Chapter 6: The Smell of the City
The bus ride back to Hanoi was noisy and bumpy. Ngan sat by the window, pretending to watch the mountains receding behind her. Son sat next to her, silent. His silence was completely different from the silence in the bungalow last night. It was no longer filled with desire, but hesitant and somewhat pleading. Occasionally, his shoulder would “accidentally” touch hers, and she would move slightly away, a small distance but enough to create an abyss.
“Are you… tired?” he asked, his voice low.
She didn’t turn around, just shook her head slightly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
The warmth of his calloused hand still seemed to linger somewhere on her skin, but it was fading, replaced by the cold of the windshield and the smell of artificial air conditioning. The “accident” was over. It was time to return to reality. She didn’t look back at him again.
Arriving at her luxurious, cold apartment, Ngan threw her bag on the sofa and went straight to the bathroom. She turned on a hot bath, added a few drops of expensive lavender essential oil and soaked herself in it. The hot steam enveloped her, soothing her aching muscles.
She closed her eyes. How long had it been? How long had it been since her body felt such raw pleasure? Ever since Alex returned home, she had built a wall around herself. She still had fun, still dated, but no one could reach her deepest parts. Her body had been dormant for too long.
Yet the clumsy and immature boy Son was the one who woke her up. His ginger tea-scented kiss, his rough, calloused hands, and his strong, instinctive thrusts… they broke the ice she had created for herself. She did not love him. But she was grateful to him. Grateful for reminding her that, beneath her elegant shell, she was still a woman with very primitive desires.
The following days, Ngan plunged into the grind of work. Meetings, emails, soulless numbers. She once again donned the cloak of a successful, independent woman. But something was different. She found herself smiling to herself. The aftertaste of the Moc Chau trip became a sweet secret, a warm source of energy that helped her overcome the boredom of eight hours at the office.
But all satisfaction eventually fades away. The itch to travel, to have new experiences, begins to stir again. One evening, after work, she sits on the balcony, scrolling through her phone. She opens Zalo again, scrolling through familiar group chats.
Friday night, she sat on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. A series of chat groups appeared. She scrolled through camping trips to Ba Vi, climbing Ham Lon mountain. Boring. Too easy, too familiar.
And then her eyes stopped at a notice in capital letters in the group “Crazy Mountaineering Club”: “CLOSING THE DEAL AT THE END OF THE MONTH TO CONQUER THE MOST DANGEROUS TREKKING ROUTE IN HA GIANG! REQUIRES GOOD PHYSICAL FITNESS AND STEEL SPIRIT. HAS A PROFESSIONAL PORTER TO LEAD THE GROUP.”
Ha Giang. Dangerous. Steel spirit.
Those words were like a stimulant. She continued reading. Someone in the group commented: “With Tung leading the group, we can rest assured. He is as strong as a buffalo, he can even carry a person.”
Ngan curled her lips slightly. “Strong as a buffalo?”
A new scenario began to form in her mind. This time, she didn’t need a sweet accident. She needed a real challenge, a real contrast. She needed a stage where her weakness could be exposed in its truest form, to see if a “hero” would really emerge.
She didn’t send any flirty messages to the group. She just quietly transferred the deposit.
Then she walked into the bedroom, ignoring the silk wardrobe. She pulled out a box from under the bed. Inside was her other world: hiking boots, windbreaker, trekking pants… She began packing, meticulously and methodically. A new hunt was about to begin.