On the third day of the film crew’s holiday, the days without shooting in the rainforest always dragged on, long and aimless.
Song Yu couldn’t stay idle. She decided to wander around, scouting for good filming spots and times.
Zhao Xinxin fussed over her with endless warnings. “Be careful out there. Don’t go falling in the river again.”
At his words, Song Yu remembered yesterday’s mishap. She curved her lips in a smile, slung her camera around her neck, and said, “I’m heading out.”
Sunlight brought entirely different moods depending on the time of day. A shift in angle or framing could guide the audience to feel something new.
Song Yu was obsessively picky about such details. Sometimes she’d reshoot a scene dozens of times over just a stray beam of light or a single frame.
The morning had started clear when she left, but by noon the sky had dulled. Thick clouds blanketed the sun and showed no sign of parting anytime soon.
Song Yu eyed the wasted shots on her camera and felt a spark of determination. She pressed on along the riverbank, heading upstream.
As she walked, she spotted a small waterfall tumbling down from on high.
Atop the falls lay a shallow pool, filled with the laughter and shouts of children speaking the local tribal tongue, mingled with strange animal hisses.
Song Yu made her way up. From a distance, she saw a little monkey surrounded by three naked local kids. They were tugging at its tail, refusing to let go.
The children were only five or six years old, but next to the scrawny monkey, they looked huge by comparison. The creature bared its teeth and snarled for ages, but it couldn’t break free.
Song Yu recognized the hapless monkey as Judy. She wondered if this was karma.
Amused, she had no intention of intervening. Instead, she raised her camera and crept closer.
With a sharp click—the camera flashed a blinding burst of white light.
The local children froze for a moment. They turned toward the sound and the glare, quickly spotting Song Yu.
They glanced at one another, muttering something. It was as if they’d stumbled on something even more fascinating than the monkey. They released its tail and charged toward her, hands outstretched for the camera.
Song Yu startled and clutched the camera to her chest, raising her arm high out of reach.
“Can’t touch! Can’t touch!” she said in English. But the kids kept pawing at it, grinning like it was the best new toy ever.
Judy, left behind and thoroughly soaked, rolled its beady eyes. It stared at Song Yu for a moment, then scampered off into the jungle on all fours.
Song Yu laughed despite herself, helpless against the children’s enthusiasm. She lowered the camera a bit.
“You can look, but no touching the buttons. Got it?” She spoke sternly in English, not caring if they understood.
The tallest boy reached out tentatively. Song Yu lifted the camera again. “No.”
He blinked his eyes and sniffed back a runny nose. He seemed to read the warning on her face and whispered to his friends. The other two pulled back their hands.
Song Yu lowered the camera experimentally. Sure enough, no one reached for it. They crowded close, peering obediently.
The children gaped at the tiny screen, thrilled to see themselves captured there. They clapped and chattered excitedly.
Song Yu couldn’t understand a word, but somehow she caught the sound of “Pating” in their babble.
She shook the camera and pressed the shutter button, gesturing. “Want your picture taken?”
The ringleader let out a short grunt.
Unsure if that meant yes or no, Song Yu aimed the lens at them.
The three shouldered together at once, flashing bright white teeth at the camera without a hint of shyness.
Song Yu framed the three Native American children. Their skin glowed with a healthy light brown hue, streaked with dried mud. They wore no clothes or shoes, but their laughter rang out pure and joyful—the essence of life close to nature.
Song Yu had grown weary of the rainforest’s harsh grind during her time there. Yet these past couple of days with the Native Americans stirred something indescribable in her.
In this savage wilderness, amid jungle greens that fatigued the eye, she’d discovered vivid new colors. Curiosity bloomed.
After the group shot, Song Yu snapped individual portraits for each child. They jabbered in their own tongue, yet somehow seemed to understand one another.
Bursting with excitement, the kids tugged at her clothes, pulling her along the riverbank upstream.
Only at the end did Song Yu realize they’d reached the Native American tribe’s settlement.
The indigenous village had no strict borders. They’d entered a spot where clanspeople rested and played, with houses of palm trunks standing farther off.
Five or six Native American women lounged in the clearing, their skin a warm yellowish-brown, cheekbones high and prominent. Some wore cotton skirts printed with flowers; others draped themselves in striped brown blankets that left their shoulders bare. Black vine patterns adorned their faces or bodies.
The women reclined lazily on mats woven from corn leaves. Some wove belt-like fabrics; others strung necklaces from colorful beads and parrot feathers.
Song Yu realized at once that she’d stumbled into a world not meant for outsiders. She waved hastily at the children and turned to leave.
But it was too late. A smaller naked toddler tumbled into one woman’s lap and pointed straight at Song Yu.
The women set aside their work and converged on her.
Song Yu stood frozen, flustered enough to blurt out Chinese.
“Sorry, I’ll go right now.” She backed away as she spoke.
To her surprise, the mother of one of the smaller children grabbed her arm. The woman frowned and jabbed a finger at the camera, saying something sharp.
Thinking she wanted to see the photos, Song Yu pulled them up on the screen.
But the images only agitated the women more. They lunged for the camera strap.
Surrounded on all sides, sweat beading on Song Yu’s forehead, she pleaded, “No, I can’t give you the camera. How about I develop the pictures later and bring them back?”
The women’s eyes stayed glued to the camera. They grew angrier, yanking at the strap to hold her back. Their voices rose in a clamor.
Just as Song Yu floundered, unsure what to do, a powerful shout rang out from the far side of the village.
The children bolted toward the sound with gleeful whoops. The women turned their attention that way too.
Song Yu followed their gaze.
The tribe’s men were returning from the hunt.
Chief Takwar led the way, his face smeared with red pigment, a wooden quiver slung across his back. He dragged his kill behind him.
A doe.
The other men were dressed similarly, each hauling some prey—nothing less than a wild rabbit if they were empty-handed.
As the last man pushed through a curtain of banana leaves, Song Yu blinked. Her gaze locked on him.
The shadows of the banana trees traced his upright figure. His features were sharp and deep-set, his face clean of paint, his skin a healthy wheat tone, a shade lighter than the others.
One hand was tucked casually in his pocket; the other held a leather-bound notebook, a silver fountain pen clipped to the cover.
His eyes were lowered to one of the pages, absorbed in whatever he read.
For a moment, Song Yu felt disoriented. He didn’t look like a hunter at all—more like a scholar out for a leisurely stroll, utterly out of place among the crowd.
She watched the women rush to embrace their returning hunters, intimate and unselfconscious.
Song Yu couldn’t help scrutinizing the man, wondering if he had a woman waiting.
Pei Zhi was reviewing his field notes from the day, jotting down the Kadu Indian Tribe’s hunting habits and techniques.
In the background, Takwar chatted idly with his two wives. Pei Zhi paid it no mind. His thoughts lingered on a rock wall he’d stumbled upon in the forest—a cave wall covered in ancient Indian Cave Paintings.
“Pating.”
Takwar’s call snapped Pei Zhi from his reverie. He looked up—and straight ahead, his eyes met Song Yu’s warm, liquid gaze amid the throng.
Pei Zhi paused, a faint furrow creasing his brow. He snapped the notebook shut and strode toward her, crossing the entire village.
Song Yu met his stare without flinching. She raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, owning up at once.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass on your turf.”
“…”
She admitted fault quickly enough.
Pei Zhi said nothing. His glance fell on the camera hanging from her neck, its silver body smudged with the black prints of children’s fingers.
Song Yu rose on tiptoe, peering past his shoulder. The men were showing off their kills.
“Did you catch anything?” she asked.
Pei Zhi shrugged.
Nothing to show for it.
Song Yu arched a brow. His carefree demeanor suggested no shame at offering nothing to the tribe.
He was handsome, true—but useless at hunting. No wonder no woman claimed him, not even to greet him on his return.
Song Yu considered for a moment, then fished something from her pocket. She’d picked it up along the way.
She held out her hand to the man.
“Here. For you.”
Pei Zhi glanced down. In the woman’s pale palm lay two plump, purple-red wild berries.
“…”
In the prehistoric matriarchal societies, women gathered berries to feed the men.
For some reason, Pei Zhi felt that the scene before him bore some resemblance to that other one.