A Love Spell Gone Too Far: The Miao Village Chief's Captive Pet

The misfortune began with my research into the snake-pattern embroidery of Langxi Village.

I was crouching in front of a stilt house, framing a shot, when a young man in a dark blue shirt stepped into view through my lens: Chen Ye. Sunlight caught the red mole at the outer edge of his right eyebrow, but his gaze was as deep as a pool in the misty mountains. Back then, I had no idea that one look would make it impossible for me to leave these mountains behind.

I heard Chen Ye say “I don't practice gu” three times.

The first time was outside a bar. Clutching the photo I'd snapped of him, I pressed him for answers. His fingertip brushed the edge of the picture. “Su Yan, I don't practice gu.” But the next day, a sprig of wild jasmine with a clean-cut stem appeared on the inn's windowsill.

The second time was in the woods, where we'd lost our way. Black insects swarmed eerily around our car. He appeared with a bamboo basket full of embroidery thread and pointed us toward Qingxi Town. I asked about the local tales of the raw Miao people in the misty mountains. Looking down with a smile, he said, “Su Yan, I don't practice gu.” Then he handed me a sprig of wild jasmine, still beaded with stream water, like a marker that had followed us along the way.

The third time came much later. I sat before his embroidery frame, looking at the unfinished snake pattern, and touched the box at the bottom of his bamboo basket. Inside were the research notes I'd left behind here, with wild jasmine drawn all over the blank spaces.

Only then did I understand: he had lied when he said he “didn't practice gu.” It wasn't the mountain paths that had trapped me, but the feelings he'd hidden in every stitch. But how many unspoken secrets were still tucked inside that unopened box of embroidery thread?