Takwar walked over, his arms linked with his two wives. One of them was the mother of the smaller child, her cheeks adorned with intricate black face paint.
The other wife wore a beautiful colorful necklace and appeared a bit older than the child’s mother, her demeanor far more composed.
The younger wife pointed at Song Yu and said something to them, recounting the incident with a hint of complaint in her tone.
Pei Zhi caught the gist of it and gave Song Yu a faint glance.
Song Yu couldn’t understand a word, so she simply blinked at him, looking utterly bewildered.
“Did you take their photos?” Pei Zhi asked in English.
Finally, someone she could communicate with. Song Yu let out a genuine sigh of relief.
She nodded and quickly explained, “But I only took a few pictures. I didn’t do anything else.”
After a pause, as if remembering something, she added cautiously, “Oh, and I picked some berries from the bushes near your camp…” Surely that wasn’t the issue.
“…”
She was being remarkably honest.
Pei Zhi rubbed his brow and then conversed with Takwar’s two wives in the local tongue.
His speech was slow and measured, even slower than the other Native Americans, his voice deep and magnetic.
Film was a audiovisual art, and thanks to her profession, Song Yu had a particular sensitivity to voices. This man’s voice immediately struck her as belonging to someone rational and sharp-minded.
During their conversation, the chieftain’s two wives occasionally glanced at Song Yu, but they directed most of their words to Pei Zhi, treating him as the one who could resolve the matter while leaving Takwar on the sidelines.
Pei Zhi responded in his laid-back way, his words carrying a soothing magic. The women’s tones shifted from initial dissatisfaction to gradual calm.
“How many photos in total?” Pei Zhi suddenly asked.
Song Yu had been so absorbed in listening that it took her a moment to realize he was addressing her. She met his pitch-black eyes, calm and indifferent.
Her long lashes fluttered, and then she hurriedly looked down to check her camera.
“Five,” Song Yu said with a light cough, her voice subdued.
Pei Zhi explained, “The Kadu Native Americans believe that if their image is captured in a camera, it damages the integrity of their soul.”
Song Yu hadn’t expected the locals to view something as ordinary as photography in that light. No wonder they’d reacted so strongly.
“What should I do, then? Delete them?”
Pei Zhi continued discussing with the older woman.
She waved her hand, clearly dissatisfied with that solution, and held up one finger.
Takwar’s expression stiffened. He tugged at his wife’s arm, seemingly disagreeing with her.
They hadn’t exchanged many words before they started arguing. The younger wife chimed in.
The older wife turned and scolded her, turning the exchange into total chaos.
Pei Zhi ignored their domestic squabble, as if accustomed to it. He turned to Song Yu. “One Real per photo.”
The Real was Brazil’s common currency, worth less than two RMB.
“Huh?” Song Yu blinked, caught off guard.
“You need to compensate them for the soul damage to their child,” Pei Zhi said.
Song Yu patted down her pockets and realized she hadn’t brought any money. In the rainforest, there really wasn’t much need for it.
After a moment’s thought, she removed the cyan-white jade bracelet from her wrist.
Each bead was a perfectly round orb, gradually shading from white to green, with a translucent luster and exquisite craftsmanship. It was clearly no cheap trinket.
“Can I use this instead? One bead per photo.”
“…” Pei Zhi stared at her impassive expression and fell silent for a beat. “If you don’t mind.”
He relayed her offer. The women eyed the bracelet, murmuring among themselves, and eventually accepted with evident delight.
Song Yu casually snapped the string, and the three mothers each selected beads for their shares.
Though they couldn’t speak the same language, Song Yu could clearly sense their attitudes softening. They even smiled at her warmly.
Song Yu cradled the remaining beads in one hand, idly clicking them together with the other, producing the clear chime of jade striking jade.
“Could you ask if I can trade beads for a few more photos?”
The chance to capture the most authentic shots of an indigenous tribe was too good to pass up.
Pei Zhi fixed his gaze on her eyes, sparkling with excitement over this novelty.
He frowned.
“No,” Pei Zhi refused flatly, his expression cool.
“Nothing else? Then you should go,” he added, as if afraid she wouldn’t get that he was shooing her away. “Remember what you promised before.”
Song Yu, of course, remembered his earlier words. Listening to his cold, impatient voice, she was sharply reminded of the civilized boundaries between them.
An inexplicable spark of anger flared in her chest. Ignoring him, she turned to Takwar’s older wife and gestured.
Song Yu could tell this older wife held a leadership role among the women.
She held up a bead, then raised her camera with her other hand in a mock shooting pose. Speaking slowly, she said, “Bead… photo.”
The woman quickly grasped her meaning and beckoned her with a smile, heading deeper into the village.
Song Yu followed, chin slightly raised—like a fox borrowing the tiger’s prestige—and shot the man a defiant glance.
“…” Pei Zhi stood there, hands in his pockets, watching them go without intervening.
From his position, he couldn’t influence the free will of his research subjects.
After a moment, he lowered his eyes and shook his head helplessly.
Through gestures and mutual understanding, Song Yu learned the chieftain’s wives’ names: the older one was Havana, the younger Meyer.
Though the tribe harbored prejudices against cameras, the pretty green jade beads proved far more alluring.
Song Yu took many photos.
She captured their architecture too—the houses built from palm trunks, thatched with palm fronds, simply furnished inside with earthenware pots painted in lovely patterns.
To her surprise, the homes contained items from another world, like radios and electric irons, all unused and blanketed in thick dust.
Havana dug out a pamphlet from somewhere and explained their origins: gifts from past missionaries trying to win over the Native Americans, though clearly not well-received.
The only thing in regular use was a football, nearly kicked to shreds.
Song Yu didn’t charge for photos of objects, but she still offered beads. Havana refused to take advantage and insisted she stay for dinner.
Song Yu had wanted more exposure to local culture anyway. She didn’t care if Pating was pleased or not.
With a touch of defiance, she accepted without further protest.
While Havana prepared dinner, Meyer led her back to the ground mats.
As the chieftain’s wives, their roles somewhat resembled those of principal wife and concubine in old China: Havana oversaw the tribe’s affairs, while Meyer mostly tended to the children.
At dinner, men and women sat around their respective campfires. Married couples stayed together, each family by its own fire, all close by.
As a guest of the chieftain’s family, Song Yu sat by their fire. The three children romped about, along with a quiet young woman. During the meal, Song Yu heard Havana call her Kasi—Takwar’s sister.
Kasi didn’t eat with them. Instead, she carried her food back to the wooden hut, as if required to absent herself. As she left, her gaze lingered on Song Yu several times.
The evening’s staples were flatbreads made from mashed cassava and corn, with cassava a local mainstay.
The meat was wrapped in banana leaves, skewered on sharpened sticks, grilled over the fire, and seasoned simply with salt and Brazil nuts.
Song Yu ate with relish. Since arriving in the rainforest, the crew had subsisted on convenience foods. A fresh, hot meal like this truly satisfied her stomach.
After dinner, everyone lingered by the campfires as dusk began to fall.
The evening air cooled slightly, firelight warming Song Yu’s face until her cheeks glowed red, lending her a lazy air.
The atmosphere wasn’t rowdy; occasional chatter drifted softly on the air.
Amid the layered voices, Song Yu could still pick out the man’s low, deliberate timbre. He spoke seldom, but though she tried to tune him out, her attention kept drifting back.
Havana, having received many pretty beads from Song Yu and taken a liking to her photos, was curious about her work in the outside world.
Takwar had never opposed venturing into the civilized world; it was just that many in the tribe, Havana included, were reluctant.
Aside from him, few in the tribe had chances to interact with outsiders.
Pei Zhi was one exception, but he observed and documented their tribe and culture from a detached viewpoint, striving to avoid importing influences from his own society.
With someone other than Pei Zhi visiting for once, Takwar happily played translator, helping Havana learn more.
“What are you all doing here?” Takwar asked.
Song Yu stretched her hands toward the fire, the wood crackling as it burned.
Her tone was listless. “Shooting a movie.”
Takwar translated synchronously for his wives. It took him a long time, as if he were explaining what a movie was; he even used his fingers to outline a rectangular frame in the air.
Once he finished explaining, he continued, “What kind of movie?”
Song Yu thought for a moment, pondering how best to describe it. In the end, she gave a helpless little laugh. “A boring love story.”
She wasn’t someone who truly believed in love, yet she made her living by peddling fabricated emotions.
Song Yu rested her hand on the end of a burning log. The heat was scorching, sapping her will to talk further about a movie even she found pointless.
She changed the subject. “Can I come take more photos tomorrow? I’ll bring even prettier beads.”
Takwar blinked in surprise. “You can, of course. But those beads of yours must be awfully valuable… trading them for these photos…”
He didn’t share the tribe’s fear of photographs—they were just images, after all. So when Havana suggested paying in reals to have her picture taken, he had objected.
Hearing his agreement, Song Yu smiled softly, her tone earnest. “No, souls are worth far more than that.”
By now, night had fully fallen. Only the clusters of campfires provided light, like soft canopies enfolding the people.
Pei Zhi sat by a campfire not far away. The Old Witch Doctor beside him was explaining methods for treating invasions of evil spirits.
The woman’s warm, lazy, slightly husky voice cut through the noisy surroundings with striking clarity.
Taking photos damaged the soul—a notion even Takwar dismissed as the tribe’s backward superstition—yet she accepted it completely. She treated it with due caution, respecting the unique customs of this society.
Pei Zhi’s gaze dropped low, fixed on the parched brown earth baked hard by the campfire.
Unbeknownst to him, the corn husk cigarette in his hand had burned down to the end. The glowing tip singed his index finger.
From the beginning until now, nearly everyone in the tribe had gathered around Takwar’s campfire to listen to Song Yu talk about the outside world.
Only Pei Zhi and the elderly Old Witch Doctor remained in their spots, seemingly indifferent to the novelties that captivated everyone else.
The man sat with his back to her, his posture ramrod straight, his broad shoulders filling out his white shirt, which the firelight bathed in a warm yellow glow.
It was as if his silent demeanor expressed a rejection of her—and a defiance against foreign ways.
“…”
Suddenly, Song Yu felt there was no point in saying more.
She brushed the ash from her hands and prepared to bid farewell and return to camp.
Havana glanced worriedly at the distant sky and said something to Takwar.
Takwar nodded and pointed outward as he told Song Yu, “It’s too dark. You’re not familiar with the forest. Let me find someone to escort you back.”
The tribe’s people were heading home. Married men and women slipped off into the deeper jungle for some primitive games of love.
Pei Zhi helped the elderly Old Witch Doctor into the treehouse. As he emerged, Takwar spotted him.
Takwar called out and spoke a few words in the native tongue—likely asking if he could take Song Yu back.
“…”
Song Yu tugged awkwardly at the corner of her mouth. He already disliked her; there was no way he’d agree to escort her.
She wasn’t eager to impose, either. She opened her mouth to refuse.
The man’s cool gaze lingered on her face for two seconds.
“Let’s go,” he said flatly, his voice betraying no emotion.
“…”
Without the campfire’s glow, the path away from the tribe’s riverbank grew pitch black. Moonlight shimmered faintly on the water’s surface.
Song Yu’s strides weren’t as long as the man’s. Trailing behind him was exhausting; she had to take two steps for every three of his, leaving her panting.
Finally, she lost her patience. Frowning, she called out to him, “If you don’t want to escort me, then don’t. You’re walking too fast—I can’t keep up!”
Her voice carried a petulant edge, soft and sweetly indignant, like honey seeping into his ears.
Pei Zhi paused. He was accustomed to moving quickly through the rainforest and hadn’t realized his pace.
He didn’t reply, but he slowed down noticeably, stopping now and then to let the person behind catch up at her leisurely speed.
Unknowingly, they shifted from one behind the other to walking side by side.
The nighttime rainforest was unusually quiet, the atmosphere thick and frozen, as if time itself had stalled.
An owl, active at night, perched on a palm tree. Its round eyes gleamed as it watched the humans passing through the jungle, observing their every move.
A long silence stretched on.
Song Yu cleared her throat lightly, breaking the tension.
“Sorry for interrupting you and your tribespeople.” Song Yu wasn’t pleased with his aloof attitude, but she had been the one to break the rules first, crossing the boundary with the tribe.
“…” Pei Zhi’s thin lips pressed together. He spoke softly, “You don’t need to apologize. They like you a lot. I was the one overstepping.”
The conversation ended.
The air around them stilled once more.
Even the owl in the treetops couldn’t stand it. It let out a shrill cry, spread its massive wings, and flew off through the dense foliage.
Song Yu shrank back, unable to suppress a shiver.
Pei Zhi sensed the awkwardness between them and realized he’d been overly guarded with her before.
“What story does your movie tell?”
He made small talk, only remembering after he’d asked that Takwar had posed the same question earlier.
A boring love story.
Song Yu tilted her head up. In the vast night sky, she couldn’t make out the man’s face—only the copper earring in his left ear, catching the moonlight in a cross-shaped glint.
After a long moment, she spoke slowly. “It’s about a Native American who falls in love with a Chinese woman.”
Pei Zhi was momentarily taken aback. His eyes lowered. Moonlight bathed the woman’s face; the crescent moon overhead reflected in her pupils, pure and luminous.
Their gazes met, holding for a brief interruption.
Song Yu smiled. “Pretty ridiculous, right? It’s just a weird pairing to pander to people’s curiosity.”
Pei Zhi didn’t agree with her self-deprecation. He slowly withdrew his gaze.
As if compelled by some unseen force, he extended an invitation. “There’s a rock cave nearby with Native American cave paintings. Want to see them?” Even he found the offer inexplicable afterward.
Song Yu blinked, raising a brow. “You’ll take me?”
Pei Zhi kept walking forward.
He gave a soft “Mm,” and added, “Tomorrow.”
Song Yu followed behind him, staring at his back. She couldn’t help but curve her lips in a secret smile, her tone lazily cheerful. “Sure.”
Knock knock.
It was you who opened the door first.