The deeper they ventured into the rainforest, the denser the trees grew. Layer upon layer of competing vegetation blocked out the sunlight entirely, while the dampness of the dew grew ever thicker.
This was Song Yu’s first time pushing into the heart of the rainforest. After trudging along for two straight hours, she was utterly exhausted.
She stared at the man ahead of her. His back was ramrod straight, his steps steady and sure. He showed no sign of stopping.
Song Yu had the vague sense that she was crossing the entire Amazon Rainforest, though in truth they had merely passed beyond its outermost fringe.
She lost track of how long they walked before she finally spotted the rock cave hidden amid the dense foliage.
The entrance was narrow—less than two meters wide and a single meter high—surrounded by thick bushes, with the sound of dripping water echoing nearby.
They made their way inside the rock cave, where the sound of rushing water grew steadily clearer and the passage narrowed further.
Pressing deeper, Song Yu realized the noise came from a small waterfall, and they were now behind it.
The cascade poured down like a white curtain, dividing the world into inner and outer realms.
She watched the water crash against smooth stones, kicking up sprays of mist. Fine droplets filled the air around them, and where sunlight filtered through, it formed a delicate rainbow.
Song Yu hadn’t expected such a beautiful sight inside the rock cave. She halted, planting her feet on separate rocks and leaning out to snap a photo.
Eyes narrowed in concentration on the viewfinder, she inched forward without realizing it.
Suddenly, the stone beneath her shifted unevenly under her weight. With a jolt, she lurched forward, momentum carrying her toward a fall.
Pei Zhi reacted swiftly, yanking her back by the fabric of her clothes and pinning her against the rock wall.
Song Yu collided straight into his chest. Her face drained of color from the scare, and it took her a long moment to recover.
She could feel the arm pressed against her back—muscular and taut, the grip that had pulled her back firm and powerful.
For an instant, she went rigid. Heat bloomed across her back, and a faint flush crept up her ears.
“Let’s keep going,” he said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. “This area’s unstable because of the water flow. Once we’re out, I’ll take you to the front of the waterfall for photos.”
She sniffed, catching a faint scent of cedar in the air—crisp and refined, though she couldn’t tell where it came from.
Song Yu trailed behind him, matching his steps precisely. Her heart hammered at a frantic pace, refusing to slow.
After about twenty minutes, the sound of the water faded, and the light grew dimmer still.
When Song Yu had left the camp, she’d brought only the camera slung around her neck. Only now did she remember she should have grabbed a flashlight.
As her mind wandered, Pei Zhi came to a stop. He reached into the deerhide pouch at his waist and pulled out a small kerosene lamp, its patterns vintage and ornate—likely another relic left behind by the old missionaries for the tribe.
The lamp cast a warm yellow glow, infusing the dark space with a cozy atmosphere.
Bathed in the light, Song Yu looked around and realized they had reached the wall paintings.
In a cave roughly seven or eight square meters in size, the rock walls were covered in strange shapes and patterns. Most of the colors had faded to dull patches, but their forms were still discernible, stretching high up the walls.
It was as if the ancient Native American civilization was silently recounting its tales.
Song Yu watched the man standing beneath the wall. He held up the lamp, gazing reverently at the traces left by his ancestors.
His dark eyes gleamed faintly, his expression more focused and fervent than she had ever seen.
It was as though all his arduous travels were in pursuit of that shadowed world—the one long vanished.
Time seemed to stand still in that corner of the rock cave.
Song Yu stared at him in a daze, unable to resist lifting her camera for a stealthy shot.
Pei Zhi retrieved a brown leather notebook and a silver fountain pen from his deerhide pouch. He positioned himself at the start of the wall painting and began copying it stroke by stroke.
The ink soaked into the pale yellow paper as the metal nib traced smooth lines.
The murals covered the entire wall with countless images.
He worked with infinite patience, from top to bottom, left to right, omitting not a single detail.
Page after page of the notebook filled up.
He was like a devout heir, meticulously preserving the silent legacy of his forebears.
Song Yu settled onto a clean rock and watched him copy away tirelessly. Every so often, he would pause, step over to the kerosene lamp, and refill the pen’s ink by its light.
The chill of the underground seeped up through the stone, yet she felt an profound sense of security.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The light filtering through the rock fissures had shifted through half a circle.
Pei Zhi was utterly immersed in his task, oblivious to the outside world. He worked on in silence, his little finger smudged with ink.
Song Yu didn’t mind being ignored. She wandered about the rock cave, and as she neared the entrance, she heard the patter of rain—starting soft, then building to a downpour.
It was imperceptible deep inside, but near the waterfall, the flow had swelled dramatically since their arrival. There was no way back.
Song Yu retreated deeper into the cave, untroubled by the rain blocking their path. Subconsciously, she trusted that he could handle any crisis.
A single raindrop fell from above, landing coolly on her cheek.
In the rainforest, everything seemed to slow to a crawl, merging seamlessly with nature.
Even she hadn’t noticed the shift in her own mindset. Back in the city, rain would have only irritated her, worrying over delays and disruptions.
When Song Yu returned, Pei Zhi was finishing up.
“It’s raining outside. The path back is flooded,” she said, her voice soft and languid, carrying clearly through the empty rock cave.
Pei Zhi’s gaze dropped as he gripped the pen a little tighter, placing a final period on the page. He murmured a quiet “Mm.”
His reaction was calm. Methodically, he stowed the notebook and pen back in the deerhide pouch, finally emerging from his focus.
Only then, as he looked up at Song Yu, did he notice her lips had gone pale from the cold.
He realized he had kept her waiting far too long.
She had stayed perfectly quiet the whole time, never interrupting.
His lips pressed into a thin line. He picked up the kerosene lamp. “Let’s go.”
Though the rock cave’s entrance seemed small, its interior was a labyrinth of passages, with more than one way out.
Song Yu followed him down another route, soon hearing the rain’s steady drum.
“Wait here for it to stop,” Pei Zhi said. The spot he found was an open area near a new exit, ringed by bushes that let in broad swaths of daylight.
The foliage outside thrashed wildly in the wind. Parrots and other unfamiliar birds perched at the cave mouth, shaking out their sodden feathers as they sheltered alongside them.
Inside the cave lay a level expanse of ground, even featuring a mat woven from palm fronds—now dried and brittle, as if left by visitors long ago.
Song Yu had walked for hours. Though she hadn’t complained, exhaustion and cold had worn her down. She sank directly onto the grass mat to rest.
Pei Zhi gathered a pile of dry branches from somewhere and kindled a fire with practiced ease.
The rain pattered like a symphony, underscored by the crackle of burning wood. Golden flames rose, gradually chasing away the chill.
Song Yu slumped against the rock wall, her feet extended toward the fire.
As the storm raged through the forest, the rock cave’s shelter brought a strange sense of peace.
Pei Zhi sat on a flat stone, warming his hands over the flames.
Song Yu’s gaze fixed on his palms. His fingers were long and elegant, the knuckles pronounced, with a distinct callus on the side of his right middle finger—likely from years of holding a pen.
She had observed the hands of others in the Native American tribe, even Takwar’s. Their calluses were more often on the left knuckles and right index finger, from drawing bows.
Trapped in the rock cave with nothing else to do, an awkward silence settled in.
Song Yu wasn’t one to force conversation, and clearly, neither was he.
They sat in quiet for a long stretch.
The fire began to die down.
Pei Zhi rose and stepped away, returning with an armful of firewood and a small clay pot filled with rainwater.
The pot bore the red stripes common to tribal pottery.
He added a handful of coarse green powder to the pot and set it over the fire to heat.
Once the water boiled, Pei Zhi used two thin sticks to lift the pot off the flames.
The air filled with the aroma of roasted holly leaves.
“Want some?” he asked.
Song Yu lifted her heavy-lidded eyes to the liquid in the pot—a deep green, flecked with oily bits.
“What’s this?”
“Mate tea.”
Mate tea was a brew unique to South America.
Song Yu tugged her windbreaker sleeve over her hand, using the fabric as a barrier to cradle the hot pot.
Steam rose, misting her eyes.
Up close, the mate tea had a pronounced bitterness, reminiscent of bitter herbal tea or even coffee.
Pei Zhi rummaged in his deerhide pouch and produced a small aluminum tin, which he opened and offered to her. Inside were neat rows of tiny yellow sugar cubes.
Song Yu hadn’t realized how much he carried in that deerhide pouch.
She dropped one cube into the pot.
It dissolved slowly, tempering the mate tea’s bite.
Song Yu brought the pot to her lips, huffed twice to cool it, and took a cautious sip.
A slightly bitter taste spread through her mouth, the fermented mate leaves turning exceptionally aromatic.
Mate tea had a refreshing effect on the mind. Song Yu felt less drowsy than before. The rain outside was still falling, but her whole body had warmed up.
After Song Yu finished the mate tea in the clay pot, Pei Zhi refilled it with fresh water and brewed himself a cup.
Song Yu noticed that he hadn’t added any sugar cubes to his tea. He drank it straight.
The rain was still coming down hard, showing no signs of letting up, leaving them somewhat at a loose end inside.
Pei Zhi pulled out his notebook again, flipping back and forth through it and occasionally jotting down notes with his pen.
Bored out of her mind, Song Yu couldn’t resist striking up a conversation. “What are you writing?”
Pei Zhi’s writing paused for a moment. After a long pause, he finally replied, “The meaning of the murals.”
“You can read them?”
Pei Zhi pursed his lips, his gaze fixed on the paper as if lost in thought. Only after a while did he remember to answer her. “Part of it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Song Yu glimpsed the open notebook. It was filled with characters she couldn’t understand, and they didn’t resemble any local indigenous script.
She had never seen writing like that in the tribe. Many Native American tribes relied solely on spoken language, without a script for recording and passing down their traditions.
Song Yu had always sensed that there were many things about this Native American man she couldn’t comprehend.
He not only rejected modern civilization but seemed out of place even within his own culture.
Whether it was professional curiosity or something else, Song Yu couldn’t help wanting to delve deeper into who he was.
“What’s this painting mean? A person sleeping under a corn tree?” Her fingertip pointed at the paper.
Pei Zhi’s eyes lifted slightly. He saw the woman’s slender index finger, her nail a faint pink like a seashell.
His focused attention scattered.
A blot of ink bloomed on the white paper.
Snapping back to attention, he tore off the ruined page, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the fire.
“The meaning of this mural is that man dies underground, and tall corn stalks grow from his body.”
The man’s voice was low and measured. “It symbolizes that Native Americans regard corn and the land as life itself.”
In the humid mist, his words carried a faint, almost imperceptible melancholy.
Song Yu stared into his eyes, dark and profound, like an endless night sky.
Her breath caught for no reason.
For some reason, she thought of that history people deliberately ignored.
The Native Americans of the past—the original owners of this land—had suffered slaughter and expulsion, forced to hide in the forests.
And now, centuries later, they were being driven from their villages once more, forced to abandon their civilization and join the modern world.
Suddenly, Song Yu understood the man’s earlier coldness and wariness.
Modern civilization was like weeds, possessed of tenacious vitality that could easily overrun a fragile foreign culture.
After the rain stopped, they hurried back to camp before nightfall.
On the return journey from the rainforest, Pei Zhi had gathered many plants and herbs. His deerhide pouch was bulging.
Now he was squatting beside the Old Witch Doctor. The old man turned his head slowly, picking through the herbs one by one.
The witch doctor was an elderly figure, hunched over with almost no teeth left. Layers of wrinkles covered his face, and he held a staff made from a palm trunk, adorned with a chain of crocodile teeth.
One silhouette was thin and frail, the other broad and sturdy.
In the thin veil of mist, the scene felt exceptionally quiet and lonely.
Song Yu watched in a daze, suddenly overcome with uncertainty. She didn’t know what was truly right.
Should they cling to the past, or embrace change?
As Song Yu prepared to leave, Takwar invited her to return tomorrow and speak more with his tribespeople about modern civilization.
“There might not be time anymore.” Song Yu pursed her lips, her arms hugging the camera against her chest as she fiddled with the lens cap.
Perhaps all she could do was stay neutral, retreating to the sidelines.
Besides, the crew’s holiday would end tomorrow, and everything would return to normal. As the director, she truly didn’t have that much free time to wander about.
The woman’s voice drifted from behind. Pei Zhi’s motion of handing the herbs to the witch doctor paused slightly, his eyes cast downward in thought.
The Old Witch Doctor squinted his cloudy eyes and gave him a faint glance.