Chapter 17
Selene
A pack of hounds snap the branches and trample the budding blossoms. Nguyet's face darkens; she steps forward with a heart full of ire and delivers sharp slaps across their faces, striking with such force that their jawbones are displaced.
- This whore is tired of living!
- I will ravage her to death!
They surge forward to besiege her at once. The other maidens move to aid her, but Luu Tinh restrains them:
- Only through solitary combat can she accumulate the necessary tempering of her path.
The girls fret as Nguyet is encircled by dozens of the lot. Their faces flush crimson with a mix of desire to help and a hesitation to dispute Luu Tinh's command. They can only anxiously plead with the Mistress:
- The foes are numerous; I fear Nguyet finds them difficult to contend with…
The Mistress reclines upon her rattan chair, nibbling on chestnuts while watching Nguyet strike down countless men. The henchmen are enraged, rushing forward with a fierce aura.
Nguyet has no desire to slay anyone in this tranquil and fair reach, so as each fellow darts past, she keeps her blade within its sheath, using only the scabbard to fell her opponents.
Those who snapped the boughs and sheared the leaves find their arms broken by her hand, while those who trampled the flora are lashed until they limp.
Though they face a girl of tender countenance and slender frame, the henchmen fail to subdue her. Bui Giai has been driven nearly mad with fury, for he has lost the coin he spent to hire this pack of "rice-sacks and clothes-racks."
Bui Giai has dared not borrow his father's personal retainers; instead, he has drawn from his own private purse to hire a band of wandering swordsmen who have come to Lang Chau seeking a means to survive.
He has possessed confidence in his own prowess, yet he has desired a crowd to surround him to parade his renown and flaunt his might before Luu Tinh.
Furthermore, habituated to wielding might to oppress the weak, he has hastily employed a pack whose mettle he has yet to weigh, only to find they are a flock of gluttonous fools.
Bui Giai bellows in anger:
- Women must be taught how to serve men! Such celestial beauties, I shall make them moan fervently upon the bed!
The young master waves his hand and commands loudly:
- Exert your all to seize them! Once you seize them, half shall be your bounty!
Her willow-brows arched high, pointing toward her temples like twin swords. Nguyet swings her weapon to fell many men, then thunders at Bui Giai:
- The village folk toiled to grow these precious blooms, yet a parasite who has lived his whole life as mistletoe knows no shame—just like you—even daring to trample the efforts of others! - With every word of her lecture, she hurls a fist that crushes the face of each man - If not for your parents' wealth, a useless man like you would have perished in the gutters long ago!
Nothing is more humiliating than being spat upon by a woman. Lying beneath the trailing folds of her garments, the swordsmen, shamed beyond measure, have become even more frenzied than Bui Giai. They launch a collective assault once more, and Bui Giai joins the fray immediately.
The maidens rush to her aid. Luu Tinh shakes her head slightly, nibbling chestnuts with a lukewarm gaze as she watches the mob charge fiercely toward Nguyet.
Though the girl doubles her strength, the foes are too crowded. No sooner has she struck one fellow down than the others begin to use foul play, reaching directly for Nguyet's chest. Bui Giai smirks, turning his fist into a claw as he lunges toward Nguyet's intimate parts.
Nguyet is filled with resentment, her eyes brimming with tears as she retreats in helplessness. The fellow behind her laughs with glee and kicks at her back.
A triumphant and lecherous Bui Giai grins, raising his hand to seize her bosom while the other hand gropes obscenely at her modesty. Such vile conduct forces the maidens to disregard their Mistress's order; they draw their blades in panic to rescue her:
- Bastard!
- Slay them!
Just as the filthy hands are about to defile Nguyet's body, two streaks of fierce blade-light flash through the air, piercing their targets.
Fresh blood flows upon the earth accompanied by shrill cries of agony. Seeing the hands of those lewd knaves pierced by the knives, Luu Tinh has breathed a sigh of relief and has turned toward the distance with a smile.
For days, Luu Tinh has observed Thiet Nam in secret to discern the bond between him and Nguyet. What has first piqued the landlady's suspicion has been the moment he has broken the formation with his 'shadow-double' technique; she has realized then that such prowess could never belong to a mere Tribal Border Warrior. His true strength, until now, has remained unrevealed.
A vague affection hides within this game of chasing fleeting forms and grasping at shadows; yet, seeing his countenance suddenly darken like the depths of hell, Luu Tinh can at least grasp a measure of the feelings he bears for Nguyet.
The landlady crosses her legs with grace, lightly swaying her chair with an air of absolute composure, silently waiting for Nguyet's savior to unleash his thunderous ire.
The murderous aura, which initially flickered in his eyes like purple lightning, vanishes in an instant. The swordsmen remain stricken with terror, scurrying away like rats in a frantic rout.
Several men hurriedly prop up the writhing Bui Giai from the dirt; they all flee in a panicked and wretched retreat.
- A specter! There is a specter! He is a fiend!
Thiet Nam remains entirely focused on his drawing. From the first stroke until the work is complete, he pays no heed to the gazes they cast upon him, nor their scornful pouting and jeers calling him a hypocrite.
His frost-cold demeanor leaves Nguyet bewildered. Thiet Nam stands at a distance. She dares not speak, only lowering her head in a grateful nod.
Given Thiet Nam's erratic nature and conduct, the others still hope he might utter a few words of civility or nod to acknowledge Nguyet's sincerity.
However, he folds the scroll as if nothing has occurred, leisurely lifting each basket of flowers onto the wagon and saying to Luu Tinh:
- Landlady, dawn has broken. Let us escort the freight!
Such a cold and arrogant attitude stifles all tender sentiment. To cherish another is to cherish a stretch of road; to hate another is to find both the coming path and the returning loop choked with loathing. The mountain maidens harbor prejudice and cannot refrain from cursing him bitterly.
In ordinary times, however sharp-tongued they might be, the maidens dare not vent their fury openly, causing their resentment to fester.
Now, because of Nguyet, their hearts are ablaze; they seize the chance to unleash their rage on behalf of their youngest sister, though it serves also as a release for themselves. He treats their mockery as nothing more than a breeze drifting past his ears.
He moves the wares with a serene expression. The girls' foul words make everyone feel ashamed for him. The sharper and more caustic the sisters become, the more flustered Nguyet grows. She rubs her flushed cheeks, complaining of the piercing cold as a pretext to hide within the carriage.
Luu Tinh silently observes his performance: his face set in ice, his movements brusque, causing the girls to look down upon him even more. To earn another's cherish is harder than scaling peaks or fording rivers; to incite loathing is as effortless as turning one's palm.
The landlady does not understand why he insists on ruining his own shadow with such a disagreeable visage. She racks her mind but cannot explain the reason behind it. Luu Tinh drags her steps languidly and intentionally lets her hand slip; the goods in the bucket scatter instantly across the ground.
- Oh, my aged back! It is killing me!
The girls immediately rush in a panic to help Luu Tinh into the wagon.
- Landlady, are you well?
- Shall I apply some medicinal oil for you?
Luu Tinh waves them off, saying:
- My back aches; I did not ask you to rub medicinal oil. Enough, let us transport the freight quickly!
The mountain maidens pause, suddenly realizing the landlady has intentionally diverted everyone's attention to spare the girls from further scrutiny. She frets too much; in truth, no one truly cares for such matters.
The village folk, having avoided the chaos, now dare to emerge and pluck young buckwheat shoots, tossing them into pots to simmer bone broth. They joyfully teach Thiet Nam how to prepare the provisions.
He converses with them in a merry manner, watching briefly as an elder pours dried flower seeds into a mortar, which an old woman then grinds into flour.
Seeing him ask about one thing one moment and another the next, the mountain maidens find it tiresome, yet they struggle to restrain their caustic tongues to avoid losing face. Luu Tinh blinks and teases:
- Hah, a diligent man is adept at managing the household, so his wife and children need not toil. Whoever wishes to wed him, raise your hand at once!
The maidens, filled with indignation, grab their belongings and gallop away on their horses. Luu Tinh climbs into the wagon with a smile, sitting beside Thiet Nam.
He frowns and waves his hand to dispel the thick scent of rouge clinging to Luu Tinh. The landlady covers her mouth, her smile enchanting as she speaks:
- You are a man, why are you so bashful? Can an old woman like me truly make you afraid?
Thiet Nam glances at Luu Tinh. The landlady lets out a soft sigh, slips into the carriage, and changes her attire as if no one is watching. Inside, the girls' faces turn crimson, their laughter stifled.
She does not mind whether the man of blood and mettle outside can hear the rustle of garments. A moment later, Luu Tinh emerges and takes her seat beside Thiet Nam.
In stark contrast to the eccentric attire she donned upon the day he arrived at the Caravanserai, today she is clad in a cross-collared robe paired with a lower garment woven from sand-willow gauze.
A silk sash of oaken hue winds twice around her waist, the remainder tied into a teardrop knot with the ends dangling before her.
Both ends of the sash leave a length of unwoven warp, braided into elegant tassels. Beneath the garment lies a white inner lining with a round collar of four cun in breadth[1].
Such simple, rustic attire is a common sight. Yet, while others' garments sway in the breeze, Luu Tinh wilfully lets her raiment cling to her fiery figure, etching out a lithe and graceful silhouette that draws every eye. She holds a white-crane feather fan, her feet clad in leather sandals, her toes gripping the sandals' straps with an air of relaxed elegance.
While the other girls have shorn their dark tresses to three cun, coiled into brush-shaped buns atop their heads with no hair left at the temples or the nape, Luu Tinh is different.
She binds her hair high in a rooster-tail style, with a single lock of hair falling past her shoulder, three cun longer than any man's.
The poor fasten their hair with bone or horn pins, while the wealthy adorn themselves with tortoiseshell hairpins.
Luu Tinh selects a glass hairpin shaped like a waterbird and a pair of three-clawed earrings[2]. These fineries, seen during her travels through Champa, have become part of her unique adornment.
In those reaches, there are also earrings wrought in the likeness of twin beast-heads[3], agate beads, bracelets of gemstone and glass, and wristlets ground from sea shells. The landlady had swiftly purchased every ornament that was not of the Dai Viet.
On ordinary days, the girls wear neither rouge nor oils. Within the Caravanserai, Luu Tinh often accents her fair skin with herbs, always warm-hearted as she mingles with travelers from afar.
During the hours of trade and negotiation, she paints her already enchanting features to a point of supreme allure, a sight that seizes the soul.
Entranced by her splendor, which rivals that of a Western aristocrat, many a lecher falls into her trap. Even the wiliest old foxes grow tipsy upon the Merchant wine, enamored by her heaven-sent visage and her talent for weaving mazes of enchantment, until they are led by the nose by this 'vixen,' following her will in all things. Today, however, Luu Tinh appears in an entirely different light. Thiet Nam heaves a weary sigh:
- What scheme are you plotting today, Landlady?
Luu Tinh blinks, a look of doubt crossing her face. He gestures for her to look into a small mirror. She gazes at her face—unpainted, without lip-stain or herbal accents—for a long time, then asks in confusion:
- Is my face soiled?
Thiet Nam clicks his tongue:
- Do you not feel that you are vastly different from your usual self?
Luu Tinh looks blank, failing to grasp his meaning:
- Am I? I have never felt better!
Thiet Nam sighs helplessly:
- I have never seen you look so... unusual.
Luu Tinh narrows her eyes, looking into the mirror once more, suspicious:
- I am as simple as a village girl, yet you say I am unusual. What do you mean by that?
Thiet Nam speaks plainly:
- The difference is that, though you are simple, you are more soul-stirring than when you are at your most magnificent!
Luu Tinh blinks repeatedly, then widens her eyes to stare at him, as if trying to discern why he would suddenly praise an old woman:
- Because I am but fourteen tender springs! Who can refuse a girl in her budding years? - Luu Tinh says with innocent wonder - I am merely living according to my age!
Thiet Nam teases her, half-joking:
- Oh, so landlady is coming to the martial contest assembly to find a husband! Daughters of marriageable age all need to wed, and this martial contest is the perfect chance to seek a fine groom. But you are usually so coquettish, ah-oh. Do you plan to remain so at the grand event? What are you truly up to? Don't tell me you really want to find a husband; you are competing for men with your own daughters...
Luu Tinh hears Thiet Nam mention these delicate matters and instantly grasps that he is laying a snare for her. The proprietress lowers her head with a faint smile; the words reach the edge of her lips, yet she checks herself:
- Oh, so you are also quite adept at drollery?
Thiet Nam retorts with a biting edge:
- But compared to your ceaseless jests, I am still far behind.
Luu Tinh finds it dull and flings back a remark:
- Even if one jests for eternity, it is a futile endeavor against a mere block of wood.
He answers with a measured voice, his tone resolute:
- Man is no unfeeling plant, and I am no stone or timber; how could I not perceive your intent? I thank you for your bounty, but I cannot receive it. The one in my dreams still awaits my return! Your daughters behold me as a lecher, each loathing me and wishing for nothing but to see me undone. Furthermore... all who draw near to me can scarce escape a bitter end. I wish for no one to suffer for my sake. From this day forth, I pray you do not match me with any woman again.
After a moment of verbal strife, the ever-wary Luu Tinh is ultimately drawn into his scheme, and the situation unfolds entirely according to his will. Luu Tinh does not easily yield; she flings forth a daunting riddle:
- Nguyet?
Luu Tinh asks but a single word—"Nguyet"—yet it causes the eloquent Thiet Nam to be struck into sudden silence. Men of constancy are not rare in this realm, yet whenever Nguyet is mentioned, Thiet Nam always avoids the subject, leading Luu Tinh to believe he fears facing her.
Before Thiet Nam has set foot in the Caravanserai, he and Nguyet have never met, nor have they had any ties. He has been cold toward her solely to avoid being misunderstood as one who straddles two boats. But perhaps, that has not been the truth.
Why would a man who fears naught in heaven or earth, who does not shrink from the loss of face, and even bows his head to seek lodging at a caravanserai, fear a strange maiden? Moreover, after the recent fray and tumult, the officials have not yet intervened.
Luu Tinh thinks until her spirit is well-nigh unraveled, yet she remains unable to solve these two enigmas. She knows well that now is no opportune moment, thus she does not press with haste, but merely waits in silence for the turn of fate that shall lift the veil of truth.
Footnote
[1] The clothing of Ly–Tran aristocratic women, like other garments of the period, was influenced by the Tang–Song dynasties. Noble women of the Tang–Song era chiefly wore a combination of cross-collared robes worn over skirts and chang.
Their manner of dress differed from that of commoners. Their garments were often made of fine, thin fabric layered upon one another. The chang worn by noble women of the Tang–Song period was especially long, draping over the skirt; instead of being tied at the waist, it was bound higher, near the chest.
Furthermore, they may also have worn a sheer cross-collared robe as an outer layer, reflecting the Tang–Song ideal of a fuller physique as the standard of female beauty.
During the Tran dynasty, the use of red and other bright colors among commoners was restricted, with garments predominantly in white, black, and darker hues. White was primarily reserved for royal women and the aristocracy. Moreover, the illustrative depictions belong to the Lê period; while this is accurate in itself, the style of dress is inherited from the Ly–Tran tradition.
[2, 3] The history of glass production dates back to the Sa Huynh Culture, which flourished from approximately 1000 BC to the end of the 2nd century. The Sa Huynh Culture is one of the birthplaces of the three ancient civilizations within Vietnam's borders, which—together with the Dong Son and Oc Eo cultures—constitute the cultural triangle of Vietnam.
The Iron Age
Archaeologists discovered precious bead assemblages in the Sa Huynh burial grounds at Lai Nghi. During the screening process, over 8,600 blue, yellow, or brown glass beads were found.
The craft of man-made glass is a brilliant achievement of the Sa Huynh people. Residents melted white sand to produce glass, which was then used to craft bowls and vases.
Chinese historical records refer to this material as liuli, a term originating from the Sanskrit word verulia at the beginning of the Common Era.
This is one of the earliest places in the world to manufacture man-made glass. The glass artifacts are diverse in form and color, including blue, dark blue, green, grey, purple, red, and brown. According to Chinese annals, this land once produced a type of glass vessel prized as the liuli cup.
The most striking jewelry of the Sa Huynh people is the three-clawed earrings worn by women and the twin beast-head earrings used by men.
While the three-clawed earrings symbolize gentleness, refinement, and elegance, the twin beast-head earrings exhibit male bravery, pride, and masculinity.
Jewelry made of stone, agate, and glass is arguably the most unique essence of this civilization and is prevalent throughout Southeast Asia.
Dr. My Dung, an archaeologist from the Vietnam-Germany archaeological team, comments on these unique ornaments:
- From the perspective of universal symbols, the water bird symbolizes the sun. For instance, bird-shaped objects are found in urnfields of the late Bronze Age in Europe's Danube basin. The only animal-shaped agate bead string previously discovered in Southeast Asia is located in Thailand, shaped like a lion. To date, in excavated tombs, we have found only ordinary chain-like agate beads; agate beads shaped like animals have never been seen. From past to present, it is still believed that glass-making techniques during the Sa Huynh period were highly developed, but reaching such a high level of craftsmanship is truly staggering.
The twin beast-head earrings
https://zhuanlan.zhihu.com/p/649437783
More information about the Sa Huynh Culture
https://63stravel.com/zh/relics-new/yan-yi-290/sha-huang-wen-hua