Chapter 17: Bairen Tan (Part 1)

“Xue, I have a very bad feeling about this,” Guo Yi said, recounting his discoveries. “I don’t know how to explain it. If this is all an elaborate setup, they deserve an Oscar for their performance.”

“You’re right,” Xue Ziliang conceded. “It’s too much effort just to kill us. And if it’s just an act to convince us of something, the cost is astronomical.”

The rain drummed against the waterproof tarp, a relentless rhythm against the silence in the small cave. A sense of profound isolation gripped them, as if they were the last people on Earth. The past twenty-four hours had been a cascade of inexplicable events.

“It’s not an act,” a voice said. Sarlina, who they had thought was asleep, was sitting up, leaning against a rock.

“You should be resting,” Xue Ziliang said, his tone softening. “You may have internal injuries.”

“I’m okay,” Sarlina said, her Chinese fluent but tinged with a slight accent. She paused, catching her breath. “Guo, your suspicions are valid. When you examined the body, did you notice if he was wearing underwear?”

Guo Yi blinked. I’m not a pervert. Why would I be stripping a male corpse in broad daylight?

“People in ancient times didn’t wear underwear, Guo,” Sarlina said, her voice weak. “Especially the poor.”

“Are you sure?” Guo Yi was skeptical. He hadn’t noticed any underwear, but he hadn’t been looking for it either.

“If we assume they’re modern people in disguise,” she continued, “it’s unlikely the planners would have considered such a detail.” She paused again, then looked at Xue Ziliang. “When the rain stops, we should go back and examine the body more closely.”

“No,” Xue Ziliang said firmly. “We don’t have the strength for another fight if they return. I’ll go and bring a body back.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you stay here and guard Sarlina. She can’t defend herself.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be quick.” He pulled on his rain gear and disappeared into the downpour.

Guo Yi and Sarlina were alone in the cave. It was the first time he had been so close to a foreign woman. A heady mix of perfume, blood, and something else—a wild, animal scent—filled the small space, making him feel strangely unsettled. Up close, he could see that her skin was rough, but her full figure, watery blue eyes, and long, dark lashes still made his heart race. In his normal life, such an encounter would have been unthinkable. The sensitivity of his job as a security officer precluded any private contact with foreigners, unless it was part of a mission. But here, in this isolated, primitive world, the rigid structures of his life began to feel distant, almost unreal. He wanted to talk to her, to bridge the chasm of silence between them.

“Guo, could you help me with that backpack?” Sarlina spoke first. “I’m very tired.”

“Oh,” he said, startled. “Of course.” He dragged the backpack over, his hand brushing against her shoulder as he helped her lean against it. It was so round…

“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes. “Guo, you’re a very reliable person.”

He felt a blush creep up his neck. The word “reliable” had a new weight in this context.

“If Ziliang hadn’t saved me, I’d be dead,” Guo Yi said, a flush of traditional Chinese modesty rising in him.

“And if Winnie hadn’t saved you, we wouldn’t have escaped either,” she replied, using Xue Ziliang’s English name. She gasped for breath. “Our situation is not good, not good at all.”

Just then, Xue Ziliang returned, a body slung over his shoulder. He laid it on a rock outside the cave. The rain had stopped. Sarlina, leaning on a stick, joined them.

It was a young man, the one Guo Yi had shot. Seeing the face of the man he had killed, now distorted in death, made his stomach churn. But he could still see the typical features of a southern Han Chinese. Xue Ziliang produced a pack of latex gloves, and Sarlina drew a dagger from her belt, using it as a makeshift scalpel.

The dead man’s hands were calloused, his arms strong, his muscles firm—the marks of a life of manual labor. His straw sandals were worn, and the soles of his feet were thick with calluses from walking barefoot. His skin was covered in insect bites and a scabies infection. Sarlina pried open his mouth, and Xue Ziliang shone a flashlight inside. His teeth were white but severely worn, a sign of a diet contaminated with grit and sand.

They cut away his clothes. As Sarlina had predicted, there was no underwear. The fabric was a coarse, roughly woven cotton, dyed a blackish-blue. Xue Ziliang examined it and declared it was likely a plant-based dye, unevenly applied and severely faded. It was not a factory product.

After the grim examination, Xue Ziliang disposed of the body in the river. Sarlina removed her gloves, her face even paler than before.

“I’m starting to believe them,” she said softly. “He doesn’t look like anyone from the modern world.”

“Could he be from some primitive tribe?” Guo Yi ventured.

“The location and racial characteristics don’t match any known primitive tribes in Southeast Asia,” Sarlina said. “And those tribes don’t weave or dye cloth. If they can do those things, they’re not a primitive society.”

“So, is it really 1628?”

They debated for a long time but reached no conclusion. The idea of time travel was too fantastic to accept. Their only option was to press on, to find a settlement, to find the truth.

The recent battle had left them shaken and wary. Guo Yi’s pistol was gone, and even if he found it, he was out of ammunition. Their only weapons were three military daggers and the wooden staves. If their attackers had been armed with spears or more swords, the outcome would have been very different.

Guo Yi sharpened the tips of the three staves and hardened them in the fire, a trick he’d learned from a book about the revolutionary struggle in the E-Yu-Wan Soviet Area. It was said that soaking them in a manure pit for a few days made them even more effective.

They moved slowly, Xue Ziliang supporting Sarlina, which gave Guo Yi’s aching body a chance to recover. The roar of the water grew louder as the terrain became steeper. After rounding a rocky slope, they came upon a large stone beach. The river cascaded down a series of nine rocky tiers, the sound like thunder. The riverbed was a jumble of stones. A cluster of rocks, more than ten meters in diameter, rose from the water, their cracked tops resembling pink lotus petals. Some looked like old men playing chess, others like fishermen casting their lines. In some of the potholes, the churning water had trapped smaller rocks, which spun and collided with a constant clanging sound.

[Note: These descriptions are based on past accounts of Bairen Tan. Many of the historically famous rocks are no longer present in the modern era.]

“The scenery is beautiful,” Xue Ziliang remarked. The beauty of the place was a balm to their frayed nerves. As they walked, they saw four figures with a mountain of luggage on the stone beach ahead—it was the Ming family.

The family had overtaken them while they were resting. The two women watched their approach with a mixture of fear and vigilance. Guo Yi guessed they had seen the bodies on the road.

The old man, his temper as foul as ever, ignored them, squatting under a large rock, his head in his hands.

Guo Yi glanced at the rock. Three palm-sized characters were carved into it: “Bairen Tan.” What was there to study?

As Xue Ziliang approached, the policewoman, Mu Min, took a step back, her body tensing into a defensive posture. Xue Ziliang stopped, confused.

The old lady, Li Mei, took her daughter-in-law’s hand and forced a smile. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. It’s good to see familiar faces.”

Guo Yi quickly explained what had happened, but they clearly didn’t believe his story about the attack until he showed them his ID. Mu Min examined it for a long time before handing it back.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, “too many fake police IDs these days.” She sat on a rock and gestured for her husband, who was standing by in a daze, to do the same.

Damn, so obedient, Guo Yi thought, a flicker of disdain for the man rising in him. But then Mu Min began to talk about internal police matters. Though they were from different departments, they spoke the same language. As they talked, he realized how sharp she was. Three years in public security, five in criminal investigation, one in the political department—she was a woman of many talents. He also realized, with a start, that she was testing him, probing his knowledge of the system. A fake ID was one thing, but the intricate, unwritten rules of their world were another.

Amazing, he thought, a little ashamed of his own complacency. The gap between them was vast.

With their identities established, the tension eased. Li Mei became almost friendly, offering them medicine for Sarlina, as well as a selection of preserved fruits, ham sausages, and biscuits from her luggage. The three agents hadn’t eaten all day, and their stomachs were rumbling. As he devoured a ham sausage, Xue Ziliang whispered to Guo Yi that it was probably full of preservatives and other unhealthy things.

“You’re so picky! If you’re afraid of dying, don’t eat it,” Guo Yi snapped, his irritation with the ABC flaring. It wasn’t just his “America is the greatest” attitude; it was the way he fussed over Sarlina, which stirred a subtle, unpleasant feeling in Guo Yi’s gut.