“Gone to photograph the beauty?” Jing Xiu asked.
Ding Qi asked her, “What kind of person do you think she is?”
Jing Xiu pondered, “She should be… someone from a well-off family, pampered and doted on, probably a rather spoiled young lady.”
She smiled as she handed back the phone, “Never been beaten down by life – her fate is definitely better than mine.”
Ding Qi rolled over.
Jing Xiu had been sitting on top of him and was about to get off, but he placed his hand on her waist, indicating she should stay.
So she remained seated, their position intimate yet restrained, with desire lurking beneath the restraint. Jing Xiu’s cheeks flushed, but she secretly delighted in the atmosphere, feeling it had a married couple’s intimacy.
This made her all the more willing to be gentle and compliant.
Ding Qi asked, “Do you think she’s dangerous?”
Dangerous?
Jing Xiu recalled the face she had just seen in the photo, then shook her head.
But she was clever: “Has someone told you she’s dangerous?”
Ding Qi hesitated for a moment, paused, then suddenly abandoned the topic completely: “Too tired today, let’s sleep early.”
Jing Xiu knew this wasn’t quite accurate – his body wasn’t physically tired today. If he was tired at all, it was probably mentally.
She lay down beside Ding Qi. There was a faint scent of candle smoke in the room.
Someone whose body isn’t very tired, even if mentally exhausted, won’t fall asleep quickly – she knew he was awake.
So she made conversation: “Do you know there’s a town called Qikou by the Yellow River? It uses the same ‘qi’ character as your name.”
Ding Qi said, “I know.”
He continued: “Before liberation, when transportation wasn’t developed, if you wanted to transport goods from the Northwest to North China, besides land routes, everything relied on the Yellow River waterways. However, coming downstream from the upper reaches, once you reached Qikou you couldn’t go any further, because there was a large drop in water level there, plus many hidden reefs and rapids. There was a saying: ‘When sailing the Yellow River, mention of Qi brings fear.'”
“So when boats reached Qikou, they had to switch from water to land transport. There were countless porters at the dock helping to unload and transfer cargo. They transported a lot of oil back then, and the porters, with oil-covered hands and nowhere to wipe them, would smear it on the walls and doorposts of shops. Even now if you visit Qikou for tourism, you can occasionally see layers of oil on the doorposts, dried into black lumps…”
Jing Xiu was somewhat surprised – Ding Qi never voluntarily spoke this much, and moreover, his tone when talking about Qikou was very different.
She said, “Have you been there? You speak about it with such feeling.”
Ding Qi didn’t respond, the corner of his mouth pulling into a faint cold smile in the dim light.
He had no feelings for that place.
He had been abandoned there – ‘qi’ (abandon) and ‘qi’ (in Qikou) were homophonous. It was both his name and his fate.
But these things, there was no need to tell a woman who was just a casual affair.
The next evening, Long Song went to the old market again.
Firstly because Yi Sa never stayed in the city for long, at most three to five days – miss this chance and it would be a long wait for the next; secondly, influenced by the story of “Three Visits to the Thatched Cottage,” he believed that sincerity would prevail – with a good attitude and multiple communications, perhaps she would change her mind.
Zong Hang went along too, saying he’d been cooped up in the hotel for so many days and wanted to get out.
Ever since Zong Hang suddenly spoke up for Yi Sa last night, Apa had suspected his motives weren’t pure. Sure enough, once they entered the old market, he didn’t browse at all, just followed Long Song the whole way.
Then when Long Song headed towards Tutu Bar, he found a window seat in the coffee shop diagonally opposite, absentmindedly sipping his drink while his eyes occasionally drifted in a fixed direction.
Apa spoke frankly: “Young Master, have you taken a fancy to her?”
Zong Hang said, “Nonsense, am I that shallow, to fancy a woman just because she’s good-looking?”
What else then? Apa found this puzzling: Isn’t that usually why men fancy women – because they’re good-looking?
Zong Hang explained to him: “Aren’t we trying to win her over now? Besides, her looks are my type, I want to see what she looks like in person.”
He recalled a post he’d seen online where Lu Xun criticized Chinese people’s overactive imagination, saying “See short sleeves and immediately think of bare arms, then immediately think of complete nudity” – turns out it wasn’t just Chinese people, Cambodians had equally rich and leaping imaginations.
Looking and taking a fancy were fundamentally different, Zong Hang felt it necessary to correct Apa’s attitude: “Love is a very serious matter, understand? You must be cautious. You can’t just look at appearances – her personality, habits, family background, interests, and hobbies, even whether your food preferences match are all crucial. For instance, I like sweet food, if she likes spicy food, how do we cook at home in the future? Hmm? There are so many aspects to consider.”
Apa felt like he was listening to a foreign language – in his impression, such words seemed like dialogue from Thai dramas, what the male lead’s parents would say when he fell in love with Cinderella.
If Zong Bisheng and Tong Hong saw this scene, they would probably be especially gratified: after all, since Zong Hang stopped wearing open-crotch pants, they had repeatedly instilled this consciousness in him. No choice – rich families’ kids were high-risk, and there were too many seductive gold diggers out there.
Prevention against women starts in childhood. Tong Hong had even tried snatching away Zong Hang’s toy fishing machine while he was playing happily: “Stop playing, you need to give it to the little sister.”
Zong Hang had cried and stamped his feet: “I don’t want little sister, I want my fishing machine!”
He successfully managed to run away clutching his toys whenever he saw little sisters throughout his entire childhood, faster than running from wolves.
…
This shows how important parental education is. Zong Hang, who was always thinking about rebelling against patriarchy, didn’t realize he had completely channeled Zong Bisheng at this moment, emphasizing again to Apa: “Must be cautious, understand? Absolutely cannot be blind and impulsive.”
Apa said: “…You’re so cautious, yet you’ve had five girlfriends?”
Zong Hang had completely forgotten about having five girlfriends.
He lowered his head, stirring the orange-red soda with his straw, and thought of an excuse as bubbles collided at the bottom of the glass.
Then he raised his head and said sadly: “How to explain this… it’s just that after dating too many girlfriends, you’ll feel it’s pointless, there’s an indescribable feeling, like a kind of overall… wearing down of people, do you understand wearing down?”
If Apa’s intelligence had been online, he would have noticed Zong Hang’s answer was completely irrelevant.
But he didn’t.
He was captured by vanity: “Yes, I’ve dated three. From my relationships, I indeed feel, some is wearing down.”
The chaotic yet dreamy lights of the old market district shone on the faces of these two love experts, creating an aura of sincerity, dejection, and something that made people sigh.
Apa felt heartache: he had never had a girlfriend, yet here he was discussing relationships with someone who’d had five girlfriends. Zong Hang even understood “wearing down” – you could tell this was something only people with rich emotional experiences could comprehend.
He didn’t want to torture himself anymore: “Forget it, Young Master, those girls just didn’t have good eyes.”
Then he changed the topic: “Wonder how the conversation between Brother Long and Yi Sa is going.”
Indeed, familiarity breeds comfort – seeing Long Song come again, Yi Sa didn’t frown but smiled instead.
She had a thin brownish-red wooden stick lit and held sideways in her mouth, the burning wood smelling like smoke.
Long Song guessed she might be from Yunnan – among all the Chinese people he’d met, he’d only seen one or two from Yunnan smoke this kind of “cigarette.” It wasn’t a cigarette, but reportedly a type of wood from the local mountains, cut thin and flat, easily lit and smokeable, harmless to the body. It could also be chewed, with a sweet and spicy taste.
To make conversation easier, she held the “thin smoke” between her fingers. The wood was flexible, pressed, and coiled around her fingertip like a ring with a spark.
She said: “I can help you identify people, but frankly speaking, I’m unwilling and don’t want to get involved in this kind of thing.”
“You’d better not get involved either. You’re a legitimate businessman, don’t bring trouble on yourself. Others try their best to avoid it, yet you’re trying to chase after it.”
Long Song said: “Mainly because a friend from China, and the son of a big boss at that, was beaten up like this – we need some kind of explanation.”
Yi Sa said: “What kind of explanation? If you find them, what do you want to do? Beat them up too?”
Long Song smiled: “How could we do that kind of thing? We just want an explanation, maybe an apology…”
Yi Sa interrupted: “Is he difficult?”
Long Song didn’t understand.
“That friend of yours from China, is he difficult to deal with?”
How did the conversation turn to Zong Hang?
Long Song found it a bit strange: “Not difficult, my friend is very nice, very generous…”
Before he could finish, someone called from far behind: “Yi Sa!”
Yi Sa looked up, smiling and waving to the newcomer.
Seems like an acquaintance. Long Song tactfully stepped aside to let them talk first.
The newcomer was a tall, thin middle-aged white man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and sporting a golden goatee. He handed Yi Sa a thin booklet rolled into a tube: “I had drinks planned with friends here, so I brought your medical report along.”
Yi Sa took it but didn’t rush to open it: “What’s the result? Do I have a terminal illness?”
The man laughed heartily, saying: “Yi Sa, you’re too funny.”
Then he shrugged: “Everything’s perfect, except you’re a bit too thin, but I know beautiful young ladies don’t like gaining weight.”
Yi Sa stuck the “thin smoke” upside down into a crack in the wooden board beside her, like burning a short incense stick.
Then she opened the medical report.
Long Song glanced at it: medical report templates are largely similar everywhere – indicators listed on the left, three small columns on the right representing low, standard, and high.
Most “√” marks were in the standard column, with a few scattered in the low column, and none in the high.
The man said: “I’ve already emailed the electronic version to your uncle, but Yi Sa, I suggest…”
Yi Sa looked up.
“At your age, there’s no need for comprehensive checkups every three months. Some tests can be harmful if done too frequently. Generally speaking, for young people, once every two years is enough.”
Yi Sa smiled: “I think so too, but my uncle insists. Maybe because several of my elders died suddenly after being diagnosed with terminal illnesses, he’s afraid the same might happen to me.”
She leaned closer to the man, smiling mischievously: “I know he regularly deposits the examination fees into your account. How about this – next time I won’t do the checkup, since the results are always similar anyway – you just adjust the report a bit for him, and give the examination fee back to me. That way I earn money, and you save trouble, how about it?”
The smile remained on the man’s face but gradually mixed with embarrassment.
Long Song wanted to laugh: who would want to spit out money they’d already swallowed?
Yi Sa giggled, considerately giving him a way out: “I’m just joking.”
The man also laughed along, probably afraid the joke might become real if he stayed too long, and quickly said goodbye.
Only then did Yi Sa turn back to Long Song: “Where were we… just now?”
Long Song said: “Our friend, he’s not troublesome, he’s very nice, not petty.”
Yi Sa said: “That settles it then.”
She lightly bit her lip with her teeth, flicking the “thin smoke” with her finger. The scene’s lighting was just right, the person both sweet and coquettish. Photography enthusiasts in the crowd had keen senses – several cameras turned this way, long and short lenses clicking non-stop.
Yi Sa raised her chin, calling out in that direction: “Want a drink?”
Several people responded and walked over, both foreigners and Asian faces.
The business had arrived. Yi Sa straightened up, and took down two cans of Cambodian beer and several glasses from the liquor shelf: “If he’s not troublesome, then it’s easy to handle. He didn’t see what those two looked like anyway – just ask about their height and build, find two similar-looking Cambodians to go apologize to him, and that’s it.”
What? Long Song felt he hadn’t heard clearly.
The customers had already settled into the bar’s cramped space. Yi Sa set down the glasses and, without asking what they wanted, poured Cambodian beer first: she had checked the liquor inventory – too much Cambodian beer, and near expiration, needed to be consumed quickly. Anyway, drinking customers mostly drink for the atmosphere, not caring about an extra glass like this. Occasionally some would care, but she’d smile, crack a few jokes, and it would pass.
After finishing pouring, she turned around to see Long Song still there, mouth half-open, expression still between confusion and understanding.
People who are usually honest, when suddenly hearing about breaking rules and laws, generally react this way.
Yi Sa said: “That person is your Chinese big boss’s son, you’re afraid he’ll harbor resentment and want to give him an explanation. This is the explanation – be a bit muddled, everything will pass, and everyone will be comfortable. That kind of person, even if you find them, would they apologize to you? They might turn around and extort you, endless trouble.”
She smiled and chatted cheerfully, starting to attend to customers, leaving Long Song alone on the side to slowly comprehend.
Being honest doesn’t mean being stupid – he would understand and would thank her for giving advice from his perspective.
Sure enough, after a while, Long Song touched her arm, waited for her to turn around, and handed her a business card: “Thank you. Let’s be friends – if you ever need anything, just ask.”
Under countless sources of light, both bright and dim, she saw the bold heading printed on the business card.
Angkor Grand Hotel.
Yi Sa nodded, indicating no problem, there would be plenty of time ahead.
She had an impression of this hotel – not exactly luxurious, but huge, taking up half the street. Every time she rode her motorcycle past it, it took quite a while.
Long Song suddenly remembered something: “Can I ask?”
“That day, actually if you had just covered up a bit, or said ‘I don’t know,’ my friend would have gotten away with it…”
Yi Sa smiled, thought for a moment, and gave a rather strange answer.
She said: “I was in a bad mood that day.”