The Forbidden Island of Life

Since then, I fled to Cambodia. I secretly climbed aboard a coal train in Phnom Penh, and after reaching Bavet Mo, I walked to Yasen. From there, I took a boat to Gokong Island. In this nameless little town, I stayed for five years.

In Zhan Galun City, there was an underground arms network. Every time they received a shipment, they paid in riel and asked me to help protect the transaction. But I no longer get involved in those activities.

Now, every August, I take a boat to the Crozer Islands, where I trade with the locals and make enough for a year's living expenses.

The girl seemed lost in thought. I cut off a piece of dried meat with my knife and handed it to her. She took it and said, "The cross-shaped scar on your chest, was it from fighting with three of your teammates?" I nodded and asked if her mother had told her about the strange scar. She nodded as well. I told the girl to sleep, as I wanted to sit alone in silence.

The flickering firelight from the hearth cast shadows on the walls. I gazed at Loya, peacefully asleep, then looked out at the heavy rain outside, imagining what it would be like on the sea. I hoped the bad weather wouldn't persist during the voyage.

At that moment, though I sat in the dry, cozy cabin, my heart was heavy. This time at sea, I wouldn't return for at least five months. After I left, how would this girl be taken care of? Sending her back home would force her into an unbearable situation.

The basement had ten boxes of dried food. I had planned to give them to Zhadawa's family before heading to Sihanoukville. They were a family living on the brink of starvation, and there was my young fiancée. I hoped they could survive the time after I left.

A few days before Loya arrived, Zhadawa had brought his daughter, Yiliang, to my attic. Zhadawa, a man in his forties, had become so stooped he looked like an old man. His daughter, however, stood tall and graceful, with her neck bare and freshly washed.

Yiliang, though wearing tattered clothes from a poor family, had a well-proportioned body and a delicate, youthful aura.

That day, Zhadawa wanted to leave his daughter to spend the night in my attic, but I refused. If something happened while I was at sea and I didn't return safely, leaving behind a young, pregnant wife would only subject her and the child to hardship.

Zhadawa, though poor and weathered by life, was honest and good-hearted. He could tell that I cared for Yiliang, not just out of desire, but for her future. He wiped away a tear of gratitude and took his daughter back home.

Before they left, I gave Zhadawa most of the food from my storage and promised to give him more before I left for sea.

Zhadawa smiled gratefully, and Yiliang lifted her beautiful face to glance at me with her clear eyes, then quickly lowered her head.

That was the first time I truly noticed this sixteen-year-old girl. No wonder the townspeople called her the most beautiful girl in the area—I believed it then.

The day of departure finally arrived. I sent seven boxes of food to Zhadawa, leaving two and a bit more for Loya. I also reminded Loya to keep the attic safe and avoid going outside. If danger came, she should hide in the secret room beneath the bed, where there was a short gun for self-defense.

After loading the goods and necessities onto the cart, I set off for Sihanoukville. It would take three days to reach the port from this small town. If the weather was good, I might make it in two.

The ship, *Sno*, wouldn't wait for me if I were late, so I hurried. The cart got stuck in mud several times, and I had to unload everything, drag the cart out, and reload it piece by piece.

The feeling wasn't nearly as comfortable as sitting in a tavern, but to have enough riel for the next year's enjoyment, I had to overcome all obstacles now.

The only advantage of using a cart was that it didn't need fuel or feed. The jungle was full of dense foliage, so I could unhitch the horse, let it graze for a couple of hours, and it would continue pulling me and my goods towards Sihanoukville.

That evening, heavy rain caught up with us. I had to stop and take shelter. I set up the tent on a two-meter-high shrub, then arranged the supplies from the cart to make a flat space for me to rest my tired body.

The thunderstorm raged outside, but the horse was quiet in the tent, chewing on plants. I ate some tough dried meat and nuts, thinking about the cabin, wondering if Loya would be scared alone.

I imagined the *Sno* had already docked, and that tomorrow night, it would leave port for the Cape of Good Hope in Africa. The natives of the Crozer Islands would also be waiting for my spices and dried fruits.

When dawn broke, the rain hadn't let up, but I couldn't wait any longer, or I would miss the boat. I dismantled the tent, secured the goods tightly, and set off in the rain.

When I reached Sihanoukville, the *Sno* had just docked. I filled out the paperwork, unloaded the goods into the cargo hold, and slept in a cramped cabin.

The huge freighter was much more worn than last year. I guessed it had faced its share of storms and pirates during the year at sea. The massive deck had been scrubbed and washed, looking like a speckled dog's skin. The captain was still the same short, stout man, leading a crew of fugitives from all over.

I wrapped myself tighter in my sheepskin cloak, ignoring them. I needed to rest because tomorrow I'd be working with the crew to clean the deck and maintain the mast.

The wind and rain grew fiercer that night, and the whole ship swayed back and forth like a baby in a woman's arms. I hadn't felt this in a long time. After three days of exhaustion, I quickly fell asleep.