Chapter 11
The Year-Star Caravanserai
The hoarse voices and phantoms flicker in and out, driving Thiet Nam into wrath unrestrained. He rends his garments and leaps into the lake. The water is piercing cold, yet he lies still upon the lakebed, letting the pure current wash away all defilement.
He lies as a corpse without soul, until sunlight spreads across the lake's surface. A strange gleam flashes at the corner of his eye. At once he ascends, soaring into the heavens, as though imploring the Almighty to burn his body into ashes.
The lake trembles violently. Wayfarers cry out in astonishment, beholding the surging waters whirling in midair. Dimly they discern a figure; the vortex roars, lifting the waters to coil about his form.
Thiet Nam hastens into the forest ahead. Before the crowd regains its senses, he jerks his hand violently, and the bundle upon the ground is seized by the wind, flying swifter than an arrow to follow him.
Far from mankind, he comes to a desolate place. He loosens the bundle and searches within, yet finds not a single piece of silver; the hire of his labor are lost. Half the food lies spoiled, the rest drenched. His garments likewise drenched, leaving but one set half-dry, half-damp.
He clicks his tongue, wades to the waterfall to catch fish. He dons fresh raiment and sits to roast his catch. To keep his thoughts from wandering during the long wait, he hangs his wet raiment to dry and opens a tome concerning Bac Son:
"The history of Bac Son began centuries ago. The first to cultivate that deep wilderness was a band of migrants from afar. It is said that, scourged by calamities of nature, folk from every quarter were driven from their homes, seeking a promised land. They wandered abroad, tasting bitter frost and wind, yet found no dwelling fit for rest. At last, these strangers moved silently to the northeast.
There the stone mountains stretched in endless ranks, piled one upon another like giants of old, barring the horizon without end. Shrouded amidst those mighty forms lay a realm of mist and clouds that veiled the sky.
At first, all thought they would be disappointed once more. Yet the nearer they drew to that remote and barren land, the fresher air dissolved their grief and weariness. They rejoiced exceedingly, and together explored the shadowed forests encircled by rivers and mountains.
They cut through valleys, leveled hills, opened rivers and carved streams, until at last they formed a broad belt around the village. Stilted houses nestled quietly within ivory bamboo groves.
By night they kindled fires and held revels to compensate for years of hardship. By day they drove water buffalo into the fields, tilling the uneven plots of the great valley. Each plot was divided into countless small squares like the character '田'.
In Bac Son the rice was sown in two seasons; the fields were not reaped at one time, and thus there arose a mingling of hues — golden plots, verdant paddies yet flourishing, beside them lay parcels with but sparse stubble.
Bound unto the fertile fields were plots of rice awaiting harvest, and brown earth awaiting the planting of seedlings. When summer came, the fields beneath the azure stone mountains were shaded by dense trees. All of these were drenched by the rain.
In some place, stilted houses with thatched roofs sent forth curling smoke, mingled with the scent of straw, drifting across hills and mountains. That glimmer of brightness sketched the paddies of Bac Son into a vivid and harmonious scene..."
Having read the final passage, Thiet Nam closes the book, his gaze cast afar, beholding the ranks of azure trees upon the mountain's waist. Along the limestone slope, the trees sway in the wind, fan-shaped leaves of jade hue falling into the clear waters.
Silver mist drifts lightly upon the lake, circling the white cataract, weaving a vision where dream and reality entwine.
From the summit the wind brings chill. It passes through whispering crowns, plucking golden leaves from their branches. They descend slowly, alighting upon the tranquil lake, stirring ripples that chase one another outward to the far reaches.
In that phantasmal space, half-seen, the sky unveils golden light, guiding flocks of birds toward fields heavy with the fragrance of ripe grain. The birds peck at scattered kernels for long, then gather in threes and fives upon the backs of cattle. That herd grazing by the winding canal, whose waters meander through boundless paddies.
In ordinary times, the livestock have let their long-time companions cleanse their bodies of blood-sucking vermin. But woe betide the birds, for today their massive friends have been bound fast to the bamboo pole, hence they rage and drive them off.
Not far away, the mountain girls are planting rice seedlings, laughing among themselves, imitating the sturdy herd of buffaloes. The hour draws near to noon, and they hasten to finish the last stretch. A few maidens lift their skirts lightly to labor, when suddenly they panic, leap, and cry out:"
- Snake! A venomous serpent beneath our feet!
That meddlesome man rushes down to save them. The girls scatter in fright, fingers entangled, their traditional long, wrapped skirts of somber black falling, veiling their slender legs.
- Death stands before you—why should you heed shame?
Thiet Nam, in his wrath, shatters the ancient code of decorum and, without hesitation, lifts the hems of their traditional long, wrapped skirts of somber black to seek the viper:
- Death stands before you—why should you care for shame?
His gaze sweeps across the flying hems of their somber black wrapped skirts, over the long legs beneath. The meddler cannot tell whether to laugh or cry, for only an eel slips into the muddy field:
- Rude! Shameless, lecherous brute!
- You vile creature…
Faces of terror are stained crimson in the afterglow of sunset. The maidens stand aghast, staring at that dreadful thing gnawing greedily upon their snow‑white legs.
Thiet Nam, with round eye and narrow eye, watches the leeches revel. Each small creature swells its belly in satisfaction, indulging in this feast. Some grope upward, seeking to invade forbidden ground.
To pierce the nest of fire ants is to summon calamity beyond measure. The one who bears the fury is that meddlesome man, striving to repel the hateful horde trespassing the boundary.
- I'll kill you, you wretch!
- He dares to gaze—gouge out his eyes!
Thiet Nam steps back in haste, waving his hands to explain:
- Girls, be calm… do not mistake me…
A palm descends from heaven, and his words are struck away. The sky remains bright, yet sun and moon whirl before his eyes. The mountain girls refuse to release him, pouncing to claw and seize.
In the struggle, his hands unwittingly touch forbidden places. The maidens weep in fury, striving to rescue the Flaming Mountain dug up by the vile monkey.
- You wretch!
Thiet Nam, suffocated in their circle, roars:
- You know no shame! I am a man! If you touch me again, beware you never wed in all your life!
In sudden anger they strike him, then, shamed, they hurry to keep away. Thiet Nam grimaces, rubbing the face marked with fiery streaks.
His visage is grim; he beholds the band of mountain girls veiling the crimson moon, heads bowed, repeatedly stooping to gather the seeds fallen into the field.
The youngest girl sobs. In the pushing just now, their lips brushed by chance, and she blushed like a rose newly opened. If he still stood mocking, tonight the maidens would know no rest, for loss of blood.
He would withdraw, yet hunger drives him to gnaw roasted fish. He starts, hurries back, and at once smells the charred flesh. Gazing at the mottled yellow and black, his mouth twitches, and he derides himself:
"Hand clasping the fragrant wine gourd,
Lost in mirth, forgetting Lan's admonition!"
He sighs long, wades again to the waterfall to fish. Sated, Thiet Nam sees the may kham bamboo leaves turn silver beneath the shrouding mist.
He trembled, recalling midday: the water of the Bo Loong Well had turned milky like rice‑washing water. In former days, such a portent had ever accompanied storms that laid waste to his homeland. He strikes his brow in regret, blaming his own neglect, seizes a torch, and hastens toward the valley village of Quynh Son.
The heavens sway with storm and rain, fierce beyond measure. Jagged thorns whirl like swords, barring his path. Stones lie across, the hidden trail is deep, suffocating, hard to tread. Dense trees grow thick, thrusting into the thickets; the heaven‑born couple dance frantically with the lashing rain and storming wind.
After half an hour's arduous struggle, he emerges from the wild. Thiet Nam approaches the row of lodgings flanking the fields. Having lost all coin, this unlucky man laments, knocking to beg a night's lodging.
Answering his call is only the wind striking emptiness, the trees rustling as if to break, and the thunder that rends the sky. Before this he had knocked upon six inns, yet none opened their doors. Now, thick‑skinned, he knocks upon the last place. At last, a voice within:
- Who is there?
The girl's voice makes him hesitate; the rain is too fierce, so he asks:
- Excuse me, is there a room?
At midnight hearing a man's voice, the maiden falters. The landlady, casting up her accounts, replies:
- The Imperial Army already stations itself throughout Lang Chau; he dares not do evil. Nguyet, let him in!
The girl named Nguyet opens timidly. In the flickering light, her honey-colored skin adorns her oval face, seeming to merge with his dark complexion, sinewed lines, and angular countenance. At the moment their eyes meet, the maiden retreats in embarrassment, keeping her distance.
He gazes at her in stupefaction. A graceful shade, a pair of black velvet eyes, smooth hair, full peach-pink lips, a pure face imbued with hidden charm… all is the likeness of the one he most cherished in the past, as though carved from the same mold.
This sudden circumstance is nigh akin to the day he met an old acquaintance. That day too, torrents of rain poured down. He hurriedly carried his wares, rushed to the house of a familiar man and knocked upon the door to request lodging. From within came the voice of a man:
- Who is it?
- Uncle, it is I, Lam Thanh! I am drenched by the rain, unable to return home in time. The storm is too fierce, may I stay here for the night?
He had done business here oftentimes, delivering wares to this household, and with earnest heart had lent his aid to the master in many matters, even saving him once from the jaws of a wild beast. The master then spoke to his daughter:
- Loan, open the door!
The girl named Loan opened, and beheld him soaked through, trembling with cold, sneezing without cease. With anxious heart she urged him to change his garments at once, and brewed for him a cup of a draught of ginger tea. Because of the rain and the fever, he fell ill, bedridden for a full month.
She already bore deep affection for him and day and night tended him with care. Like fire kept near dry straw, it was bound to ignite over time. Love gradually filled the hearts of Thanh and Loan. In a simple wedding they solemnly vowed to be of one heart forever.
Memories flow in like the tide into Thiet Nam's mind. He stands still before the caravanserai's maiden, as though turned to stone. She lowers her head shyly, winding her garment betwixt her hands. The landlady, seeing thus, bids Nguyet to sweep and put all to rights. The girl hastily bids farewell to the guest, and vanishes down the corridor. The landlady sighs with impatience, and comes forth herself to receive:
- She is yet young, and thus bashful. Pray forgive! I am Luu Tinh, the landlady of this caravanserai. Tell me, honoured guest, what chamber do you wish to rent?
A voice clear as ringing bells strikes upon his ears. He gives a start, and turns to behold the landlady. Before his eyes stands a woman arrayed in a short Eastern dress of ancient white silk, shoulders uncovered, its length shorter than is the common wont. She inclines slightly to the side to yield passage, in truth seeking seemly pretext to lay her hand upon the hem stirred by the wind.
He turns his gaze swiftly away, avoiding those graceful white legs half revealed. He raises his eyes to escape the melon shell, he strikes upon the coconut shell… for his eyes fall upon a sight more wondrous still above — a short cross‑collar robe of black silk, its shoulders trimmed with fox‑fur at the edge that winds about her lithe shoulders.
That which need not be hidden is veiled, yet that which ought be concealed — the bosom — though not purposely bared, yet swells ripe and rises and falls faintly, like the fairy isle of Penglai, burning the eyes of men.
Her attire that flouts all custom adorns a face of passion, with eyes luminous as stars, gleaming like meteors. Her lips of a deep roseate hue curve in a proud smile. She covers her comely mouth. Luu Tinh casts a glance at the guest, yet he silently turns aside from her alluring form. He then turns to admire the hall.
This caravanserai hath three stories; he knows not how the upper two are arranged. The ground floor resembles common inns, yet bears its own distinction.
First, all tables and chairs are wrought of sandalwood. Unlike the crude and scattered furnishings of other places, here each set is wrought with exceeding care. Each group holds five triangular chairs with backs, set at the five corners of a table.
At the head is placed one chair, to left and right each one chair, and the remaining two chairs are set at the table's end. A pentagonal table stands at the center of the five chairs. All sets of tables and chairs encircle the counter at the hall's heart, their arrangement akin to that afore described.
Since the day of opening, whosoever beheld this strange design could not but wonder: why thus?
Luu Tinh only smiled faintly, and let the matter pass. She knew well, even if she spoke the reason, they would not believe; nay, they might have mocked her as one who feigned mystery and deceived men.
Thiet Nam nods, his gaze resting upon this peculiar sight. He admires in silence, with keen curiosity looking here and there, as though he hath once seen such a design before. Luu Tinh cannot restrain herself and asks:
- Have you been here before?
He is surprised by the question.
- This is my first time here. Why do you ask, landlady?
Luu Tinh smiles graciously and waves her hand:
- Oh, nothing. I only saw you gazing upon the tables and chairs with curiosity, yet unlike others you did not question their strange shape. I was merely curious.
He laughs and explains:
- In former years I journeyed to the Song dynasty to trade, often met Western merchants with golden hair and blue eyes. The fellowship of Roman merchants bore this shape as their emblem, and called it the five‑pointed star.
The landlady utters softly "ah, ah" twice, and then sits to wait.
Footnote
In ancient Eastern astronomy, the 'Year‑Star' (Suixing) refers to Jupiter, whose orbit defines the cycle of years.