71. Step by Step Into the Depths

Chen Sufen still went along despite the disapproving looks, seizing the chance to caution Bai Haonan: “You can’t just get involved with these minority girls as you please. If you accidentally offend their customs or spark some ethnic conflict, it could be serious. Rongdu is surrounded by all sorts of minority regions, and right next to the sports institute is the Ethnic University. She’d heard plenty of messy stories like this.”

Bai Haonan scoffed, “How could chasing girls lead to something like that? Don’t underestimate me just because I didn’t study much—I know what goes on in a girl’s mind!”

Sufen felt like a nagging old mother: “It’s precisely because getting entangled with this kind of girl is especially dangerous; once you’re involved, you can’t shake her off…”

Haonan was puzzled, “Why does it matter to you if I can’t shake her off? Do you really think people marry multiple wives these days? Are you planning to be her colleague or something? Go on, don’t try to scare me with ghost stories; I’m just here for fun, nothing more.”

Sufen could only watch helplessly as Bai Haonan dashed off to chase after the girls.

The original ethnic village was actually just behind the hillside of the tourist town. The town office and such were built lower down because of the river, but the slope itself was nothing but a barren, bread-shaped hill, not even suitable for planting crops. Walking up along the slope, suddenly there appeared a cluster of broken stone walls and scattered stone buildings.

Not just Yisha, nearly all the girls spoke fluent Mandarin, their accents much better than the boys’. They were curious about Bai Haonan’s effortless climb up the hill: “Most Han people can’t make it up here without complaining; this is highland country!”

Haonan learned the altitude here was always around three thousand meters and was delighted: “That’s nothing! Every year I used to go up for highland training... well, to build up strength. But where I’m from, even two thousand meters is considered highland exercise.” No wonder he’d felt a bit lightheaded ever since checking into the hotel with Sufen—it was because of the altitude. He wasn’t sure about other things, but every year as a professional athlete he’d grown very familiar with the differences in highland training. If he could run and play here, his physical condition really was pretty good.

Once they reached the village, the young people started bustling about, excitedly spreading the news. Bai Haonan kept up easily, and for him, everything here was fresh and novel, more real than the falsehoods of the outside world.

So real it was almost unbelievable.

Truthfully, Bai Haonan had never lacked money, at least never been poor. So when for the first time he saw old women wearing faded, tattered army caps and draped in woolen shawls, squatting in the corners, he thought even the beggars in Jiangzhou or Rongdu dressed better than this. There really were people this poor, and not just one or two—there was a whole row of them along the wall, faces wrinkled and aged, obviously no strangers to hardship, yet all smiling as they watched the young folks around the bonfire. Children, dirty and ragged, faces forever smudged, ran everywhere, nearly knocking Sufen over several times, so she had to step back. Maybe other young women would be afraid of such an unfamiliar place, but Sufen trusted her own skills, especially with Haonan around. She found a dirt mound, sat with her elbows hugging her long legs, chin resting on her knees, quietly watching the lively figure below.

Ah, so long as he’s happy, let him be.

Bai Haonan was truly happy. He didn’t understand words like ‘living casually’ or ‘free-spirited life’; he only knew how to indulge, how to enjoy himself—do what feels good!

He joined a group of boys, hand in hand, dancing around the bonfire. It didn’t strike him as funny that a bunch of men should be flailing their arms and kicking their legs—anything was better than those staged performances outside.

The girls had gone off to change outfits. The boys laughed and danced, even played at wrestling with each other. Then came the sharp, melodious call of the high-pitched singing!

Having spent days with the regional talent show champion from Rongdu, Bai Haonan had begun categorizing any drawn-out, lyric-less vocals as ‘high-pitched singing.’

The songs came in waves. The boys playing with Bai Haonan all responded to the voices, some even gesturing for him to join in. Since there were no actual lyrics or melodies, Bai Haonan tried to mimic the drawn-out “ah-yo-wey” sounds. Thanks to his lung capacity—and all those nights at KTV—his rich baritone stood out among the local boys.

Sufen laughed, watching the carefree fellow enjoying himself, her eyes bright with amusement. Yet in her heart she felt a flicker of unease, though not enough to make her wary; after all, she didn’t have much experience traveling in ethnic regions.

The ancients said song expresses ambition; ten people singing together can reveal different tones and energies. The women’s voices were a bit like cuckoos cooing, while the men dragged out their “ah-yo-wey” calls. Bai Haonan found it entertaining and joined in again and again. His chest resonated wonderfully—even when he mischievously switched to mimicking a cow’s “moo—” he could hold the note long, drawing laughter from the crowd. The more people cheered, the more Haonan got into it.

But to Sufen’s ears, the men’s calls had become scattered, some short, some drawn-out, no longer in rhythm. Most importantly, after the men’s singing, the women’s “coo-coo-coo” voices followed in reply, a back-and-forth.

Some men, after their call, didn’t get a reply from the women and, after a few tries, slumped by the fire. But for others, a chorus of cooing answered—like Bai Haonan.

Haonan himself didn’t notice the shift in rhythm, thinking it was just a contest of dance or breath control—after all, with his recent experiences, that’s as far as his interpretation went. So, shamelessly, he showed off the orchid-fingered belly dance he’d performed for Sister Mai, and when he added the hip-swinging dance he’d learned at the duck bar, he became the center of attention.

He truly looked like a big white pig, shaking its rear and bellowing.

But Sufen stopped watching him, got up and listened intently, for she realized those “coo-coo-coo” sounds were like hens engaged in a quarrel!

Now, lyrics began to mingle with the cooing, the mountain-song style gradually overtaking it. One after another, the women sang loud and fierce!

Unfortunately, neither Bai Haonan nor Sufen could understand the words.

Finally, one soaring melody dominated, sweeping away all the coos and female voices like autumn wind scattering leaves, regal and commanding, its echoes slowly fading.

Only Bai Haonan, as if he’d taken ecstasy, kept shaking and jumping around the bonfire with a few boys.

But the others, no longer singing, craned their necks to look outward; only Bai Haonan kept howling, oblivious.

He was truly too hyped up.

Within minutes, Sufen, standing on the dirt mound, saw a row of figures gradually emerge from the darkness opposite, growing clearer as the firelight reached them: all the girls had changed into black-and-white long skirts!

On their heads, large headscarves wrapped around the center, adorned with strings of silver chain-like ornaments—much simpler than many southwestern minorities, but showing determination and boldness.

Bai Haonan was finally pulled back by the boys, staring in astonishment as a girl advanced toward him, her dance movements fluid, hands fluttering like birds—who else could it be but Yisha?

After twenty years of chasing girls, he was now being chased himself.

Look at their flirting—using dance!

Haonan was utterly stunned.

On the dirt mound, Sufen was petrified.