As revenge, Zong Hang named the fish eagle “High Cold Flower”, and whenever he fed it fish or gave it alcohol, he would call out “Ah Hua, Ah Hua” – his heart full of self-satisfaction in an Ah Q style: I’ll give you a rural-flavored name since you look down on me!
What was even more irritating was that the fish eagle couldn’t be tamed. Usually, with cats and dogs, after feeding and playing with them a couple of times, even if they don’t completely devote themselves to you, they at least act coquettishly when they see you. But not this fish eagle – it would eat what it should eat, drink what it should drink, and continue looking down on him just as before.
What gives you the right? Is it because you’re beautiful?
Since Zong Hang had nothing better to do, he examined it from all 360 degrees: it looked like any other water bird, with black feathers that reflected a copper-green metallic sheen, and a grayish-white beak. If there was anything special about it, it might be the small white patch below its emerald eyes, with a hint of orange-yellow showing through, like egg yolk mixed into egg white.
Zong Hang decided: that when they parted ways, he would teach it a lesson – a man who had fought with crocodiles couldn’t admit defeat at any time.
The water journey went very smoothly. The man and bird transferred to a bus in Laos, tucking themselves into the deepest part of the luggage compartment, waiting quietly in a dark, bumpy corner filled with various strange smells as time slowly passed.
The bus made more stops than the boat, with people frequently loading and unloading luggage. Occasionally, light would filter through the gaps in the luggage compartment, sweeping across various types of people. Once, Zong Hang even saw someone carrying a gun, and he barely dared to breathe out of nervousness.
Fortunately, despite the scares, everything went well, and after getting off the bus, they successfully met up with the smuggler.
The smuggler had simple features and appeared honest and straightforward, far from the fierce image portrayed in movies and TV. He gestured for Zong Hang to pick up the eagle’s cage and just follow along.
Zong Hang was a bit worried: “Won’t we get caught?”
He’d heard that China’s border patrol was very strict.
The man said: “The border is so long, and even tigers take naps sometimes.”
“Are there any landmines?”
The man gave him a sideways glance, probably thinking his question was stupid: “There are small paths, we’ve used them many times.”
This journey through forests and mountains wasn’t as dangerous as imagined. It was like hiking – walking and resting alternately. Sometimes when they reached certain spots, the smuggler would look around vigilantly and whistle like a bird. Rustling sounds would come from deep in the forest, and then two people would emerge to join this illegal border-crossing group. The party grew from two or three people to five or six, then seven or eight, moving like snakes through the dense forest, silent and unseen.
Then, without any border markers, and without encountering any gunfire, shouting, or panicked escape, when they came down from a hillside to a dirt road, the smuggler simply said: “We’re here.”
That’s it? They were already under Chinese skies?
Amid his shock, Zong Hang looked around, secretly making up his mind: he would report this evil little path later. Although he had crossed illegally too, he would make up for his wrongdoing by reporting it – surely this good deed would cancel out the black mark.
The people they had traveled with quickly scattered like birds and beasts. As per the rules, they hadn’t talked to each other and were now headed in different directions, never taking the same path.
Only Zong Hang and the fish eagle remained, squatting by the roadside waiting to be picked up. The smuggler, having taken back the cage, smoked while keeping them company on the opposite side.
He still had the final payment to collect.
Everything had gone so smoothly that Zong Hang had completely forgotten about “teaching it a lesson.” If he were to reflect and sum things up, the fish eagle should be credited: how impressive that an animal had behaved like an experienced illegal border crosser – calm and composed, and at critical moments, had never made any loud squawks.
Excellent!
With his heart lightened, Zong Hang pulled up some flowers and grass from the roadside, clumsily circling and knotting them, and while the fish eagle wasn’t paying attention, slipped it around its neck.
He had wanted to chat a bit more, but Yi Xiao and the others arrived quickly. A red minivan approached from the distance, and from the lowered passenger window, Jing Xiu excitedly waved to him: “Here, Zong Hang, over here!”
She handed the money to the smuggler through the window.
The van was rented and only carried the three of them. Yi Xiao sat in the corner of the back row, covered from head to toe, not even lifting her eyelids when Zong Hang got in.
It was clear that Jing Xiu was handling everything. While urging the driver to start moving, she turned back to explain to Zong Hang: “Time is a bit tight, and since it’s inconvenient for you to take a plane, we’ve rented this car to go to Jiangxi.”
She seemed in good spirits – being back in China, everything felt familiar, and her mood wasn’t as depressed as before.
Zong Hang responded with a sound of agreement and fastened his seatbelt.
As the car reached the end of the road and turned, a motorcycle came from the opposite direction.
Surprisingly, the rider was a woman.
In rural areas, motorcycles were common for transportation, and it wasn’t unheard of for women to ride them, but Zong Hang felt that those couldn’t be called riders: being a rider was a symbol of identity, requiring the right physique, presence, and skill.
He stared intently: the motorcycle was moving very fast, leaving a trail of yellow dust behind it, almost brushing past the minivan.
By road rules, smaller vehicles usually give way to larger ones, but the motorcycle didn’t yield to the minivan. The driver was a bit annoyed and cursed: “Do you have a death wish!”
But Zong Hang let out a “wow” and turned his head to keep looking: “Such great skill.”
Wasn’t it just zooming past in a flash? What was so skillful about that? Jing Xiu was puzzled: “How could you tell?”
Zong Hang showed off his “expertise”: “I’ve raced before too.”
Jing Xiu gave him a doubtful look.
She suspected that Zong Hang might have only raced bumper cars.
Yi Sa had spotted the smuggler from far away, along with Wu Gui squatting by the roadside.
She stopped her bike nearby, and took off her helmet – it was July, and the whole country was experiencing high temperatures, it was scorching hot everywhere.
She fanned herself with her hand.
The smuggler hesitated for a moment: “Miss Yi?”
“Do you accept US dollars?”
“Yes.”
Yi Sa flicked over a roll of dollars. Influenced by foreigners, she liked to roll money into cylinder-like tubes, thinking it looked cool and suave when tossing them. But the smuggler, clearly thinking like a local, unrolled it and counted each bill, even pinching and rubbing them.
Only then did Yi Sa look at Wu Gui.
Wu Gui stood there listlessly under her gaze, with a wreath of flowers and grass around its neck, a fierce bird suddenly deflated in presence.
What the… which idiot did this unnecessary thing?
With less than two days left until “7.17,” and unable to take a plane, time had suddenly become precious. Going from Yunnan meant crossing at least three provinces, and they’d have to travel day and night.
In the evening, they ate rice noodles in Guilin. The driver told them to eat slowly: he had a buddy living here, and he’d try to contact him. It would be best if they could drive together, taking turns behind the wheel, making night driving less of an issue.
Perhaps because there was too much spice in the rice noodles, Zong Hang felt a bit uncomfortable and could only eat half a bowl before his stomach started acting up.
The shop was small with no bathroom, so the shop owner directed him to go out the front door and turn at the street corner, where there was a public toilet.
After taking care of his physical discomfort and coming out, the red minivan hadn’t returned yet. Zong Hang wasn’t in a hurry, so he strolled along the street, browsing as he walked. When passing by one shop, he suddenly stepped back.
It was a small general store. Guilin is a tourist city, and many general stores also sell tourist souvenirs. This shop had a postcard rack at the entrance, with ordinary images – Guilin landscapes, Yangshuo bamboo rafts, and such.
Zong Hang stared at them for a while, his heart suddenly pounding.
He went into the store, first asking to buy gloves. The shop owner gave him a pair of work gloves, and after trying them on for size, he also asked for a pen and a postcard with postage.
These were all ordinary items, and the shop owner casually completed the transaction.
After leaving the store, Zong Hang turned into a side alley, propped the postcard against the wall, and wrote awkwardly with his left hand.
He didn’t write a recipient, just the home address.
The content was just two characters: “Safe and sound.”
He couldn’t contact his family directly – with Zong Bishing’s temperament, any definite news would inevitably lead to a full-scale investigation.
But he also couldn’t completely cut off contact – given Tong Hong’s obsessive nature and poor health, he feared she couldn’t hold on.
He wanted to give some ambiguous but thought-provoking information.
He planned to mail this postcard from a small mailbox in some remote corner of the next province.
If he didn’t touch the postcard, it wouldn’t have his fingerprints.
A Guilin postcard not mailed from Guilin would make its origin difficult to trace.
Writing with his left hand made the handwriting unrecognizable.
When it reached home with just “Safe and sound” written on it, Zong Bishing and Tong Hong would inevitably connect this postcard with the recent changes at home.
They would be unsettled and would have various speculations, but within these speculations, a tiny hope would peek through, making life less desperate, leading them to begin a period of anxious but willing waiting.
After a while, he would do the same thing again, sending another card, perhaps writing “Wait a bit longer,” “Soon,” or something else.
They say there’s telepathy between family members; perhaps his parents could understand his situation and appreciate his difficulties through these crooked few words.
He would return home.
Late on July 16th, they finally neared their destination.
Zong Hang only knew it was “Jiangxi” but had no concept of the specific location. When passing through the national highway, he vaguely saw “Poyang Lake” on a large billboard, and then his eyes were filled with an endless expanse of water.
The driver used phone navigation, driving along the lake, searching as they went, and finally stopping at a county port.
This area was brightly lit, with dozens of boats moored on the lake, of various sizes. The largest was a small passenger ship, about forty or fifty meters long, three stories high, easily able to accommodate two to three hundred people.
Near the water, open-air restaurants lined up one after another, with many people drinking and toasting boisterously. Even from this distance, you could hear the drinking games and smell the aroma of fried and grilled river seafood.
Yi Xiao instructed Zong Hang: “You two go eat first, choose the restaurant at the very edge, I’ll find you later.”
She always did things mysteriously, so Zong Hang didn’t ask much, just put on his sun hat and pulled the brim down a bit: although this wasn’t Cambodia, he didn’t know how far Zong Bishing’s missing person notice had spread, so it was better to be careful.
The two of them went into that open-air restaurant and sat down, ordering some drinks and barbecue. This place was relatively remote and business was slow, no comparison to the busier places further in.
Zong Hang couldn’t eat river seafood, so he could only sip his drink and look around. As he watched, he gradually noticed some patterns.
Of course, there were local county people who came for late-night snacks in the outdoor restaurants, but besides these scattered customers, many of the patrons seemed to know each other.
People kept “making rounds” with drinks – one hand holding a beer, one hand a plastic cup, stopping at each outdoor restaurant to fill and raise glasses, with many people inside immediately becoming boisterous, then raising their glasses too.
After finishing at one restaurant, that person would go to the next, raising glasses again, followed by another round of noisy group drinking, very much like a groom making toast table by the table at a wedding.
But there wasn’t just one person making rounds, so it was wave after wave, never settling down. Some who had drunk too much and left early stumbled toward that passenger ship: to outsiders, it looked like a cruise tour, with everyone on the ship familiar with each other, stopping at midnight for late-night snacks.
Zong Hang had never seen such a scene and found it quite interesting. Just as he was absorbed in watching, a young man about twenty-five or twenty-six years old came in with a cheerful face and sat down casually across from him: “Are you Zong Hang?”
Zong Hang was stunned for a moment, hadn’t decided how to respond, when the man already started talking like a machine gun.
“My name is Zhang Youhe, I work as a kitchen assistant on the ‘Costa,’ that ship right behind us.”
He pointed at that passenger ship.
“Remember this, I’m your cousin, I have some urgent business to handle, but the ship is short-staffed, so after discussing with the supervisor, they’re letting you fill in for me. You’re healthy, no infectious diseases, kitchen assistant work is just helping to cut vegetables and meat, you can handle it.”
As he spoke, he handed over his work ID: “I’ve already talked to the supervisor and colleagues. To others, you’re Zhang Youhe, and your girlfriend can squeeze into your room. This kind of thing is common on the ship, everyone turns a blind eye, and they won’t make a fuss about it.”
Zong Hang began to understand.
This must be Yi Xiao’s arrangement, and this Zhang Youhe was just someone who had received some benefit to let them use his position for a few days and help pass along her message.
“Anything else?”
Zhang Youhe scratched his head: “Anything else? That’s it.”
Well, let’s board the ship first then.
Zong Hang put on Zhang Youhe’s work ID, picked up his luggage, and led Jing Xiu onto the ship.
The passenger ship was temporarily docked, with no floating bridge, just two long wooden planks placed diagonally as walkways. Someone was guarding the boarding point, probably to prevent unauthorized people from sneaking aboard.
Zong Hang walked up and showed his work ID. Zhang Youhe’s “arrangements” had reached here too, as the person grinned: “Oh, it’s you.”
While speaking, he opened the barrier to let them through.
After passing the barrier, just walking two steps, suddenly a sweet and coquettish female voice came from behind: “Brother Xiao Jiang!”
From an open window on the top floor, a middle-aged man who was on the phone looked in this direction in surprise, then smiled and waved in acknowledgment.
Zong Hang got goosebumps all over.
A man of that age still being called “Brother Xiao Jiang,” the man’s face was big, and the woman was also a bit strange and hard to describe.
He turned back to look.