Chapter 14
The Legend of Bac Son
In the East of Bac Son, within the village of Dong Dang, limestone mountain ranges encircle Quynh Son village. Upon these heights there groweth a forest of rare and precious primitive trees, Excentrodendron tonkinense, whose fame spreadeth far and wide. Rumors of this ancient woodland spread everywhere: its primeval trees reach heights of tens of fathoms, their trunks clingeth fast to the jagged precipices.
To prevent destruction, the Emperor decreeth that only the Royal may harvest this forest; any who trespass shall be exiled. The Emperor swiftly gathereth his armies to guard this priceless treasure. By one wise act serving a double end, he commandeth the soldiers to aid the folk in the raising anew of their earthen houses.
The work proceedeth with great haste, for four hundred households and one thousand eight hundred souls are all of the Tay people, bearing the surname Duong. Being of one kin and one name, the folk of Quynh Son stand united; thus, the entire village dwelleth in stilt houses and earthen houses. Built all to face one and the same direction, the houses are raised in unity with the vast and airy expanse of the valley.
According to the beliefs of the Tay-Nung people, every earthen house faceth South to welcome the breath of heaven and earth, an invocation to dwell in harmony with the world of spirits and nature.
In the founding of Quynh Son village, the folk have drawn upon all gifts bestowed by the land and heaven alike. From the red alluvial earth along the riverbanks to the clay hidden deep within the cliffs, all have been taken and put to fitting use.
Soldiers and civilians have toiled together, mixing the two earths with clear water; man and beast have worked as one heart, pounding the mixture fine into wooden molds. The pestles have struck with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the village, drawing all to stand and behold.
Whether those far from home or wayfarers, all who reach Quynh Son desire to press earth into the wooden frames, constructing a row of connected houses backed by the continuous mountain ranges.
The craft of building these earthen houses, crowned with Yin-Yang tiled roofs, is singular. First, water is poured to bind the earth; then water buffaloes and human labor knead it until it is even and soft, before it is poured into molds measuring ten to twenty cubits in width[1]. With wooden pestles, they ram it solid, raising it layer by layer until the destined height is reached.
The walls are fashioned of red earth and clay rammed tight within timber frames, passing firm and measuring somewhat over a cubit to near two cubits in thickness[2]. The roofs are thatched with cogon grass or laid with thick tiles. These dwellings endure the seasons better than those of the plains.
In the season when winter cold pierceth even to the bone, these stout walls ward off the frost, barring the mountain's breath. When the summer sun scorcheth without, the inner chambers remain cool, as though fanned by a breeze from heaven.
Through passing years and long ages, the village lieth amidst the limestone ranges, enduring the fury of wind and storm; everywhere remain the scars of time, yet the primitive visage is preserved.
The houses here still keep their traditional form: each laid out in three bays with two flanking wings—one side a granary, the other a kitchen, with an altar set in the center.
Behind the place of worship lie the chambers of the elders. The front porches and courtyards are floored with wooden planks, where they may dry rice, mung beans, or hang their raiment.
The roofs are draped in red Yin-Yang tiles, the white walls stained with earth. Near the walls, shrubs grow thick, branches spreading their leaves, as greenery covereth the level paths and vertical alleys. Through years of sun and rain, wild grasses break through the soil, growing into a fragrant garden of five colors.
Thin petals swayeth gently in the wind, like graceful songstresses dancing upon a stage. The wild blossoms in the alleys are no less fair, vying to bloom, contendeth with the ground vines to cling and spread upon the walls.
The tender sunlight hath just begun to probe the small alleys; radiant flowers bloom in competition under the glory of nature, displaying their beauty in succession to seize the wayfarers' gaze.
Within the still painting, there stirs a living stroke: two rows of trees in the forecourt sway with the wind, their branches fanning, their leaves drooping, casting a cool shade wherein kith and kin may run and play.
This is the finishing stroke that adorns the scenery of the four seasons. The autumn mood is piercingly sorrowful, stirring the heart; the air is hushed and heavy, causing the flowers and grasses to wither into a single faded hue.
Withered leaves decay and fall, scattering throughout the village; upon the wayfarers' shoulders they linger, as the wayfarers wander aimlessly along the path of dismal mist.
Hundreds of roads, thousands of directions, full of red upon the withered yellow leaves, clinging to the footsteps of wayfarers, as if wishing to detain friends both familiar and strange… walking in a daze like a poet who hath lost his muse.
The lingering sorrow extendeth unto winter; the trees stand coldly naked, their branches slender like unto those afflicted with a long and unyielding malady. Then spring arriveth in silence, dispelling the frost that pierceth the heart, and breathing new life into grass, tree, flower, and leaf—till all are transformed into the fair and gentle semblance of a highland maiden, whose beauty is resplendent, yet not dazzling.
When Summer cometh, all things yearn for the Spring Nymph who hath departed in haste. The pure airs are loath to leave their kindred spirits. A love-besotted nymph biddeth farewell to her bosom friend, treading with the angels upon the celestial stairs.
Whether in any season as the year turneth, every moment of stillness or of joy leaveth an indelible mark, stirring the heart and staying the footsteps of the traveller upon the verge of departure. People linger in reluctant farewell, gazing upon the snow-white petals beneath the white orchid trees, falling upon the shoulders of the maiden spinners. Wayfarers are enraptured by the coy glances of the country maidens, whose rustic innocence melteth the hearts of all who behold them.
After a fleeting moment of soul-lost wonder, people long to take the fair ones and all the wild things of the wilderness back to the plains. The wayfarers gently close their eyes, savoring the redolence of white orchids drifting from the lush green fields of distant Bac Son, mingled with the scent of ripened rice that pervadeth the air.
The guests are steeped in the incense of Creation; the sounds of the tranquil village bring solace to their souls. Amidst the rustling echoes across the boundless rice fields, where egrets range unrestrained, lovers of the countryside listen in stillness to the distant murmur of a brook flowing from afar.
The cool stream hath turned into subterranean waters, flowing in silence through the layered and winding limestone arcs of Bac Son. From thence, the waters have divided into myriad branches, scattering like wayfarers exploring the village. The mischievous brook hath loved to play, yet it hath faithfully aided the folk of Quynh Son in tending their lush rice fields.
Through their journeys in Lang Chau, wayfarers have learned that this stream hath sprung from the majestic Dang Mo Waterfall[3]. This cool cascade hath issued from the communes of Binh Gia, gathered by the hidden underground veins of the overlapping limestone arcs of Bac Son. The Tay people have called it the "Ox-Nose Waterfall," for its form hath resembled the nose of an ox reclining amid the deep and verdant mountain forests.
The waterfall hath descended gently from the heights, dividing into several streams and forming veils of water. The waters have flowed with a soft murmur, threading through rock clefts and low brush, past stones of every shape and measure, thickly clad in green moss and piled one upon another along the waterfall's course. At last, the waters have spread and become a clear and tranquil lake.
Its moderate depth hath made this place an ideal bathing ground for wayfarers who seek to mingle with Nature herself. They have grown clamorous, splashing water upon one another, kicking at the currents that have spilled into the waterwheels.
The rotating wheels have straightway churned white foam, dancing amidst the vast forest. Wayfarers have stretched forth their arms in joy, crying aloud in delight, gazing upward at the myriad droplets that have shimmered beneath the golden sun, flying through the air to light the mortal world.
When they have lost their zest for the water, wayfarers have come ashore. Beneath the green shade on either side of the fall, they have arrayed themselves in clean raiment, their faces bearing smiles of serene contentment. The great ancient tree hath stood as a stately sentinel, guarding the waterfall as its master, and in proud bearing hath spread wide its boughs, veiling a corner of the sky.
Countless roots have intertwined, merging into the heart of the waterfall, like unto celestial armies set in battle array, guarding the pure land and forbidding the intrusion of ignorant mortals. From afar, the waterfall hath appeared like peach-colored silk, suspended between the deep green of forest and mountain.
Upon the mountainside, a small path had been fashioned so that wayfarers might stroll along the fall to behold its beauty; beside it, small huts had also been built for those seeking a moment's rest. Now, the wayfarers walk along the path, recounting the ancient tales.
The waterfall ruleth over the primitive ranges and forests of Binh Gia. Binh Gia bordereth Bac Son to the west. Legend hath it that in ancient times, a great drought had endured; the earth had become poor and untillable, the trees had withered, and the villagers had departed, save for a few beasts that had held their ground. Yet their endurance had received no recompense; thus, the Toad had summoned the Crab, the Tiger, the Bear, the Wasp, and the Fox, to lay their plaint before the Jade Emperor.
They have boldly disturbed the Heavenly Court to reason with the Gods. When reason is spoken, even the radish must listen, let alone the Heavens who possess the virtue of loving life. The Jade Emperor thus hath commanded the God of Rain and the God of Wind to summon the storm and bestow the bounteous waters upon the mortal realm.
Fearing the celestial spirits might be inattentive, the Jade Emperor hath ordered two brooks to be opened upstream, flowing together in coolness, finally meeting at the Dang Mo Waterfall. The spirits, fearing reproach, have been compelled to pour forth their divine essence to ensure the waterfall hath flowed through the four seasons.
In ordinary days, the waterfall hath remained as tranquil and serene as the melodies of the gourd lute. Yet, whenever great rains and fierce winds have heralded the coming of a flood, the waters have waxed tumultuous and surging.
This hath come to pass because the two Gods, as they have prepared to draw the clouds and summon the rain, have chanced to behold mortal men immersed naked within the fall. Not only have these mortals washed away their grime, but they have also frolicked openly, even splashing water upon one another.
That the profane rabble have dared to treat the waterfall as a mere bathing place for naked mortals hath driven the Gods to a blind fury. The God of Wind, in a fury, hath opened his Bag of Heaven and Earth, and the gale hath howled; the God of Rain hath shouted with a stern voice, pouring out all the waters from his Yin-Yang Vessel. In an instant, a tempest hath sprung up, the floodgates have opened in torrents, and their divine wrath hath been released without restraint.
This legend hath its roots in a sorrowful tale, yet it endeth in a weaving of laughter and tears, leaving an indelible mark upon the soul.
Whilst biding in Bac Son, a fair distance from the waterfall, the dreamers have let their imagination soar, until each and every one hath felt the moist scent of the green moss beside the fall still lingering as if from nowhere.
The moss climbeth the ancient trees along the slope and gradually covereth the roots upon the ground. Only when the ancient trees stretch their boughs and spread around the fall do these creeping invaders cease their expansion.
Amidst the natural melody of the gentle gourd lute, the wayfarers are awakened from their dreams. They follow the sound and behold, beneath the verdant ancient banyan trees, the young men of the village bending and leaping in the Hmong reed pipe dance, playing joyful tunes for the maidens. The smiling countenances of the girls are as sweet as honey, singing the melodies of celestial songs, full of love and tenderness.
The multitude of wayfarers mergeth with the simple life at the mountain foot. Each chooseth what they love: some smile brightly, dancing with the performers; others wander about, savoring the moment to the full. Every moment becometh a precious memory—experienced once, remembered for a lifetime.
The children of the high plateau fear strangers, often hiding behind their parents, though their wide eyes of dread cannot help but steal a glance. The guests reach out their arms to embrace the little ones. Among the crowd, a young boy clad in handwoven brocade, his ornate ethnic garment adorned with the carvings of bronze drum upon his chest. His head is wrapped in a white scarf densely embroidered with the image of the Lac bird. He laugheth radiantly, waving his hand in call. The children have boldly run to play.
The guests laugh heartily, lifting the children and seeking leave from the parents to take them wandering. Because the Emperor's army is then patrolling all parts of Lang Chau, the parents grant their leave.
The guests set the children upon their shoulders and begin to roam the village. The mischievous lad followeth suit, leaping onto his teacher's back.
One old and one young pass through the throng of those passing to and fro. Along the way, the lad playeth with the children, their laughter echoing through the village.
After long play, he slideth down from his teacher's back and hasteneth to the side of the village elder, listening as the old man recounteth the stories and lives of the folk in heroic verse.
The boy earnestly transcribeth the ancient tales, foldeth his arms in farewell, and followeth his teacher to the ancient village. Lifting his eyes, he seeth the elders busy repairing an old house. The boy smileth brightly and runneth to aid in the carrying:
- Grandfather, let me do this!
The master of the house laugheth, rubbing the boy's head, and saith:
- Go and find the buffalo-herding lads to play with.
The boy withdraweth with regret, flipping through his tome to seek the arcane arts of masonry and carpentry, noting the forms in detail:
"The master of the house hath divided the labor: the carpenters have mastered the main and side doors; the masons have raised pillars to reinforce the thick walls.
In Lang Chau, many earthen houses have been covered with Yin-Yang tiles. Unlike ordinary earthen houses with but four windows, this ancient dwelling possesseth ten, to invite the cool air in summer, and a wooden ladder hath been built leading to the upper floor.
Like the earthen houses of Quynh Son, this ancient house had been built with one or two stories upon the ground, with Yin-Yang roofs and thick walls, warm in winter and cool in summer.
Four great wooden pillars have been set at the corners to support the whole, combined with the bolts and latches of the doors. The master had carved embrasures into the loft, to guard against the raids of wild beasts and to defend against thieves.
Every house had three bays with two flanking wings—one side for the storing of goods, the other for the hearth-room, where the fire burneth day and night without ceasing. When the repairs had been finished, some hung charms before the doors, and some had suspended Eight-Trigram mirrors upon the portals, to drive away evil in the traditional way.
The lad is busily plying his quill, when suddenly the scent of smoked flesh, wafting from the hearth, catcheth his nostrils. The fire crackles in its fury, heating the smoked buffalo meat suspended above the kitchen-board.
The children encircle the hearth, their eyes fixed upon their mother, eagerly waiting for her to rend the meat into bowls. As the children chew upon the flesh, they also take delight in the game of "Dragon and Serpent ascending the Clouds."
Hand upon shoulder, the children glide merrily across the courtyard where rice, mung beans, and taro are laid to dry. Many urchins snatch garments from the drying-racks and shroud their heads, feigning a fierce fray.
The father, seeing them so mischievous, takes up a whip and pursues them throughout the house. He runneth and he chaseth, until someone calleth for his aid; only then doth he cease, casting the whip to the earth to welcome the guests. The visitors bow with respectful smiles and say:
- Esteemed Elder, we build a fortress-house upon the mountain, yet there are matters we do not fathom. We crave your counsel!
The boy, hearing tell of the fortress, asks his teacher with great zeal:
- Teacher, what is a fortress-house?
The boy swiftly plies his quill, recording the words of his teacher:
- Fortress-houses are likewise earthen houses, yet their purpose and design are vastly different. Ordinary earthen houses are built upon the plains or at the foot of vales, standing side by side like a kinsfolk gathered, showing the unity of the folk. But the fortress-house is set upon the mountainside to withstand brigands and wild beasts; its defense is passing firm, wherefore the people call it a fortress-house.
The writing finished, the boy follows the Elder in haste to the distant mountain. There, lusty swains are heaving great stones, setting them in order upon the frames about the portal.
The Elder walks warily among them. The boy covers his mouth and laughs in secret, seeing him stoop and creep, groping his way through the thief-deterrent stone-frames, as though he fears the boulders might crash upon his head.
The teacher rebukes him with a stern voice, and the pupil quickly rights his posture, assuming a solemn mien. The small boy pricks up his ears, listening to the Elder instruct the house-owner in the building of winding galleries. The house-owner nods. He watcheth the Elder fashion the roof-frames with wood and stone, dividing the house into many chambers with wooden doors.
The Elder remaineth ill at ease with this labyrinth, so easy to enter yet hard to flee; wherefore he fashioneth several embrasures into the walls beside the windows.
The boy is perplexed, scratching his head and looking upward, whereupon he seeth the house-owner aim and feign a shot through the slit.
The boy suddenly understandeth: this aperture is for defense. Should bandits seize the gallery, the house-owner may retreat into the chambers and hold them with stout resistance.
The labor ended, the house-owner prepareth the sacrificial meats of the house-warming rite, wishing to share them with the Elder. The Elder hastily maketh excuse, saying he must return home to discipline the mischievous brats. After many polite refusals, the house-owner finally relenteth.
The child marvelleth why the Elder rejecteth such kindness and asketh the teacher in a low voice. The teacher likewise whispereth in reply:
- If he accepteth the gift, should the house-owner later act in an unseemly manner, the Elder shall find it hard to deal with him with a clear heart.
The child noddeth and murmureth in assent, skipping like a bird unto the high peak to behold the entire vista, recording all in his tome. Before his eyes, heaven and earth lie vast, with rolling hills and winding mountain ranges encompassing the four quarters.
In the south, rivers and brooks intertwine amidst boundless forests. Night and day they murmur, flowing throughout the Bac Son; winding and coiling, they pass through the ancient forest of the East, dark and dismal, where mists ever brood and white vapors shroud the sky, such that a corner of the firmament loseth its hue. Beasts of the wood prowl by day and night, lurking for their prey.
This forest is well-nigh sundered from the world without, yet the fierce pressure of survival radiates toward the fringes, spreading everywhere as if to warn men not to draw nigh or disturb, lest calamity befall them.
Footnote
[1]Cubit here renders the Vietnamese thuoc of the Tran period (13th century), approximately 0.33 m. Thus, ten to twenty thuoc correspond to roughly 3.3–6.6 meters by modern measure.
[2]The cubit here is used as a traditional unit of measure. In practical terms, the wall thickness described corresponds roughly to 50–70 centimeters in modern metric measurement.
[3]Dang Mo Waterfall is located at the 11-kilometer marker on National Highway 279, leading from Binh Gia (Lang Son) to Na Ri (Bac Kan). The site lies at the junction of three highland communes within Binh Gia: Mong An, Thien Thuat, and Hoang Van Thu.