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Fatty finished saying this and ran off to another room to be with Xiao Ting. Meanwhile, Vietnamese quickly returned to my room with a sorrowful expression, pleading with me, "Brother Qiang."
I knew that Fatty must have told him he needed to follow Fatty's lead.
I immediately interrupted him, making a shushing gesture and mouthing, "You need to get used to communicating this way. Also, stick close to Fatty. Just a reminder, you know his temper; don't provoke him. Follow his arrangements. He thinks you're clever for a reason; he needs help, and who else can go with him but you?"
A San was not someone easily fooled. He quickly replied, "You could ask Buasong to go with Fatty. Fatty understands Lao, so communication won't be an issue. Lao people are great at navigating mountain paths; passing messages would be more effective than me."
A San's words suddenly enlightened me. I thought of a way to deal with the eavesdropping.
But first, I needed to send Vietnamese away. "Don't involve me in this; Fatty chose the person himself. You go find Fatty; it has nothing to do with me."
Upon hearing this, A San immediately lost his temper and slumped against the wall, looking as if he were about to face execution.
I wanted to comfort him but thought better of it. Letting Fatty take someone along was my idea; currently, the only one who could go with Fatty was Vietnamese. Buasong was preoccupied with Fumi. Even if he went out with Fatty, his mind would still be here. Besides, no one else could care for Fumi like Buasong did. I also feared that A San would cling to me like a stubborn gum. After all, I was his only hope in his eyes.
I thought of a way to deal with eavesdropping: language. This is an extremely closed-off village, and from what I've seen, they only speak Chinese. If we communicate in English, they should be at a complete loss.
Although my English is poor, I can manage basic communication if I slow down a bit. Xiao Ting should have no problem; girls generally have a better grasp of language than boys. At least she should be better than me. It’s just unfortunate for Fatty; back in school, he spent the time others used to memorize vocabulary goofing off, otherwise his intelligence wouldn’t have kept him from getting into college. Just look at how well he knows Lao and Vietnamese.
Fatty didn’t stay in the other room for long; he came back before it got completely dark. It seems that running around tired him out; he lay down on the floor and started snoring like thunder. The Vietnamese stuffed two paper balls in his ears and took the opportunity to sleep as well. He must know that tomorrow’s run with Fatty won’t be easy.
I knew the Vietnamese also snored, but it was definitely within my tolerance. However, tonight it seemed he caught Fatty ’s snoring bug, and the two of them competed in making noise. I ended up counting sheep all night and finally dozed off just before dawn.
I had no idea when they left; when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky.
I checked Jack and Fumi's injuries, mainly looking to see if Jack's wound was infected. Fumi had a protective brace on his leg, so it would take time to see any results there. The ointment on Jack's back had dried and solidified. There was no foul smell coming from it. We needed to wait for Dr. Tang to come for a dressing change, and it wasn’t just about changing the bandage; how often it needed to be changed would depend on how the wound healed.
After eating something, I made my way to the door of the first room in Bamboo House. I wanted to pay a visit to our landlord; Fatty ’s evaluation of him piqued my curiosity.
I knocked on the door, and an aged, rough voice came from inside. "Come in. The door isn't locked."
Rooms in Hakka Village are not locked; they can be secured from the inside, leaving them completely unguarded once you step out.
I pushed the door open. It was dark and hot inside.
The stairs leading up to Bamboo House opened into a short corridor connecting three rooms on the northern side of the main building. The sun had just risen, casting all of Bamboo House's shadows onto this corridor, making it relatively dim.
But at that moment, I felt bright because the room was so dark.
A thick curtain hung over the southern window, blocking any light from entering. In the center of the room was a Fire Pit, where charcoal burned with a faint red glow, illuminating an old man sitting in a rattan chair in front of it.
He faced me—or more accurately, he faced the door across the Fire Pit. His clothes seemed oversized, perhaps due to his frail frame; the old man nestled into the rattan chair, his large Hakka Jacket draped over him like a blanket.
I noticed that Hakka people generally have good hair quality, and this old man was no exception. His pure white hair was tied up without any headscarf. If it weren't for the color, one could hardly imagine this was an elderly man given the luster and thickness of his hair.
However, the loose wrinkles on his face and his dull eyes revealed his true age. The old man's complexion was an unhealthy grayish-white, as if vitality could leave him at any moment. At that moment, I recognized Fatty's comment about him: he was a man on the brink of death.
"Come in and close the door. I'm too old to be out in the wind," the old man said to me quickly before I could fully take in his appearance or the room.
I couldn't possibly refuse an elderly man, especially at his age. If something were to happen because of me, I would regret it deeply. The mere thought of being criticized by the Hakka community was unbearable; it would be a stain I could never wash away.
I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me. Instantly, the entire space was bathed in a strange hue.
It was a dark red. The dim light from the fire pit cast an eerie glow on the old man's face and body, illuminating the yellow-brown walls and creating a sense of isolation. This atmosphere felt oppressive and unsettling.
Sweat trickled down my back and face. It wasn't fear; I wasn't weak enough to be frightened to that extent by an old man. It was the temperature of the room that struck me, particularly when I closed the door—it became painfully clear just how stifling it was inside.
The old man gestured toward a rattan chair in the corner. "Sit."
I nodded. "Thank you."
Relieved, I walked over and took a seat. This spot was farthest from the fire pit, likely the coolest place in the room.
As I settled in, I noticed that it was indeed cooler here, at least compared to sitting directly in front of the fire pit. However, I still couldn't face the old man directly; I could only see his profile, which made his already dim eyes appear even more blurred.
I came here to understand him, but sitting so far away and at an angle where I couldn't see him directly wouldn't achieve that goal. I picked up the rattan chair and moved it to sit directly across from him.
"How should I address you, sir?"
"Hehe." The old man chuckled for the first time. "My name is Luo Jin. You can call me Lao or just use my name, but please don't call me 'old man.'"
I was surprised by his attitude. Was it a taboo in Hakka Village to refer to someone as 'old man'? However, Wu Bo didn't seem to mind; perhaps it was he who preferred that I address him this way. I couldn't help but scrutinize the old man across from me, comparing him in my mind to Wu Bo.
(To Be Continued...)
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