow back, returning the favor of previous drops with gushing springs.
It sounds incredible, but this backflow can cause Tonle Sap Lake’s area to expand fourfold. Usually, about one meter deep, it can reach depths of over ten meters, turning villages that were dry land during the dry season into vast waters.
This is precisely what gave rise to the floating villages along Tonle Sap Lake: many houses are stilted structures supported by bamboo poles. When the water rises, it climbs the poles meter by meter, reaching under beds, making slippers float around inside houses; or people simply live in houseboats, convenient for movement, setting up stoves to live, raising pigs, and even growing vegetable gardens on boats.
…
Most tourists were Chinese, and they had a Chinese-speaking guide. Through the guide’s explanation, Zong Hang learned that there were many floating villages on Tonle Sap Lake, and the one they were visiting today was the most commercialized and famous.
Zong Hang started calculating: would Yi Sa’s small tour boat be rented in this floating village? It should be, right? Being the most commercialized and famous meant the most customers and the highest profits…
When they arrived, he was a bit dumbfounded.
The scale was too large, with crowds of people everywhere, the boat dock buzzing with noise, small tour boats operating like an assembly line – filling up with people and departing, engines rumbling, simple propellers churning up the murky water, shuttling back and forth in the waterways.
This was far from what he had imagined. In his imagination, it should have been like Lake Dongting, “vast and boundless, stretching without limit,” with Yi Sa standing at the bow, her hair windblown, raising her hand to shield from the slightly harsh sunlight.
In short, it should have been a somewhat ethereal scene.
How could he find anyone here? The chances of meeting were too low. Plus, as soon as he got out of the van, he was pushed and shoved, with his compatriot from Shanghai pressing from behind: “Watch where you’re going, eh…”
His fellow passengers noisily crowded onto a small tour boat, with Apa urging him: “Young Master, hurry up.”
Zong Hang said: “I get seasick.”
Lost interest, and couldn’t get excited, so he got seasick.
If he wasn’t the young master, Apa would have jumped in frustration: what kind of person sleeps at Angkor Wat and gets seasick at the floating village?
Since Zong Hang wouldn’t take the boat, Apa couldn’t go by himself either. Long Song had instructed him: the first day of sightseeing, Zong Hang had almost been beaten up; if something happened again this time, you’d better watch out.
So he sat with Zong Hang on the shore, watching tour boats come and go, chatting with children who used washing basins as boats. Zong Hang wasn’t good with water, feeling a bit queasy watching the water’s surface, and couldn’t understand the language – finally, he got up, dusted off his bottom, and walked to higher ground on the embankment to watch another group of children playing games.
Limited by material conditions, there were hardly any proper toys here, but this didn’t stop children from making do with what they had, and enjoying themselves.
Zong Hang observed for a while and figured out the rules of this “throw the slipper” game: the children would choose a spot, place a small denomination banknote held down by small stones, and then run about ten meters away. One after another, they would bend over, take off their shoes – mostly slippers – aim at the target, and throw.
Whoever hit it first got the money.
However, slippers were too easy to fly off course, and the children’s aim wasn’t good – some slippers flew to the sky, others into the lake.
Zong Hang laughed heartily.
The children here were used to tourists and weren’t shy, gesturing to invite Zong Hang to join.
Why not play? Zong Hang got excited, took out two one-dollar bills to join, and then got in line, taking off one of his stylish white basketball shoes.
When it was his turn, the children cheered in unison, hoping he wouldn’t hit the target.
Zong Hang originally intended to win, but changed his mind the moment the shoe left his hand: two dollars meant just a milk tea to him, but for these children, it was a big income, enough to make them happy for a day or two.
Never mind, giving roses leaves fragrance on the hand – let someone else have good luck, let the children remember this handsome Chinese brother.
He flicked his wrist, and the shoe flew off at an angle, seemingly heading behind the stilted house.
The children saw he would miss, so their unified cheering turned to excitement, then in the next second changed to gasps.
A young woman, head down talking on the phone, turned out from behind that stilted house.
Yi Sa.
Her position was too precise, matching the shoe’s trajectory almost perfectly.
Unless something unexpected happened, the shoe would land on her face and then fall vertically due to gravity.