Xu Zhouxu had stayed in the rainforest for less than three days. He didn’t even wait for Song Yu to return from Paso before fleeing back to São Paulo.
He left a short note at the farm, instructing Song Yu to get in touch with him once she was back in São Paulo. He offered no explanation for his abrupt departure.
From what Bam had implied, though, it was likely the gruesome scene of butchering the monkey carcass after the hunt that had terrified him.
Xu Zhouxu’s face had gone deathly pale on the spot. That evening, the smell of the tribe cooking rice and roasting meat had sent him vomiting for what felt like hours.
Xu Zhouxu had been thoughtful enough to leave behind plenty of supplies for her, including a complete set of high-end camping gear.
The frequent rains of the wet season kept swelling the river, and the riverbank path Song Yu took daily to the tribe had narrowed to barely enough room for one person to pass. In a few more days, it would likely be submerged entirely.
Song Yu ended up discussing it with Takwar. She packed up her camping equipment and portable generator, setting up her tent right there in the tribe—on the open patch of ground outside Takwar’s wooden hut.
Once she had settled into tribal life, Song Yu gained a much clearer picture of the village layout. The wooden huts ringed the perimeter, enclosing a central open area for communal activities.
The Chieftain’s and Old Witch Doctor’s homes stood side by side on the best, flattest spot of ground.
With only about twenty-odd people in the tribe, it didn’t take Song Yu long to learn who lived in which hut.
Everyone except the one who wasn’t there.
Pei Zhi hadn’t returned with them by boat from Paso. Instead, he had ventured deeper into the southern jungle in search of traces of the Apotara Tribe.
He had slipped away early, saying his farewells only to Takwar. By the time Song Yu and Kasi woke up, he was already gone.
After their return from Paso, Song Yu rarely heard anyone in the tribe mention the name “Pating” anymore. It was as if the man had never existed.
One day, she ventured to ask Kasi about it.
Kasi chewed the cassava she had mashed into a pulp in her mouth, then spat it into the large vat fermenting the masato. “If you left, we wouldn’t talk about you anymore.”
She blinked. “We don’t think about people who aren’t here right now.” They lived entirely in the present, seldom dwelling on the future or the absent. Their focus stayed on those around them in the moment.
Song Yu was stunned by those words for a long time. In the end, she forced herself not to dwell on it.
She didn’t have Kasi’s easy detachment, though. A faint resentment lingered—irritation at his leaving without a word.
Deep down, however, Song Yu knew her displeasure stemmed from her own failings.
She had harbored expectations she had no right to hold.
In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed since Song Yu’s arrival in the rainforest. And then she fell ill.
She had always suffered from migraines, which she could usually endure at first. But whether due to the humid rainy season or some other factor, they grew steadily worse.
Sleepless nights piled up, fraying her temper. Her script had gone untouched for days.
Song Yu had never imagined that all that green could feel suffocating.
Another night of torment dragged on without sleep, leaving her alert and aching until dawn.
The tent roof was blanketed with palm fronds dislodged by the night’s rain. Song Yu opened her eyes and slowly raised a hand, pressing her thumb and forefinger to her temples as she let out a long breath.
Kasi called to her from outside.
Ever since Song Yu had promised to take her to São Paulo, the girl had been bubbling with energy, like a happy little lark.
Song Yu unzipped the center flap of the tent, and a wave of damp air rushed in.
Kasi noticed the bloodshot veins in her eyes and the pallor of her lips. Worry creased her face. “Didn’t sleep well again?”
Song Yu felt drained, her temples throbbing visibly. She managed a faint “Mm.”
“Why don’t you let the witch doctor take a look?” Kasi leaned inside and tugged at her arm, pulling her to her feet. “I know you don’t trust witch doctors, but even the doctors back home couldn’t figure out what’s wrong.”
Song Yu let herself be dragged out of the tent, though inwardly she resisted. She remembered how the Old Witch Doctor had treated Bam’s injury—like some kind of soul-calling ritual. It had seemed utterly unreliable. Besides, the Old Witch Doctor had never warmed to her; he was always distant and cool.
“No need. I’ll get through it.”
“You’ve been toughing it out for days already.” Kasi was insistent. “Maybe the witch doctor can help. He speaks with the guardian spirit. You’re an outsider, sure, but our gods are merciful and kind. They might heal you yet.”
Song Yu grew more skeptical with every word.
The Old Witch Doctor’s treehouse was nearby. Kasi led Song Yu straight there, calling out to him from a distance.
The Old Witch Doctor stood at the front of his hut, leaning on his wooden staff. His cloudy eyes fixed unblinkingly on Song Yu.
Kasi explained the symptoms in the tribe’s language.
Song Yu felt a chill under that gaze. It was as if some ancient sage, who had long outlived ordinary time, were peering into her soul—seeing through every doubt she had ever harbored about him.
The staff tapped twice against the steps, the crocodile teeth clacking dully.
The Old Witch Doctor turned and shuffled into the treehouse, his back slightly stooped, his steps slow and halting.
Kasi nudged Song Yu with her elbow. “Hurry up and go in.”
This was Song Yu’s first time inside the treehouse. The previous occasion with Bam’s injury, she had only caught glimpses through the door and windows.
The space was cramped. At the far end sat a low bed lashed together from branches, topped with a doe-hide mat stained dark with layers of dried blood—marks from who knew how many patients.
The floor around it was littered with bundles of medicinal herbs and rows of clay jars.
Some jars held plant juices; others brimmed with fresh animal blood.
The air hung heavy with a complex, mingled scent.
The Old Witch Doctor raised his staff and pointed to the bed, muttering a few raspy words. His voice was thick, as if clogged with phlegm.
Song Yu could guess his meaning. She hesitated, then lay down reluctantly on the deer-skin-covered bed.
The branch-framed mattress curved unevenly, digging uncomfortably into her back.
Kasi, still worried, followed her in. Even her usual playful energy seemed muted here, sealed away by the hut’s solemnity. She huddled quietly in the corner, speaking up only to whisper translations when needed.
“Close your eyes.”
The Old Witch Doctor gathered a handful of dried herbs and held them to the fire until they caught, filling the space with thick, acrid smoke.
Kasi translated: “Stay lying down until they’re burned out.”
By now, Song Yu had little choice but to obey, shutting her eyes.
The herb smoke started off sharp and stinging, but soon she grew accustomed to it.
The Old Witch Doctor shook his staff in steady rhythm, its ornaments jingling. He mumbled in strange, guttural tones.
Song Yu’s thoughts drifted with the sounds. The throbbing in her temples eased slightly.
She heard two sets of footsteps departing—one heavy and measured, the other light—leaving the treehouse one after the other.
The dried herbs smoldered slowly. She was alone in the room.
The unfamiliar herbs left her head swimming, her mind hovering in a haze between wakefulness and daze.
Suddenly, the wooden door creaked open—long and slow. The footsteps that followed were soft, not the Old Witch Doctor’s shuffling gait.
Eyes still closed, Song Yu lifted her wrist and wiggled her fingers. In a mumble, she said, “Kasi, my head still hurts.”
The newcomer said nothing. They approached the bed and squatted down, stirring a faint breeze.
Song Yu felt fingertips press against her temples—gentle at first, then firmer, circling clockwise.
The touch was rough, the pads callused and slightly cool.
A familiar cedar scent mingled with the air.
She froze for a moment, then opened her eyes to meet the man’s pitch-black gaze. The Six-Pointed Star Earring swayed lightly.
“You’re back,” she said.
The man gave a slight nod, his fingers never pausing. His voice came low and measured. “Feeling unwell?”
The massage felt wonderful. Song Yu squinted in lazy bliss, like a contented fox, and let out a soft “Hm.”
“Go back to sleep.” Pei Zhi laid his palm over her eyes. It was warm and dry.
Darkness fell. The herbal incense relaxed her furrowed brow, weighing down her eyelids.
The pain at her temples seemed to slip away along his cool, mint-like fingertips.
Outside, rain pattered—from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour, then tapering off.
The fingers on her temples circled tirelessly, as if they knew no fatigue.
Song Yu tried to rouse herself, to ask the hand’s owner some questions, but exhaustion dragged her under. Her body and mind pulled her farther away.
The lumpy wood beneath her vanished, replaced by light, drifting clouds.
Her body felt featherweight, as if it might float away at any moment.
She didn’t know how much time passed.
An itch and a cool weight settled at her ear.
A man’s low voice murmured something nearby. She strained to focus but couldn’t make out the words before sleep claimed her fully.
When Song Yu woke, dusk had fallen.
It was the kind of post-rain twilight where the sunset glowed a beautiful rose hue.
The treehouse stood empty.
The herbs in the fire had burned to ash, still radiating faint warmth.
Song Yu sniffed. Only the lingering scent of herbs remained in the air.
Dazed, she pushed herself up on one elbow and stared out the window at the sunset.
Her mind replayed the events from earlier, vivid yet dreamlike. Song Yu wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.
She stepped out of the treehouse. In the clearing, Kasi was competing in archery with some children. Spotting Song Yu, she jogged over.
“How are you feeling?”
Song Yu hadn’t slept this well in days. She felt utterly refreshed, her spirit uplifted. Even the dense wall of greenery around her no longer grated on her nerves.
“Much better.”
“That’s great. See? The witch doctor knew what he was doing.” Kasi beamed, thrilled that the treatment had worked its magic on Song Yu. Midway through her words, however, her eyes fixed on Song Yu’s left ear.
“Huh? What’s that?”
Song Yu followed her gaze and twisted her head, but she saw nothing.
“Oh, right there—how’d you get an earring?” Kasi pointed.
Song Yu blinked in surprise. She reached up to touch her ear and felt something she hadn’t noticed before: a metal object, cool against her skin.
She carefully removed it. There, resting quietly in her palm, lay a round six-pointed star earring. In the sunlight, it gleamed with a white cross of light.
Song Yu stared at it in a daze. After a long moment, she suddenly let out a soft laugh.
So it hadn’t been a dream.
Back in the treehouse, the words the man had murmured into her ear suddenly rang clear as day.
He had said—
“Wait for me to come back.”