Chapter 9
Longing or Regret?
The boy runneth forth in great delight unto the foot of the mountain, where he helpeth the folk convey each basket of wild muoms down from the heights by pulley.
The maiden who vendeth the wild muoms smileth radiant, and bestoweth upon him several of the freshest fruits.
The gluttonous child doth salivate most fiercely, yet discovereth that the fruit-sellers be of the Nung tribe.
The boy straightway returneth the wild muoms unto the basket, openeth the tome, and findeth the passage wherein the attire of the Nung folk is described. He readeth as he compareth it with the details imparted unto him yesterday by the village elder. The boy observeth each detail with utmost care, and thereupon noddeth in quiet satisfaction; the garment he beholdeth doth indeed accord with what the village elder had spoken in days past.
The boy's gaze is drawn to the girl who vendeth wild muoms. He gently dippeth his brush into the inkstone and writeth what he beholdeth into his tome. Then he lifteth his head and fixeth his eyes upon the silver necklace and earrings adorned with clusters of chain tassels.
The lower part is carved with exquisite care; most striking among its details is a small fish-shaped ornament, set within a triangle, which at first glance resembleth a lively fish swimming joyfully in a lake.
The tinkling tassel sways softly, and in its turning, revealeth the shape of butterfly wings, as though resting upon the blooming bud of a spring-seeking flower.
He heedeth not the melodious call that ringeth by his ear, but looketh up toward the black headscarf pressed close against the girl's forehead. The scarf is wrapped twice around her head, forming a wedge-like shape.
Never before hath the boy seen such a manner of wrapping. A lover of culture, he writeth with delight: the form of this scarf is as if a pair of buffalo horns extendeth from either side. When he inquireth with curiosity, the girl answereth:
- The buffalo is the beginning of our livelihood.
He observeth with care, and describeth the trailing end of the scarf that falleth naturally upon the girl's shoulders, adorned with white silver beads.
He hath yet remembered the words once imparted unto him by the elder of the village: the Nung people have ever devoted themselves wholly to the preservation of their cultural heritage for the sake of their descendants. Not only the common folk, but also many shamans, when performing rites for the people, have donned indigo-hued traditional garments.
The boy hath held deep admiration for this. His teacher hath once instructed him thus: Culture is the very foundation of a nation and its people. If the people lose the will to preserve and protect it, or even revere foreign customs while scorning the legacy of their forebears, then that foundation shall gradually fade. Or if assailed and uprooted by foreign invaders, the marauders shall reduce the people of this land to slaves—both in body and in spirit.
At that moment, those who have lost their roots no longer seek their way back — nor do they wish to. With single-hearted devotion they are yearning to be of one realm with the foe. Most contemptible of all, they wish to become the enemy's kindred, even aspiring to be the descendants of those who once invaded and defiled this land.
Though the boy is yet young and hath not fully grasped the depth of these teachings, he hath taken his teacher's words to heart and hath recorded them with reverence in his tome.
The girl draweth forth several wild muoms from her garment's pocket and offereth them unto the boy. He returneth those muoms, foldeth his arms across his chest, and sayeth with a smile:
- Pjom bai! I have eaten but one wild muom, and my belly is full!
The girl, hearing the boy speak fluent Nung in gratitude, is filled with astonishment:
- You speak Nung really well!
She smileth with eyes narrowed in delight and gently pincheth his cheek. The boy chuckleth and chooseth the freshest fruit. Though young, he showeth courtesy: he returneth the rest and taketh only the finest one. The teacher, beholding his manner—proper yet innocent—is well pleased.
The teacher lifteth the child onto his shoulder, waving to the crowd in greeting. The shopkeepers invite master and pupil to partake of fruit as a sweet after their meal. The teacher boweth politely and respondeth:
- Pjom bái! Pay cón!
In the Nung tongue, "slắng pjạc" signifieth "a temporary parting," that is, "farewell." When bidding adieu to those dear, one oft useth "pây cón" (pay con), "pây nỏ/né," "noọng pây cón," or "câu pây nỏ."
To give thanks, the Nung people say "pjom bai," which at its root meaneth "arms crossed, bowing in gratitude".
Upon first hearing familiar words spoken from a stranger's lips, the locals are overcome with joy, forgetting to return the greeting, standing tall with pride, and presenting their trays of fruit in full display.
- All are invited!
Tran Thu Do peels the first segment of the orange, and the banquet thus begins. After half a watch has passed, the guests take their leave one by one, departing the marketplace in succession. Yet as the final group prepares to depart, the songstresses suddenly begins to vomit, clutching their abdomens and crying out in agony. The shopkeeper, seized by panic, rushes forth to offer aid, but their cries grow ever more harrowing.
Thiet Nam steadies the crowd and speaks in a firm voice:
- They've suffered ailment from spoiled food! Everyone, fear not—I shall save them!
He hastily retrieves medicine from his bundle and administers it to the songstresses. While the crowd tends to the afflicted, Thiet Nam covertly swallows several items amidst the chaos. The situation settles for a moment, but soon he feels a burning fever, his head spins, and he collapses to the ground. Pointing to the medicine used to treat the Bong drums dance troupe, he murmurs:
- Use this medicine to save me…
Time passes unknown. At last, Thiet Nam awakens, and in the haze he sees a white-haired elder taking his pulse. He scans the surroundings: the song maidens remain unconscious, while Thu Do and his wife converse quietly nearby. Thiet Nam rubs his chest and furrows his brow, asking the elder:
- You haven't left yet?
The elder replies that he had not gone far before encountering a troupe of miscellaneous performers. The child, upon hearing this, is delighted and wishes to go watch. Master and disciple, having heard the cries, return swiftly to the market. Thiet Nam expresses his thanks, then asks:
- How long was I unconscious?
The elder says:
- More than half a month.
Thiet Nam doubts the words, yet the elder's expression remains composed. He finds it hard to believe he has lain in stupor for so long, but the man has no reason to deceive him. His spirit grows disoriented, weighed down by the pressure to become champion of the martial contest.
Should he fail, the tragedy shall be reenacted, and the cherished blossom shall wither in time. He shall once more lose all that he holds dear… and this time, he shall have no second chance.
This fear coils around his spirit, leaving him bewildered and at a loss. Tran Thu Do, his wife Tran Thi Dung, and the white-haired elder all gaze upon Thiet Nam as he struggles to rise, only to collapse once more upon the bamboo bed, drained of strength.
Lan places her trust in the one she loves, yet he ultimately fails to fulfill her hopes. The Guardian of Justice lowers his head in silent thought. The white-haired elder breaks the stillness to ask:
- Do you wish to enter the martial tournament?
Thiet Nam, his face shadowed with worry, offers a faint smile and nods gently. The elder furrows his brow and presses further:
- You've yet to put down your name?
Thiet Nam lets out a long sigh and nods again. Though one burdened by sorrow ought not be disturbed, the elder speaks on:
- Is it longin? Or regret?
Thiet Nam knits his brow, hearing the probing tone, and studies the elder's face. The matter of registration concerns no one else, yet the elder questions him again and again. Such pressing words resemble the stratagems of Tran Thu Do more than the demeanor of a true teacher. He is a loyal servant in the eyes of the Grand Chancellor; if it were the dark elder who asked, it would be more understandable.
Thiet Nam feels that those who meddle are even harder to comprehend than he, who is himself prone to meddling. Meddle word flash through his mind, and he cannot help but laugh inwardly, mocking himself. He remembers all the troubles yet unresolved, but the meddlesome forget that he is not the only one who bears the horn and marches forth.
The stranger smiles and lowers his head, for his true intent has already been revealed. He steals a glance at Tran Thu Do. The elder, with kind intent, aids the Grand Chancellor in testing Thiet Nam. Both Thu Do and his wife gladly accept this arrangement. The two await his answer with earnest hope. Thiet Nam suddenly lets out a soft laugh and teases the three:
- Of course I regret it! Precisely because I helped the people make peace, I missed a golden opportunity! - Thiet Nam lifts his head, feigns a short breath, then lets out a long sigh - Perhaps I should find a good physician and cure this meddlesome affliction once and for all! I don't want to spend the rest of my life volunteering for others while neglecting myself!
The Grand Chancellor and his wife are long acquainted with Thiet Nam's disposition, and it no longer strikes them as unfamiliar. Thiet Nam has even dared to threaten the Grand Chancellor, let alone merely make a casual jest to relieve his sorrow.
The wife casts a glance at her husband; he, too, turns his gaze toward her. In that moment, both perceive their shared enjoyment of Thiet Nam's conduct.
The husband marvels at Thiet Nam—a man as unbound by convention as himself. The wife unveils a delighted smile, for her husband appears no longer solitary. He laughs aloud, his voice resounding with a joy hitherto unknown.
From this day forth, the autocrat gains a faithful to his realm as his companion in timeless friendship. One envisions this eccentric pair continuing to complement each other upon the political stage, and all under heaven again reels into upheaval.
The Grand Chancellor celebrates by personally pouring wine for Thiet Nam. The old man of many stratagems lifts the corner of his mouth and clinks his cup with Thiet Nam's:
- Come, come! Whether you regret or not, this cup you must drink with me!
Thiet Nam replies with a gentle laugh:
- Once I finish this bowl of wine, I shall hold no regret nor grievance.
The two eccentrics raise their small bowls and drink heartily. The Grand Chancellor is in high spirits, but his expression suddenly shifts; his gaze grows solemn as it settles upon Thiet Nam:
- To drink with a kindred soul is to speak truth. Do you regret it?
Thiet Nam beholds Thu Do's grave countenance, his eyes deep as a whirling demon-revealing mirror, and a chill creeps over him; his spine stiffens. Though Thiet Nam has no reason to deceive, Thu Do persists in his battle of minds, seeking to rend every thread of emotion from Thiet Nam's heart.
Whenever the old man "checkmates" him, Thiet Nam feels his inner thoughts laid bare. He trembles, closes his eyes, draws a deep breath, and—once his spirit steadies—smiles in answer to this invisible pressure:
- I feel longing but no regret."
The Grand Chancellor glares fiercely, and Thiet Nam shudders in response:
- Forgive me—I have forgotten to answer with proper decorum.
The Grand Chancellor slashes at the air to signal threat; Thiet Nam scratches his head in apology. Thu Do remains silent, until the white-haired elder speaks:
- Why?
Thiet Nam looks toward him:
- Because I am the Guardian of Justice…
The Preceptor parts his lips and chuckles:
- How modest, faithful to his realm.
Tran Thi Dung joins in jest with her husband:
"The Guardian of Justice do seem fond of humility, don't they…"
The boy has watched the scene unfold from beginning to end, listening to the grown-ups speak of things beyond his grasp. He scratches his head in innocence and asks:
- Hmm… What are you all talking about? What does regret mean? And longing?
All four burst into laughter. The teacher patiently explains, and the boy nods in understanding, then grins and teases Thiet Nam:
- You only fainted for four watches! My teacher meant to joke, but you took it seriously. - The boy chuckles - Haha! Someone got tricked! Someone got tricked!
Thiet Nam, stunned by the prank. The Grand Chancellor and his wife cannot help but laugh softly. Thiet Nam blows gently at the long strand of hair before his face, then lifts the entire bowl of medicine and drinks it in one go. The white-haired elder declares aloud:
- The victim has awakened…
The shopkeepers enter the tent with delight to inquire. The villagers of the Lower Village, having seen Thiet Nam lively just moments ago, now behold him drenched in sweat and pale of face. The songstresses troupe fares no better—each returns to herself with a bitter look, complaining of pain in the belly.
Never before has one neared death from tainted food, and yet the saviors themselves suffer harm from fruit sold by vendors who lay their wares upon the ground. This blow compels the conservative faction to enact change. The eldest among them, while apologizing, makes a solemn vow:
- From this moment forth, we are casting off obstinacy. Thick carpets are being laid in layers; should prolonged rain or blazing sun arise, we shall place our goods upon the table and cover them for shelter.
The villagers above laud this righteous decision with fervor. The songstresses troupe and Thiet Nam at last breathe a sigh of relief. Pork Wooden Slab laughs heartily to ease the tension, patting his elder companion upon the shoulder:
- You ought to rejoice! Why wear such troubled brows? Come—join us for a drink!
Thiet Nam promptly calls out to Pork Wooden Slab, courteously inquiring whether he might request a tent for the night. Pork Wooden Slab claps his hands with delight and replies with cheerful resolve:
- We are drinking just across the street. Should you have need, simply call out—we shall arrive at once.
Thiet Nam and the songstresses troupe remain safe and sound, while the Grand Chancellor and his wife carefully instruct the poisoned ones to tend to their health. They gently brush the boy's cheek, and Tran Thi Dung smiles as she asks:
- What are your names, teacher and disciple?
The white-haired elder inclines his ear in silence, worried that his pupil may speak out of turn. He holds his breath, as though the very air is pressed from his lungs. The boy has recalled his teacher's admonition: speak not recklessly of hidden matters. He scratches his head and replies with a gentle smile:
- My name is Thien, and my teacher is Viet Thanh.
Thien speaks only his given name, withholding his surname. The Grand Chancellor and his wife furrow their brows, yet being occupied with affairs, they refrain from further inquiry and take their leave. Viet Thanh exhales at length, releasing the fear that lingers within his heart.Once the two depart, the elder swiftly turns back and, facing the group of patients, questions them in a low and solemn voice:
- Have you taken the wormleaf with intent to simulate affliction from spoiled fare?
Viet Thanh slowly turns toward Thiet Nam.
- The poisonous strain of wild grass has been nothing more than a common herb for treating colds. Yet once its leaves have been swallowed whole, it has brought on high fever, dizziness, and confusion—symptoms akin to affliction from tainted fare. And you have even swallowed that herb, known to but a few. The antidote in your satchel has been capable of curing all manner of toxins. In this world, has any meddler ever poisoned himself with his own medicine, only to cure himself thereafter. Huh, faithful to his realm?
His voice carries a chill, and his tone shifts into a threat.
-If your words fail to ease my heart, I shall detain you all and deliver you straight to the Grand Chancellor!
The songstresses fall into silence, their gazes fixed upon the elder of crane-boned frame and stork-like bearing. His face is full and ruddy, though his joints protrude slightly; beneath his kindly countenance, silver light flickers within his eyes, casting a weighty presence upon all. They glance at one another and shrug:
- Let's admit it, brothers.
Thiet Nam meets Viet Thanh's eyes with unwavering calm.
- Had we not pretended to collapse from stomach pain, the stubborn crowd would forever lay out their goods upon the ground, with no thought of adapting to the times.
The leader of the songstresses takes up the words:
- When goods are laid upon the ground, passersby oft avoid them and do not buy. If someone is truly dying from contaminated food, then today's efforts are in vain. We must devise a stratagem to awaken those who cling to the old ways.
Viet Thanh questions with suspicion:
- What proof do you offer to affirm your words?
The leader of the songstresses slowly draws a rectangular metal crest from his cloth pouch and solemnly presents it to Viet Thanh:
- The master of the Venus Tower bestows such crest only upon those he trusts most. We have been sent to aid the merchants of this market.
The boy Thien watches his teacher examine the crest again and again, then tugs at his sleeve in confusion, urging him to ascertain the truth. The elder nods and returns the crest.
- I have seen this crest before at the Venus Tower.
Thiet Nam smiles and says:
- You have grasped my intent in feigning unconsciousness, yet you still doubt and menace me. We must speak the whole truth—but the one who must hear it is not you, it is the boy Thien.
Thien, upon hearing this, is taken aback. He first looks to his teacher, then turns his gaze to Thiet Nam. The teacher reveals a look of quiet joy, inwardly praising the Guardian of Justice's discernment. The elder listens to Thiet Nam, a soft smile playing on his lips:
- Through this conversation, the boy must learn how to respond when faced with such trials.
Thien gazes at his teacher, wide-eyed and speechless. The boy takes note that his teacher listens to Thiet Nam in silence, as though savoring each word with care. At first, the boy was confused, having mistaken them for evildoers. But now, he discerns the truth and rejoices, for they have indeed proven themselves to be righteous. He will learn to think with calm discernment and refrain from hastily judging good and evil.
The elder nods, thoughtful, and poses a quiet question:
- Do you understand what he has said?
Though simple, the question itself affirms that Thiet Nam's words are true. Thien leaps up with joy and wraps his arms around his teacher's neck:
- Each person is different. We should not judge others as good or evil in haste, but act with greater care and wisdom. Am I right?
Thiet Nam nods in praise, calls Thien clever, and offers his respect to the teacher:
- The teacher's head is crowned with white hair, while the student remains but a child, still given to play. The teacher is as the aged bamboo; the student, like a tender shoot yet to break through the earth. Life and death are uncertain—though one stands in health today, who can say whether the sun shall be seen on the morrow? The teacher fears that he may one day depart this world without warning, leaving behind a lone pupil—still too young to stand on his own. With no one to care for him, no one to guide him in the ways of virtue, the boy may easily stray from the path of righteousness. Were the teacher still in his prime, he would not be so pressed. Yet time shall not wait, and the teacher must make use of every moment.
Through his earnest devotion to dance and song, Thiet Nam has moved the songstresses troupe deeply with his talent, and their admiration has turned into reverence. Who would have thought he has perceived the hearts of strangers so keenly?
Viet Thanh lowers his head in thought, while Thiet Nam speaks fully of the teacher's love for his student. Viet Thanh, deep in thought, turns toward the pure-hearted child. Thien opens his mouth wide, eyes round, glancing between his teacher and Thiet Nam, puzzled by his teacher's sorrow. He sniffles and scrunches his face, eyes glistening, as he clings to his teacher's sleeve:
- Teacher, are you going to die? Please don't die! If you die, who will I stay with?
All present, seeing the child's earnest plea, cannot help but smile. The teacher gently embraces Thien, pats his back softly, and speaks in a tender voice:
- You are still young, not yet of age.
Viet Thanh turns his gaze to Thiet Nam, eyes filled with hope, as though entrusting the child to a new guide:
- The teacher will not die!
Thiet Nam, with no kin nor companion, stands alone in the world. A snail cannot carry even its own shell with ease—how then shall it bear a stake for the moss? In such a moment, even the Guardian of Justice cannot shoulder the trumpet of burden, nor take it upon himself to tend to the troubles of the realm.
The Guardian of Justice is but a mortal, not a sage.
Thiet Nam dares not accept the call, unwilling to face the teacher's reverent gaze. He answers only with silence. The teacher, seeing this, smiles. This is a matter that bears upon the fate of a man's life. Even one who shoulders the worries of the realm cannot grant his assent so lightly.
All bonds are born of familiarity and trust. Between strangers, time and chance are needed to know one another. The teacher must wait with patience.
- Truly, teacher? - Thien asks with a smile - You truly won't die, right?
Those nearby are amused by the boy's carefree innocence. The teacher smiles and nods, confirming with gentle warmth. Thien leaps with delight onto the bamboo bed and lies beside Thiet Nam. Before long, soft snores rise—he has fallen into deep slumber.
Night deepens. Cold mist soaks the tent with silent damp, and Thien curls up in his sleep. Thiet Nam gently lays a second blanket over him, then places both hands behind his head, lost in thought, wandering through the haze of his mind. The Guardian of Justice, burdened with unspoken cares, turns restlessly, and at last, drifts into sleep.
Foonote
This description of traditional Nung clothing is not my own; it is compiled from articles by Vietnamese journalists.
[1] Nung clothing comes in a variety of colors, ranging from light blue and deep blue to charcoal purple and dark navy. However, the primary color remains traditional indigo. As the Nung people rely on agriculture, growing both dry and wet rice, they use liquid extracted from indigo plants to dye white cotton fabric. This not only saves on washing but also reflects harmony with nature. Indigo-dyed garments are more durable and take a long time to wear out.
Indigo is a plant commonly found among ethnic groups such as the Dai and Nung. Indigo plants are among the most important materials used in making traditional Nung clothing. To create beautiful and unique colors, people crush the indigo plants, soak them in water, filter the mixture, and collect the indigo powder. Depending on personal preference, the powder is mixed with water in suitable proportions for dyeing.
Typically, a piece of fabric measures nine to ten meters in length. Each time, it must be soaked in indigo water for one hour, then dried for at least another hour until fully dry. The dyeing process is repeated over a month until the fabric turns deep blue or black. Limewater is used during the indigo dyeing process. Yellow limewater dyes the fabric black, while green limewater turns it white.
Regardless of which Nung subgroup one belongs to, the overall style of Nung clothing is consistent, though details vary based on gender, age, status, and community. From ancient times to the present, both men and women wear pants with wide waistbands and loose legs that reach the ankles. Garment edges are often embroidered with colorful threads, especially around hems and lower borders.
Men typically wear black headscarves, loose pants, and a four-panel shirt that fits snugly at the waist. The shirt is designed to be form-fitting, tied with a silk belt at the waist, with long, loose sleeves and a round neckline. It features seven buttons and either four pockets or two embroidered fabric pockets. Although men also wear silver jewelry like women, they wear it less frequently.
At first glance, Nung clothing may not seem particularly different from that of other ethnic groups. However, the indigo shirts worn by the Nung are effective in protecting against sun exposure during farming and land clearing. Though slightly stuffy in summer, they provide warmth in harsh winter conditions. Wearing two layers of warm pants, one can withstand even biting cold.
Nung women's clothing is more diverse, including both five-panel and four-panel styles. The short four-panel shirt has four small pockets sewn onto the front. Near the chest, the fabric is slit and fastened with a row of cloth buttons under the right armpit. The width of the hem and garment edges matches that of the cuffs.
Inside the blue sleeves and collar is a piece of lotus-pink fabric. From the collar down to the wrist, the shirt is decorated with colorful fabric patches. The dominant bright tone remains the calm indigo blue.
Although the indigo five-panel shirt is shorter, its length is enough to cover the hips. As Nung people often work in waterlogged fields, the shirt body and sleeves are designed to be loose, allowing for greater flexibility and ease of movement.
The Nung place great importance on expressing their appearance through clothing. Nung women learn garment-making techniques from elders and neighboring ethnic groups. Their efforts are rewarded by hands as skillful as artists', rhythmically combining square patterns with diamond motifs to form adjacent triangles.
Silver beads are carefully used to decorate triangular tassels, sewn onto the shirt's collar buttons. On either side of the slightly open flower-bud-shaped collar, golden butterflies are delicately embroidered in flight. These simple and familiar symbols reflect Nung women's hopes for happiness.
They not only craft buttons with care but also adorn the shirt edges with shimmering silver beads, creating a solemn and elegant visual effect.
Whenever they embroider or sew, Nung women think of daily life and the world around them. Through the design of a skirt shaped like a truncated cone, they closely connect clothing with life, carefully stitching together twelve fabric colors symbolizing the twelve months of the year to make the skirt's waistband.
Wearing a skirt that fits snugly at the waist, with a slightly flared body, adds elegance, youthfulness, and harmony to the outfit. Silk brings beauty to people, and Nung clothing shines through its decorative jewelry — an indispensable part of traditional Nung women's attire.
Today, the Nung people in Cao Bang still wear traditional clothing in daily life, fieldwork, weddings, and festivals. The scent of indigo fabric has accompanied them for years, and they continue to take great pride in the indigo garments that represent their ethnic identity.