Spring Festival Extra “Apsara”

“They are women born between clouds and water, the very embodiment of clouds and water, performing dances in the heavenly realm, using the most beautiful postures of the twenty-eight heavens to describe nature and interpret human life, which is what we call—reincarnation,” the guide, Hong Sen, said, one hand resting on the massive buttress roots of a tree, the other pointing to a dilapidated temple column about five meters ahead, where relief sculptures towered at least three people high. “Apsarā, 阿卜娑罗, that is their name.”

Although Hong Sen was a native of Siem Reap, after working as a guide for over a decade, he spoke Chinese at a decent pace with a rich vocabulary, though his accent still bore a strong Khmer influence, with the endings of his words often twisting and turning.

Thus, one sometimes needed to pay close attention to understand.

It was quite similar to the dialects back home, Ye Ji’an thought, lifting the brim of his straw hat to look in the direction Hong Sen was pointing. There, amidst the gaps in the rainforest, stood a magnificent tower-like structure, its stone walls a grayish-yellow, with black moss dried out by the scorching sun of the dry season, only to grow back, leaving marks that seemed like erosion. Six celestial maidens were suspended in a row at the clean middle of the stone wall, their milky-white stone surfaces presenting a rich ivory texture, each with different postures and elegant features, looking down from above as if they were within a picture frame, truly vivid and graceful.

“How does reincarnation get interpreted through dance?” Liang Xiao put down his camera and asked.

“This is life, and this is death,” Hong Sen said, raising his arm and twisting his hand in a way that resembled a deformed orchid finger, then making pushing and pulling motions. “And this is giving, and this, this is receiving.”

Liang Xiao raised an eyebrow, seemingly dissatisfied with his exaggerated gestures.

“I saw online that there are performances called ‘The Smile of Angkor’ here,” Ye Ji’an said, “They must be dancing that kind of dance, right?”

“Yes, yes, that’s the Apsara Dance! Apsara is also known as the Wave Fairy. There are over four thousand movements, each with over four thousand meanings, starting from a young age. We can see living Apsaras now!” Hong Sen wiped the mud off the bottom of his flip-flops on a stone by the roadside and beckoned the two to come closer to take a look. “I’ve already booked your tickets, front row, tonight at eight. After watching the sunset, we’ll come down from the hot air balloon…”

“Sounds good,” Ye Ji’an said, leaning closer to Liang Xiao’s camera and making a scissor gesture, “Thank you.” He raised his voice again.

Hong Sen waved his hand, turned back with a wink, and gave a thumbs up. “The hot air balloon—super romantic! For a honeymoon trip, choose Angkor, by the way!”

Liang Xiao corrected him for the Nth time: “It’s a New Year trip, New—Year—trip,” he emphasized in standard Mandarin, “China’s Spring Festival. We’ve been together for many years.”

Hong Sen seemed not to hear, striding ahead as their guide toward another temple.

Ye Ji’an linked his arm with Liang Xiao’s, feeling a strong urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was their fourth year; if this still counted as a honeymoon, it was a bit too long. This year, Ye Ji’an’s private equity had performed well, and Liang Xiao’s risk control was efficient, leaving little leftover work. They had finally saved up a whole year’s worth of ten days of annual leave, plus the seven days of the Spring Festival, making it over half a month. The two finally had the time to take a trip far away, without any work obligations.

Ye Ji’an had put some effort into choosing their destination. Liang Xiao had traveled to too many places; his passport was filled with stamps from two books. As a child, he was often taken by his father to travel, spending entire holidays away from home without doing homework. After starting work, he had traveled abroad for business frequently. After all this time, he had been to nearly every country with a decent level of development and safety, if not everywhere, at least to neighboring countries.

Ye Ji’an didn’t want to go to popular routes like England, France, Germany, Portugal, Spain, or Japan and South Korea. In the end, he circled Southeast Asia and the Middle East on the map, crossing out a few countries with significant safety threats.

Liang Xiao squinted at it for a while and chose the former, wanting to see the tropical rainforest.

Ye Ji’an looked at this reptile enthusiast and thought it was to be expected.

The first stop was Cambodia, landing in Phnom Penh. Along the Tonle Sap River, they indeed saw many reptiles, many of which were treated as common ingredients in dishes, though the two merely passed by without trying any.

Now, a quarter of their holiday had passed, and it was their second day touring Angkor Wat.

Surprisingly, compared to the rare tree species, Liang Xiao was more interested in these miraculous buildings. Half of his camera was focused on them, and the other half on Ye Ji’an. At this moment, the Apsara statue was behind them, gradually fading away. The humid heat, low clouds, soil, and intertwined tree roots… mysterious reliefs were everywhere, the temple complex hidden in the shadows of the dense forest, so widespread that passing through one area led to another, with various legends floating in the air. Even the once glorious things, now, felt too heavy, weighing down on one’s spirit.

Perhaps because of this, Ye Ji’an had been feeling a strange sensation these two days, as if the process of walking deeper was distancing him from this world. Time here was not a flowing entity but rather the windmills of Don Quixote, the ice blocks of Macondo, tranquility that could be touched like a soft solid. Walking together with Liang Xiao, they were both drawn into it.

In a daze, after completing a circle at Angkor Thom, emerging from the forest, he saw the hour hand just past “4” on his watch, and the bustling road and houses, feeling it was unreal.

Cambodia had neither a public transportation system nor taxis; the popular mode of transport was called a “tuk-tuk,” a cart attached to a motorcycle, convenient for carrying people and goods, with fares starting at one dollar. Ye Ji’an had become quite adept at it, hailing two, passing by reservoirs and farmlands, with Hong Sen leading the way in front, while Ye Ji’an and Liang Xiao shared one, sitting face to face, closely following behind.

About fifteen minutes later, they stopped in front of a market by a wetland.

“Go in to eat, drink, and buy some things,” Hong Sen, well-versed in the art of avoiding being a third wheel, advised. “I’ll wait for you here at five-thirty!”

“Hey,” Liang Xiao stopped him, showing him the transfer record on his phone, “Give me some cash.”

Hong Sen cheerfully handed over a stack of green bills.

In school, Ye Ji’an had heard a saying that there were countless ways for the rich to spend their money, but the markets of the poor were the same all over the world. It was probably from a class where a professor passionately described the wealth gap and interpreted capitalism. At the time, he found it absurd and remembered it until now.

This saying clearly did not apply in Cambodia. How could the watermelon sellers be the same everywhere? What about the old woman selling birds with a bamboo fence? Missing a hand, she had a wooden board in front of her, inscribed in four languages, stating she was a landmine victim from the border area. And there were many monks, easily spotted, most of them with youthful faces, wearing orange robes mingling among ordinary people, doing ordinary things like eating and chatting.

Even beside the world’s greatest ancient ruins, life was still ordinary.

Ye Ji’an took Liang Xiao’s wrist, feeling relaxed for the umpteenth time these days, an inexplicable comfort. With no one watching him except for Liang Xiao, this was freedom. At this moment, thousands of miles away in Beijing, it was freezing cold, yet he was wandering around in Liang Xiao’s short-sleeved T-shirt, the pure white color refreshing with a round neck, the back adorned with Versace’s golden Medusa. The heat-laden wind before sunset rushed in from the hem, inflating it like a balloon. Ye Ji’an knew he could expose his tattoos here without worry; this was also freedom.

Liang Xiao wore the same style of T-shirt, but in pure black, with Medusa turned lake blue. He was the type who liked to buy many of the same item, washing or discarding them based on his mood. At this moment, the one he wore was already soaked with sweat.

Wearing thick jeans and carrying a DSLR, walking on the sun-baked dirt road, he was certainly hot, but he didn’t say anything.

Ye Ji’an understood this and pulled him to a stop, handing a dollar to a nearby vendor, receiving two local currency notes in change. This currency was called Riel, only circulating domestically, and its exchange rate was highly unstable. Generally, one thousand Riel was equivalent to twenty-five cents. Cambodians preferred to use it for change rather than the small denominations of U.S. dollars. After these days, they had accumulated a thick stack, and Ye Ji’an, a financial executive, for the first time felt confused about money—he truly didn’t know what to do with it when he returned home.

Two minutes later, ice cubes plopped into their cups, and they received two glasses of freshly squeezed sugarcane juice.

“Cheers,” Ye Ji’an raised his cup.

“Cheers!” Liang Xiao was quite generous, and after clinking glasses, he downed the sweet juice in one go, even chewing and swallowing the ice casually. He then wrapped his arm tightly around Ye Ji’an, nudging his straw hat off his forehead with his nose, his eyes round as he looked at his face. “Ge, I want to eat spicy grilled tofu.”

The sign was not far ahead.

A couple of days ago, they had eaten something similar by a floating village along a river in Kandal.

“…That thing was way too spicy, millet pepper’s ancestor,” Ye Ji’an placed the straw hat on Liang Xiao’s head. “Then I’ll order a lemon grilled fish.”

“I’ll treat you!” Liang Xiao squinted with a smile.

The salty, fishy smell surrounding the restaurant was reminiscent of the floating village, almost a reenactment. They encountered the kind of children common in floating villages at the entrance, who could say a few words in any language, chattering around tourists, selling wooden flutes and chewing gum.

If you pulled out money to buy, they would smile, “Brother, you’re so handsome!” If you didn’t buy, their faces would fall, eyes brimming with tears, “Brother, you’re ugly!”

This tactic had no effect on Liang Xiao, but Ye Ji’an was not immune. Being called “brother” occasionally made him feel a bit off, to some extent blaming Liang Xiao. A few days ago, he had already bought five flutes out of pity, all piled in his suitcase, and now he felt he didn’t want to get two more to make seven Dragon Balls.

Thus, the children pouted and scattered.

So the two “ugly brothers” entered the shop and had a hearty meal.

Exiting the market, Hong Sen was diligently waiting at the designated farewell spot, with two ready-to-go tuk-tuks. The hot air balloon site was nearby; at six-thirty, the balloon would take off on time. Having made a reservation and added the ticket price, it only seated two people inside. Ye Ji’an leaned against Liang Xiao’s side, overlooking the gradually receding land.

The farmlands were a fresh green fabric, the reservoir smooth silk, and the numerous temples were wooden embellishments. Above the skirts of the celestial maidens, the wind stirred, the distant wilderness was endless, and as they floated steadily, it felt as if they could reach the end at any moment.

Liang Xiao took a few photos before putting the camera away, a heavy black bag resting at his feet. He finally had nothing hanging on him, a complete embrace to hold Ye Ji’an.

“The battery’s dead,” he said.

“I brought an extra battery,” Ye Ji’an felt around in his messenger bag.

Liang Xiao pressed down on his hand. “You didn’t bring it.”

“Oh.” Ye Ji’an laughed, leaning back completely against Liang Xiao.

“Just looking with your eyes is enough,” Liang Xiao awkwardly said, I just want to hold you, but he had already embraced him, so he explained it that way. After a moment, he added, “Sigh, I really want to eat that mushroom.”

“The one that makes you laugh?” Ye Ji’an recalled how Liang Xiao had been staring at the old man selling magical mushrooms at the restaurant for quite a while.

“Yeah, even though I never eat fungi—”

“No way, that thing must be poisonous, some kind of nerve stimulant. It’s only poisonous that makes you laugh.”

“By the way, Ge, have you ever inhaled laughing gas? It was quite popular abroad before.”

“How about you?” Ye Ji’an turned back, his eyes wide open, “Have you inhaled it?”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t dare,” Liang Xiao said seriously, then rubbed his forehead against Ye Ji’an’s, “I just want to try that kind of natural hallucinogen. What do you think chemical laughter would feel like? And what if I try that mushroom and find it delicious, then I’d want to eat other mushrooms when I get back home?”

After saying this, he laughed, as if he felt he was being unreasonable.

Ye Ji’an chuckled, “You don’t need to eat to laugh; you’re already achieving the effect.”

Hearing this, Liang Xiao swallowed the remaining laughter, tightening his hold around Ye Ji’an’s waist. They quietly watched the scenery for a while until the tranquil round sun sank into the tropical jungle, the heat shifting from waves to stillness, the golden-red horizon gradually extinguishing, the sky turning a slate blue mixed with gray, the reservoir and rivers also blue, deeper and more expansive.

They merged into a purer color in places beyond sight.

Ye Ji’an thought with great certainty that if blue were to be born in the world, it should be like this.

And more colors were nearby, in the northeastern village, closer to the market, different shades of goose-yellow lights began to illuminate, along with the same goose-yellow spherical fireworks, which only sparsely bloomed in the low sky, requiring one to look down to see, like seeing floating lights drifting toward oneself in the middle of the ocean, without being able to ask where they came from.

For some reason, Ye Ji’an felt a sting in his eyelids, perhaps because he had been fixed in the city for too long, almost forgetting that such scenery existed in the world. He turned and embraced Liang Xiao tightly, starting to kiss from the tip of his chin. He saw a pool of water in Liang Xiao’s eyes too, no, two pools, a deeper purity.

At a height of a thousand meters, the two kissed slowly.

Uncertain how long this kiss lasted, as for its end—there was a reminder in the intercom that in ten minutes their balloon would land, and they should prepare. Reluctantly, Ye Ji’an parted from Liang Xiao, still leaning against his neck, his gaze sweeping again, catching sight of the distant blue.

It seemed to last longer than the sunset.

He suddenly thought of “between clouds and water,” at the confluence of heaven and river, the so-called celestial maidens, the most beautiful embodiment in the twenty-eight heavens, the source of everything?

Bestowing elegance, good fortune, kindness, and fragrance, interpreting the nature of a world and the reincarnation of a person.

Ye Ji’an tightened his embrace around Liang Xiao’s arm; the sweat on the T-shirt had evaporated, the fabric slightly rough against his skin.

Hong Sen’s reminder text was still on his phone, just as the screen had flashed in his pocket, saying that “The Smile of Angkor” would start at eight o’clock sharp. Yet, he felt as if he had transcended time and space, catching an early glimpse of the dance of Apsara.