“Ma You used to live here?”
Yi Sa tried to recall but had no impression.
Chen Tu seemed to know what she was thinking and gave her a disdainful look. “Miss, how many days do you stay here each year? Besides, with such a high turnover of residents, even I haven’t met everyone.”
That made sense.
Yi Sa put the medicine vial into the plastic bag. “Why did he end up staying outside?”
That Ma fellow was quite sociable, claiming kinship with everyone he met. When he approached Chen Tu, she thought he’d at least manage to get a bed to sleep in.
Chen Tu replied lazily, “Who is he to me? Besides, all sorts live here, including quite a few murderers and thieves. A naive rabbit like him should keep his distance.”
He continued, addressing her: “Compared to when you first moved in, about 50-60% of the residents have changed, many with questionable backgrounds. Should I call a boat to tow your houseboat closer? You’re living too far away.”
Yi Sa said, “No need, I prefer the quiet.”
Chen Tu snorted, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If some scoundrel takes a fancy to you and climbs into your bed at night, no one will hear your screams for help.”
Yi Sa smiled: “Anyone with a brain wouldn’t try that. If I were really that defenseless, living in a place like this, I would’ve been taken advantage of several times already. Would these latecomers even get their turn?”
That was true. Chen Tu suddenly recalled what happened three years ago, and his heart stirred.
The scene was just as he described – night, high winds, someone sneaking into her houseboat.
Then she broke his leg with a baseball bat.
That wasn’t the end of it. She tied up the man’s broken leg and hung him upside down under her houseboat. It was the dry season, and the water level had receded. The man dangled in mid-air, about a foot above the water’s surface, howling in agony.
When Chen Tu said earlier that “no one would hear screams for help,” he was exaggerating. If someone screamed loud enough, people could hear.
The nearby residents were all excited, knocking on doors and windows. One after another, they paddled their tin boats over to see what was happening. Chen Tu went too.
The atmosphere was like Chinese New Year. At least forty or fifty boats surrounded the area, each carrying lights: oil lamps, emergency lights, electric lights, even torches.
The scene had a kind of crude brilliance, magnificent in its way.
The spectators knew the rules – no one dared untie the man. They just let him hang there: whoever helped would be considered opposing the person who did this.
Chen Tu roughly guessed Yi Sa’s intention: she wanted to make a big scene, to warn others and deter some people from bothering her again and again.
Finally, Chen Tu called up, “Yi Sa, what should we do? Give us your word.”
Yi Sa came out, looked down, and said, “Let him go then.”
Only then did the onlookers work together to untie the rope.
Chen Tu always thought that scene was romantic and regretted not taking a photo. If he had developed it and hung it on the wall, it would have been quite something.
Yi Sa kicked Wu Gui at her feet: “Let’s go.”
She bent down to pick up the clay bowl that held the liquor, poured out the remaining drink, shook it a few times before tucking it into a gap in the plastic bag, then finally tied it shut.
Wu Gui spread its wings and wobbled out, looking like a clumsy goose.
Chen Tu helped her carry the plastic bag and escorted her down the ladder: “Why keep a broken bowl? What’s so precious about it?”
When she first left Wu Gui in his care, she had repeatedly warned him: this bowl couldn’t be damaged – if it got even a tiny chip, there would be consequences.
Wu Gui fluttered down to the tin boat below, where the Vietnamese man yawned and got up, preparing to row.
Yi Sa climbed halfway down the ladder, reached up to take the bag, and passed it to the Vietnamese man.
Then she beckoned Chen Tu with her finger.
Chen Tu lay down, pressing his stomach against the top of the ladder, leaning his upper body down.
Yi Sa said: “This bowl was made from clay taken from graves.”
The tin boat gradually moved out of the lit area.
She did live quite far – comparing it to a city, Chen Tu was in the city center while she lived in what would be the suburbs. Her solitary houseboat was like a watchtower observing enemy movements.
The houseboat was raised on stilts, just one story high with space underneath. Access required climbing a ladder. When she had left, the rainy season had just begun, flooding the bottom two rungs. Now the water had risen leaving only the top two rungs visible. A grave-like shadow lay in the water beside it.
That was a tree, with only its crown above water.
If this rainy season became more fierce, the tree would be completely submerged. Local Cambodians had a saying about “catching fish in trees” – when the water receded, some fish would get trapped in the trees and couldn’t escape, so fishermen had to climb up to catch them.
Unfortunately, in all her time living here, this tree had never trapped any fish.
Yi Sa carried her bag and stepped onto the house platform.
Wu Gui fluttered up after her.
The door wasn’t locked, just tied shut with electrical wire, but somehow it wouldn’t come undone. Yi Sa grew angry and started kicking. After several kicks, the lock didn’t give way, but the hinges crashed inward with a clatter, releasing a thick musty smell.
Yi Sa leaned against the doorframe, waiting for the smell to dissipate before entering.
As expected, the electric lights weren’t working, and the backup flashlight’s batteries were moldy. In crucial moments, the fire was still the most reliable – she took out a rusty kerosene lamp from the cabinet, removed the glass cover, and lit the wick.
Then she carried it to the center of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor.
The kerosene was cloudy, producing a weak flame that seemed unable to stay straight, drooping limply halfway up, barely managing to create a dome of light like a raised grave mound, enclosing her in its center.
Wu Gui hadn’t come in, staying at attention in the doorway.
This creature was strange – clumsy and stupid when moving, but once it stood still, it possessed an extraordinary dignity. Words like steadfast, mysterious, stern, and sharp all suited it.
Yi Sa opened the plastic bag and took out a rubber tube, tied it around her left upper arm, and expertly tapped the inner elbow.
After all her recent traveling, she had tanned somewhat, making her veins less visible.
She unwrapped a syringe, attached the needle, and forcefully pierced the rubber stopper of the veterinary medicine vial. Watching carefully as the needle went in, she slowly pulled the plunger to draw up the medicine until it reached the maximum graduation line.
Then she raised her left arm and gave herself an intravenous injection.
Her motion pushing the plunger was gentle and steady, her eyes half-closed, her expression one of enjoyment.
At midnight, Ding Xi was awakened by his phone ringing.
Jing Xiu also woke up, turning over irritably and rubbing her heavy eyelids. In her drowsy state, she thought she was having a nightmare: the kind about pre-liberation rural exorcism rituals.
Mainly because the ringtone was of an old man singing, his voice deep and hoarse, drawing out the words with unclear pronunciation. The tune was very northwestern, like Lanzhou flower songs or Shaanxi folk songs.
In the background, there was a faint sound of rushing water.
Ding Xi’s spine tensed instantly as he flipped over to sit up: this ringtone was exclusively for his adoptive father Ding Changsheng, recorded from a parasol ghost song.
He answered the phone and quickly walked toward the balcony.
Jing Xiu was confused, barely propping herself up when Ding Xi turned back and said: “You lie down.”
His tone was cold and hard, not up for discussion.
So Jing Xiu lay back down, instinctively curling up as she watched Ding Xi walk onto the balcony and close the glass door, feeling both the satisfaction and resignation of a wife.
Men always had endless matters to attend to.
The balcony was a bit cool, the night air damp. Everything was pitch black, with only the swimming pool below gleaming faintly.
Ding Xi pressed his lips together, eyes lowered, listening to Ding Changsheng’s instructions.
“I’ve found out where Yi Sa lives – in the floating village on the great lake. I’ll send you a rough map later, go find her as soon as possible.”
“Don’t mess up this time. This girl has been unmanageable since childhood, even her father couldn’t control her. She’s gotten even wilder growing up, mixing with lowlifes in Southeast Asia these past few years, probably picking up their bad habits. When I talk to her, she barely shows any respect!”
Ding Changsheng seemed somewhat angry, coughed twice, then suppressed it.
“Anyway, when you visit, maintain a humble attitude. Buy some gifts to bring along, and be polite when you meet her. Technically, you two have met before as children, at the Jianghe Guesthouse in Xining.”
Ding Xi’s lips curled in a slight sneer: “I remember, she was quite the show-off, always eager to answer questions.”
Ding Changsheng strongly disliked his tone: “Watch your attitude! This is exactly what’s wrong! If you hadn’t been so clever trying to follow her, none of this would have happened! It was a perfectly normal matter until you complicated it!”
Ding Xi flushed with embarrassment: “Yes, I thought if I was careful enough, I wouldn’t be discovered…”
Ding Changsheng cut in sharply: “Why wouldn’t she discover you? Is she stupid? She’s the Water Ghost of the Yi family for this generation!”
Ding Xi fell silent, creating a second or two of dead air in the conversation.
He tried to revisit an old topic: “But Dad, don’t you find it strange? The Water Ghost has three surnames, each surname can only have one Water Ghost per generation. Her sister Yi Xiao is a Water Ghost, how could she be one too?”
Ding Changsheng laughed coldly: “I know you find it strange, I do too, but the Female Seven Trial during the hottest and coldest periods – so many eyes watching – she passed it fair and square. I’ve told you before, this is a gift from the ancestors, you can’t envy it, you can’t learn it even if you practice until death!”
After hanging up, Ding Xi returned to the bedside.
He was about to get in bed but suddenly stopped, feeling he had forgotten something.
After standing for a couple of seconds, he finally fully processed the phone call and understood what needed to be done next.
He turned on the bedside lamp and began packing.
This was his habit – packing the night before departure, he didn’t like rushing around early in the morning.
The sudden light was a bit harsh. Jing Xiu covered her eyes with her hand and asked, “You’re leaving?”
Ding Xi made an affirmative sound: “Tomorrow morning.”
Jing Xiu wanted to get up to help him pack, but as soon as she sat up, he was almost done: men never needed much luggage, especially when traveling to tropical countries like Cambodia where clothes were simple.
After packing, Ding Xi lay back in bed and switched off the light.
Jing Xiu couldn’t sleep anymore. The light that had just merged with the darkness hadn’t fully dispersed, leaving the ceiling covered in a hazy gray: “Will you call me after you leave?”
Ding Xi laughed: “What do you think?”
His voice was lazy: “In your line of work, being this naive doesn’t suit you, does it?”
Jing Xiu said nothing, still staring fixedly at the ceiling, gradually feeling a surge of irritation, finding the gray color nauseating and offensive, wanting to reach up and scratch it violently.
Another one! Another disappointment, again like this!
Treating her devotion like garbage.
Jing Xiu suddenly felt she couldn’t stay here, beside this man, for even another minute.
She sat up abruptly, turned on the light, and not even bothering with shoes, walked barefoot around the room gathering her scattered belongings into her bag.
Clothes, scented candles, skincare bottles and jars…
She stuffed everything in randomly, without sorting.
Ding Xi found her quite amusing. He sat up and lit a cigarette, watching her silent hysterical outburst like a spectacle.
Then he reached for his wallet, took out several large denomination US bills, aligned the corners, and folded them, calling out “Hey” just as she picked up her large bag to leave.
Jing Xiu turned to look at him.
He smiled, got up from the bed, walked over to her, and handed her the money: “A tip.”
The regular payment had been settled already, this was extra – he felt he should give it.
Jing Xiu bit her lower lip and looked up at him.
He spoke with the cigarette still in his mouth, his voice muffled, his face wearing a smile—
Contemptible and detestable, but somehow still attractive to her.
Jing Xiu snatched the money and left.
Ding Xi’s smile carried a hint of contempt.
If she had refused to take it, he might have thought better of her, but in the end, didn’t she take it?
All just an act, pretending to be deeply emotionally attached and reluctant to leave.
Ding Xi turned off the light and lay down again.
The sudden emptiness beside him was a bit uncomfortable. He moved to the middle, where the pillow was still slightly warm, still holding the fragrance of feminine softness.
Ding Xi couldn’t help but smile.
Actually… Jing Xiu wasn’t bad.
Her massage skills were exceptional, she was young and pretty, and crucially, she was gentle and delicate, like a tender flower, not annoying at all.
Even when leaving, she only vented her anger on the luggage.