Chapter 3
Gambling and prostitutes
The weather was always erratic: cool and breezy in the morning, but suddenly pouring rain by noon. Rain and shine were natural phenomena, but all living creatures in Lang Chau cursed God for "bestowing" this bizarre condition — at the end of sixth moon, the days were scorching hot while the nights were as cold as winter.
For half a month now, the weather had been repeating its madness. Every time noon arrived, Lang Chau was scorched by a blazing red fireball, the suffocating heat pressing down on all living beings. Neither humans nor animals dared to show themselves on the roads. The people hid indoors, while the animals squeezed into caves to escape the burning air.
The animals on the ground suffered terribly in the heat, and the black-and-white langurs living on the limestone mountains were particularly miserable. Restlessly, they leapt around, clinging to the jagged rocks, until they were forced to climb down to the ground. The heat seared their brains, leaving them too disoriented to pay attention to the sluggish, spiritless people walking below.
People were gasping for breath—some wiped the sweat from their flushed cheeks with towels, others gulped down water, and some even poured it straight over their heads. Many had to stop to rest, only resuming their journey after regaining some strength.
People from all directions gathered here to participate in the martial arts tournament. This was the first time the imperial court had organized such an event to select outstanding talents. Originally, the emperor had planned to host it in Thang Long, but Tran Thu Do advised relocating it to Mau Son, within the territory of Lang Chau. This unusual decree left both officials and commoners bewildered.
This remote region was notoriously inconvenient in every aspect. Its waterways twisted and turned through a tangled maze of canals, while the mountain paths wound like serpents—slithering precariously along the edges of bottomless abysses and threading through jagged limestone peaks.
Surrounded on all sides by ominous, mist-covered primeval forests, this land of desolation and treacherous terrain could never compare to the grandeur of the imperial capital. And lately, an odd atmosphere had taken hold. Despite the harsh weather, people overcame countless obstacles, driven by their own aspirations.
Despite the harsh weather, everyone overcame all obstacles to pursue their own goals. The people wanted to witness the heroes showcase their skills, the poets sought inspiration for poetry; merchants hoped to expand their trade territory.
In recent days, rumors had spread that the emperor himself would oversee the examinations, strengthening the resolve of the people to journey to Lang Chau. Along the treacherous path, some hapless travelers fell into deep ravines—their bodies swallowed by the abyss, lost to the world forever.
Undeterred, the crowds surged forward, crossing rivers, scaling mountains, and pushing through dense forests to converge upon Lang Chau. Horses and carriages traveled tirelessly along every road, boats and rafts glided across the rivers—each traveler choosing their own means of passage.
As for Thiet Nam, he owned nothing. In the past, he had saved some money by selling medicinal herbs. Part of it was spent on food and drink for the journey, while the rest was used to help the poor. He had originally planned to use the remaining amount to buy a horse, but during one unfortunate stumble on a slippery, muddy road, the money slipped from his grasp and plunged into the abyss.
He lamented, clicking his tongue in regret over the loss of the horse he had once ridden while rescuing Ngan Ha. That night, just as he was about to ride home with Ban Lan, the beast suddenly changed its mind—turning wild and bolting into the distance, disappearing without a trace.
Now penniless, Thiet Nam was forced to wander, begging for a ride on other people's carts. After struggling for half a day, a merchant caravan finally agreed to take him along—on the condition that he help carry their goods. The leader of the caravan said:
- We're heading to the Bac Son Valley, not Mau Son.
Mau Son lay to the northeast, while Bac Son sat in the western reaches of Lang Chau. Since the caravan had no extra space, Thiet Nam was left to squeeze in with the livestock, lying among them in the wagon. The stench repeatedly assaulted his nose, forcing him to swallow the breakfast he had just eaten, which was threatening to rise up from his throat.
After nearly a week of misery[1], they finally arrived at the base of Bac Son Valley—a bow-shaped land.
In this land, a thick mist blanketed the vast expanse of mountains and forests. Next to the mountain range that stretched endlessly into the horizon—its peaks towering like pillars propping up the sky—twisting paths wound through the wilderness, guiding wild creatures back into the boundless green. The animals wandered hesitantly, searching for a way through, but startled at the sound of human voices. Fearing a group of drunken boozers out to hunt and feast on them, they scurried into the shadows. But the merchant caravan cared only for finding a way out of the forest.
The merchant caravan's leader let out a long sigh.
- Damn it all… this is what I get for being an idiot at my age!
His face was twisted with regret, like a man who'd just had his life savings snatched away in broad daylight.
- Son of a bitch! To save a few coins, I figured it wouldn't be too late to hire a pathfinder once I got to Lang Chau—but gods, it turned out worse than getting locked out by that she-devil for coming home at midnight! Damn it, those bastards snatched up the good pathfinders like starving dogs fighting over bones!
He slapped his forehead with a loud smack, dazed, like a dog who just watched someone steal its only bone.
- These merchants—brothers on the surface, backstabbers underneath! I should've seen through their deceit the instant they staged that lavish meat-and-wine camaraderie. Greed for small gains leads to great losses—the ancients were right!
Cursing under his breath, he rummaged through his bag and fished out a dried-up wineskin. After shaking it a few times, he let out a long, hollow sigh:
- Even the wine's gone... just like people's hearts.
Just as he was lost in regret and had no clue what to do next, Thiet Nam spoke up:
- I have spent time here before. I will help everyone find the way.
The merchant boss was as happy as if he had successfully seized a stolen bone:
- I'll reward you for your assistance.
After thanking him, Thiet Nam led the group onward. The path ahead was strewn with rocks and pebbles of all shapes and sizes. The forest stretched endlessly, where crooked trees had toppled over, and twisted trunks tangled with wildflowers and weeds blocked their way.
They pushed through creeping vines and dense underbrush, struggling forward step by step. Thiet Nam warned everyone to watch out for snakes and centipedes, then veered the group leftward.
After a long march behind their guide, the torches in their hands began to catch the light—reflections of sunlight filtered through a line of casuarinas ahead. With renewed spirit, the merchant caravan quickened their pace and soon reached their destination.
After struggling through the forest for two watches of the day[2], their bodies drenched in damp and musty smells, the entire group welcomed the bright sunlight with joy. The merchant boss instructed that the goods be taken to the market near the forest. He paid Thiet Nam for his guiding fee and also warned everyone to be cautious of pickpockets, thieves, and bandits:
- I heard that last year, this place was crowded with people, and the hooligans were causing chaos, robbing without restraint.
Thiet Nam furrowed his brow and asked:
- Can't the soldiers capture them?
The boss shook his head dejectedly:
- If they catch one group, another will emerge, swarming like pests everywhere.
The merchant leader instructed his servants to quickly deliver the goods to the gathering point. Thiet Nam hoisted the items onto his shoulder and followed the buyers, stepping into each merchant's stall. In the past, the further they ventured into the ethnic market, the thicker the crowds and the livelier the noise. Yet today, the market felt eerily quiet, its usual bustle long gone, replaced only by the chaotic sounds coming from the bamboo gambling den.
He remembered that, long ago, there had only been an open space with no buildings. The poor would gather here to trade, neatly spreading carpets to display their goods. Despite the orderliness, Thiet Nam found it dull to watch the merchants tending to customers while swatting away insects. He knew it was a local custom, but he could never fully understand its meaning.
Back then, he had warned that if they continued to be conservative, the ethnic market would eventually fall into desolation. He had hoped that people would abandon the practice, or at least become more adaptable. Now, the villagers had constructed proper market stalls, yet many still insisted on maintaining the traditional appearance. He felt relieved for those who understood the importance of keeping up with the times and adapting to change.
Those who were nostalgic refused to step into the stalls covered with tents. In those clean and grand places, some people licked the edges of their plates, laughing; others carelessly threw leftover food all over the place. Some even cursed the spoiled food to avoid paying, using it as an excuse. These freeloaders bickered loudly with the vendors, causing other customers to shake their heads in dismay and walk away from the stall to avoid trouble.
The fierce argument still had not subsided, and the crude language spilling from their mouths sullied the ears of passersby. A mother hurriedly picked up her child and walked away. The little girl, confused, asked about the cause of the quarrel. The mother smiled and pointed to a pile of toys in the distance, trying to distract her child. The little girl ran over, picking up various little things from the ground and admiring them. Then she began to ask for this and that. The mother indulgently agreed, as if afraid that this familiar place would disappear tomorrow.
That simple joy awakened past memories deep within Thiet Nam's heart. On that day, the children clung to their mother, following her to the market to play. They were mischievous, causing trouble and asking for gifts. When there was nothing else to disturb, they began to criticize, even condemning dirty things. These blurry memories resurfaced, reminding Thiet Nam of his childhood, of the image of himself frowning at his mother:
- Why did Mother buy food off the ground, covered in flies?
- Van, how many times must I tell you before you understand? This is a tradition passed down by our ancestors!
Van muttered under his breath:
- Filthy as hell. What kind of "tradition" is that?
Mother glared at him:
- If you act up again, next time I'll make you stay home!
Van stubbornly retorted:
- But Mother still bought that filthy food for Thi to eat. If her stomach hurts, she'll just have to endure it.
The mother apologized to the shopkeeper and led her two children away. The boy, still rebellious after being scolded, made a scary face to frighten his sister. The little girl screamed in terror. Furious, the mother picked up her child and chased after Van, intending to smack him. He laughed loudly and slipped into the crowd to watch the performers singing and dancing. Captivated by the melodies of the H'mong Pen Pipe[3] and flutes, he began dancing along, losing sight of his mother in the chaos.
The last illusion Thiet Nam saw was his mother screaming, crying in despair as she searched for her child, while the child sobbed, calling out for her."
- Van, where are you?
- Mother... oh, Mother...
The calls of his loved ones echoed in Thiet Nam's mind. The sorrowful sound transformed into a ghost, clawing at his heart. Clinging to his fading subconscious, the ghost curled up and wept, suddenly morphing into a filthy, naked body. The ghost bared its yellowed teeth, grinning broadly as it stared at him.
- Oh? The bastard dares to return home? No, no—better call it his second home, huh? Hahahaha...
Just as Thiet Nam was lost in the illusion of the past, a shout from inside the bamboo gambling den jolted him back to reality:
- Put the money on the table. Don't touch the bowl again!
- Hey you, hands off!
- Damn it! I must have crossed paths with a woman on the way here—fate has cursed me, and I've lost every game today!
- Pfft! You were sweating with two prostitutes just now and rushed straight into gambling. No wonder you lost everything!
Thiet Nam widened his eyes, staring at the bamboo gambling den standing in the open space. It used to be a place where people made a living. In the market, every piece of land had its owner, and the poor could only find a little comfort in this empty space. Now, even this last bit of hope had been taken over. The powerless people, filled with rage, could only watch helplessly as their livelihood transformed into a lavish den of wasteful spending.
Thiet Nam couldn't believe someone would dare to ignore the law of the land. Furious, he marched toward the bamboo gambling den. The guards, mistaking him for a gambler who had lost everything, opened the door and allowed him in to "recoup his losses." Inside, the gamblers were in full swing, battling fiercely over every bet. The losers cursed and smashed tables and chairs in frustration, while the winners grinned smugly, groping the breasts and fondling the behinds of the prostitutes wriggling beside them.
The wives of the world giggled with narrowed eyes, kissing and caressing the husbands who were theirs for just one night. Wandering men grinned lecherously, slipping stacks of silver notes deep into the overflowing bosoms of the roadside whores.
Gambling was punishable by having one's hands chopped off, exile, or even death. But these audacious men not only broke the law but also shamelessly engaged in debauchery with prostitutes. Thiet Nam's eyes burned with anger at such open depravity. He waited for the soldiers to come and arrest them, but no one ever appeared.
It should be noted that:
[1]In ancient Vietnam, a week consisted of ten days.
[2]Two watches of the day in ancient Vietnam were equivalent to four modern hours.
[3]The precursor of the Chinese lusheng (H'Mong Pen Pipe) existed long before the Shang Dynasty.