Chapter 31: The Path of Embarrassment
Early morning, in Ha Giang. Three people on two motorbikes, starting the journey up to the rocky plateau. The air was fresh and cool. The scenery was majestic, one side was a steep cliff, the other side was a deep abyss. However, the atmosphere between the three people was extremely awkward and tense.
Ngan had to make her first choice: who to sit behind. In the end, she chose Tung, with the reason that “Tung has a more stable driving hand”. In fact, she felt safer with Tung’s silence at the moment. She sat behind, keeping a distance, her two hands holding onto the metal rack at the back of the bike, not touching him.
Tung: His back stiffened. He felt the distance Ngan was creating. He said nothing, just focused on driving.
Minh: He went alone on his motorbike, constantly running up and down, weaving around Tung and Ngan’s motorbikes, trying to break the silence with loud words.
The goal of all three is to try to find the natural, happy feeling of the previous trips. But the conflict is that the ghost of the “fateful night” in Quy Nhon is still too big, creating an invisible wall between them.
Minh drove alongside, shouting loudly to be heard over the wind. “ISN’T IT BEAUTIFUL, SISTER? IS IT BETTER THAN THAT VILLAGE RESORT?”
Ngan forced a smile and shouted back. “SO BEAUTIFUL!”
Minh glanced at Tung. “Hey Tung, why are you so quiet? Are you mute? You’re carrying a beautiful woman on your back and your face looks like you’re going to a funeral!”
Tung did not turn back, just shouted out. “Focus on driving.”
The conversation failed. Minh angrily revved the engine and sped off. Ngan sighed, leaning her head against Tung’s backpack. This “fix it all” trip seemed to be more difficult than she had thought.
They stopped at the top of Tham Ma Slope, one of the iconic passes of Ha Giang. The wind was strong, carrying the cold of the mountains and forests. A few Mong children in colorful dresses were standing selling small mustard flower wreaths, their clear laughter mixed with the wind. The air was more airy, the awkwardness began to fade a little, giving way to relaxation.
Minh, as usual, was the one to stir things up. He jumped off the bike, spread his arms wide and shouted, “OH MY GOD!”, a cry of liberation. He ran to tease the children, bought a wreath and ran back to Ngan, grinning, trying to put the wreath on her head. “This is for Sister Nurturing! To make her a Mongolian princess… no, Mongolian Dress!”
Ngan laughed and pushed his hand away. “Are you crazy? Children will laugh at you.”
While Minh was acting, Tung quietly took the bottle of water, opened the cap and gave it to Ngan. A familiar gesture of care, without words. Ngan took it, their eyes met for a second, a tacit understanding.
Ngan felt sorry for Tung. She stepped forward, took the wreath from Minh’s hand and placed it on Tung’s head, a surprising action. Her voice was filled with laughter. “Let me wear it, rather. My ‘prince’.”
All three burst out laughing. For the first time since Quy Nhon, it was a real laugh, not forced at all. Tung, though red-faced and looking very foolish with the wreath on his head, smiled too. The ice wall between them had begun to crack, a sign of healing.
A small, simple restaurant on Pho Cao. They sat on low wooden stools, gathered around a steaming pot of thang co. The smell of corn wine was strong. The atmosphere was cozy and very “real”.
They drank corn wine together, a liquor as strong and true as the land. The alcohol made talking easier.
Minh frowned after a sip of wine. “Damn, this wine is really strong. As strong as Tung’s heart these past few days.”
Tung looked up, glanced at Minh, his eyes were cold. “Even better than your mouth, light as wind.”
Ngan smiled, put a piece of meat in Tung’s bowl, trying to ease the atmosphere. “Come on, we’re having fun. Eat.”
Ngan was engrossed in her conversation, a bit of broth stuck to the corner of her mouth. Minh and Tung both noticed it at the same time. They both reached out to wipe it off for her. Their hands almost touched right in front of Ngan, a meaningful collision.
The three of them paused. There was an awkward silence. The cheerful atmosphere suddenly disappeared. Minh was the first to react. He smiled and pulled his hand back. “Okay, okay, national ‘little brother’ go ahead. I don’t dare to compete.”
Tung was embarrassed, using a tissue to gently wipe the corner of Ngan’s mouth. The action was very gentle, but the atmosphere had become awkward again. They realized that no matter how hard they tried, the hidden competition was always there, waiting to explode.
The Vuong family mansion (King Meo mansion), an ancient, majestic architectural work, built of green stone and wood, appears in the middle of the mountains and forests. The atmosphere is quiet, a bit gloomy. History and past stories seem to still linger in every corner of the yard, every porch, like a whisper from the past.
They walked around the mansion. The silence of the place seemed to affect them. Minh became less noisy, his expression became thoughtful. Tung looked even more thoughtful, his eyes distant.
While walking through a long corridor, Minh was attracted by the old cannons and stopped to look. Ngan and Tung continued walking, unintentionally creating a private space, a silence in the noise of history. They stood in a quiet courtyard.
Tung’s voice was very soft, like a confession. “Sister…”
“What?” Ngan replied, her voice also soft.
“Are you… really happy? Or are you just leaving because… you feel guilty?”
Ngan stopped, turned to look straight into Tung’s eyes, her gaze undisguised. “No. I left because I wanted to. I wanted to be here, with you two.” She paused, then continued, her voice sincere and full of emotion. “Thank you… for being here with me.”
Ngan’s words were like a sedative to Tung. His tormented expression relaxed a little, like a melting iceberg. He just nodded slightly, a wordless acceptance. A fragile, genuine connection was re-established between the two of them, just before Minh ran over, shattering the moment with loud laughter.