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Chapter Twenty-Two

VIVI

All the movies and books prepare you for that kiss with the right person. That sparks will fly, and everything will feel right , they say. And God, how it felt so right with Lan. So much so that I didn’t expect the post-kiss effects: the restlessness that grips me because I can’t spend twenty-four seven with her, the way my mind only thinks of her , and how godawfully long it feels to wait for her when all I want to do is kiss her again and again and again.

A voice interrupts my thoughts. Finally. “Hey! Sorry, am I late?”

It’s like my blood starts pumping faster the moment I look at Lan, and suddenly, everything is right in the world. “No. I wasn’t waiting for long.” I stood there waiting for fifteen minutes, because I couldn’t wait to see her again.

She smiles, her hand grabbing mine naturally. “Ready for water puppetry?”

“A bit disappointed that it’s not street food related, but anywhere with you? I’ll be there.”

Inside the Golden Dragon Water Puppet Theater is an amphitheater decorated with golden dragons and red, silky brocades. Paper lanterns crowd the ceilings, illuminating our path toward the open pool in front of us. A pagoda looms behind the pool, its arch the shape of two dragons’ heads leaning together. Curtains with detailed embroidery of two dragons on each side and a sun in the middle create a backdrop for the stage. Around us, people float through the amphitheater, talking in a mix of Vietnamese and other languages.

I marvel at the sight, eyes glued to the towering space.

Lan chuckles, her laugh vibrating through my skin as she squeezes my hand. “Are you excited?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? But I’m more excited to know the physics behind water puppetry. How long are they holding their breath for?”

Lan winks. “That’s a secret. It’s what makes this magical.”

According to the pamphlet, the play for tonight is the fairy tale of the Dragon King and the Fairy Princess. The lights dim behind us, and we can hear the sound of water splashing. At once, the rhythmic sounds of cymbals, gongs, bamboo flutes, and monochords rip through the hall as fire flares from behind the curtains, announcing the start of the performance. Lan cracks a smile and plants a kiss on my cheek.

A voice booms from behind the curtains, making me jump in my seat. Beside me, Lan stifles a laugh.

“Welcome to the Golden Dragon Puppet Theater. Tonight’s story is about the start of our country, and the birth of our people,” the voice announces.

Puppets float from behind the silk curtains to the front of the pool in a single-file line, smoke swirling around them while the cymbals and gongs only speed up their rhythms. I notice the tallest water puppet, which is dressed in silky pink robes with a golden halo.

“That one reminds me of you,” I whisper to Lan. “Look, it’s wearing a braid just like you!”

“The short one in orange looks like you.” She laughs in my ear, sending shivers up my spine again. “It’s so little.”

“That’s so rude. But since it’s from you, I’ll take it.”

As the applause dies down, the narrator starts the story.

This tale follows the story of ?u C? and L?c Long Quan, the Fairy Princess and the Dragon King.

?u C?, a kind and beautiful fairy, was traveling one day when a crane appeared in front of her by the roadside, bleeding and injured.

“Help me,” it cried.

?u C?, overwhelmed with hurt for the poor creature, nursed it under her care. “Friend, please stay strong,” she whispered. Together, ?u C? and the crane spent five days and five nights together under the sun, the moon, and the stars. They watched flowers grow and rain fall from the sky. They danced through the rice fields. Once the crane was all better, it bade farewell to ?u C?.

“Goodbye, my friend.” The crane thanked ?u C?. “Thank you for your kindness. Heaven blesses you.”

A few days later, as ?u C? continued her journey, she encountered a giant water beast. Frightened, she tried turning into a bird to fly away, but the beast caught her before she could.

“Please, let me go!”

Her cries reached the heavens, and the crane she’d saved appeared just in time. This time, it wasn’t just a crane—it was the mighty Dragon God. The Dragon called upon the sea and, with his magic, saved ?u C?.

“My friend, you came for me! Thank you.” ?u C? was happy to see her friend, and once she was healed, the two reunited with a long embrace. But to ?u C?’s surprise, the body of the Dragon God melted and revealed a handsome young man.

“?u C?, I am L?c Long Quan, God of Dragons and the Sea, and I wish for your hand in marriage.

So with the blessing of the Dragon Goddess of the Sea and Sky and the Fairy King, ?u C? and L?c Long Quan’s love created the beautiful country of Vi?t Nam. Together, they bore one hundred eggs from which hatched one hundred humans—the first humans of the kingdom of L?c Vi?t.

“ Eggs?” I whisper to Lan, earning side eyes from the people around us. “Like, chicken eggs?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “What do you have against eggs?”

“Nothing. Love them in my food. Just can’t imagine humans coming out of them.”

She laughs, and someone nearby shushes us. “It’s a fairy tale .”

“So, you’re saying it’s a happy ending?”

It’s Lan’s turn to shush me. “I’m not saying anything. Just watch.”

After a hundred years of living together on land with ?u C?, the Dragon King yearned for the sea. And so, he told his wife that he must leave.

“?u C?, my dear, I must return to the sea. You are the land, and I am the sea. And though I’ve only lived in happiness with you, I cannot bear to be away from my home any longer.”

?u C? sobbed, begging her husband to stay with her. Alas, it was their children who convinced her.

“We love both of you. But Father is right, we must come back to the sea and build our empire. That is our home, too,” their eldest said.

Respecting L?c Long Quan’s wishes, ?u C? agreed. “Please send me signs that you still love me.”

The Dragon King nodded. “Every day, when the sun kisses the ocean, its rays will turn into a brilliant red just for you. I will protect you and our children. I will make sure that your mountains, your trees, and your flowers are always dancing to my rain. That your rivers, your streams, and your lakes are always full. That together, we will raise a kingdom mankind can only dream of.”

Fifty children followed their father to the sea while fifty followed their mother to the mountains. But although they parted ways, one promise remained: If they were to encounter one another, they must treat one another like family.

With their father, the fifty children learned how to fish, hunt, and fight. ?u C?, on the other hand, taught her children the art of harvest, how to breed animals, and how to build houses. It is said that the art of cooking from bamboo tubes was taught to our ancestors by ?u C? herself.

From L?c Long Quan and ?u C?’s descendants came the ancestors of L?c Vi?t, and today, the ancestors of Vi?t Nam. It is said that the Vietnamese people inherited L?c Long Quan’s strength and perseverance but also ?u C?’s kindness and intelligence. In the end, L?c Long Quan and ?u C?’s children taught us that regardless of where we come from, we all must help one another—for we are all Vietnamese.

The end.

Still sniffling, I wipe my tears with my sleeve. “That was so sad! They had to leave each other!”

Lan laughs beside me, our hands still intertwined—they have been this entire time. “It’s not that bad. They still love each other. They just had to do what was necessary for them.”

“How do you leave the people you love?”

She looks away, pointing her gaze at the center of the stage, where the puppets are retreating behind the curtains. “I’m not sure. But I think, sometimes, you have to do what’s right for you—even if you may lose the people you love most.”

Sometimes, when Lan speaks of these things, I can’t help but wonder if she ever thinks about leaving Sài Gòn. It makes me think of Mom, too, if somewhere deep in Mom’s heart she still thinks about the family she has here. If it kills Mom to not see them again.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming along with me… but I should get back to the dormitory soon. I have class in the morning.”

There’s a delicate balance to tread after you confess to someone that you like them, and you find out that they also like you back. All I want is to spend every waking second with Lan, to even just sit like this in an amphitheater by ourselves and talk about anything. But I don’t know where we are—what we are—and suddenly, I’m all too aware of how she reacts to everything I say. If I’m being annoying. If I’m too much. If I say the wrong things and want more than what we are and… she pushes me away.

To my surprise, her grip on my hand tightens, and warmth floods through my body as she maneuvers us out of the theater and weaves through the crowd of people returning home. My skin sings against hers, and my stomach somersaults with each step we take. It’s like we’re a scene out of a movie, running to who knows where—but with her, I’d go anywhere.

“You can’t go to sleep yet! This is the best time to get on a xích l? ride.”

“Xích l?… ride?” The same embarrassment all semester returns—the feeling that I don’t know enough about Vietnamese culture, that no matter what, I can’t ever be… Vietnamese. Still, Lan doesn’t judge. Instead, she seems excited .

“The best and only touristy thing you should be doing,” she says. “They’re these cyclo-ride businesses that take you through the city.” She tugs me toward a party of cyclos, the uncles perching on top while waiting for customers. The xích l? resemble tricycles but with a wide bench seat in the back.

We get on a xích l? together, squished into the cramped and leathery driver-powered machine. I lean back against the seat, acutely aware of how our arms are touching. How, if I want to, I can kiss her right now.

But then she turns to me, smiling, and all I want to do is stare at how perfectly shaped her lips are and how her cheeks are flushed because of the humidity. “Are you ready?” she asks.

I nod, my gaze still focused on her. “Yeah.”

Our xích l? snakes through the current of motorbikes, merging into the crowd as motorcycle fumes cling to our hair. The motion is abrupt, and unlike car rides, I can feel every pothole and bump on the road. We loop through historic Sài Gòn, the lights of the city illuminating our faces. I watch Lan’s eyes marvel at the skyline, and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s looked at the city with so much awe . If she ever did at all.

Another xích l? ride comes up next to us, and the two passengers grin and wave at us. They’re wearing matching T-shirts that say HER WIFE with arrows pointing at each other. They look so goofy that I have to laugh. Lan turns her head, meeting my eyes, and bursts out laughing as well.

“How do you like it?” she asks, her eyes studying my mouth. I swallow, not sure how to answer her because my eyes haven’t left her face. At all. Even now, I’m only focusing on the upturned corners of her mouth.

A breath hitches in my throat as I watch her face in front of me, tracing every line, every detail. “Beautiful,” I breathe out.

I lean in, allowing the pull of my heart to guide me. Fluttering my eyes closed, I brush my fingers past her cheeks, through her hair, and down her neck. Shivering beneath my touch, she presses me closer. Her arms on my waist are a searing heat while electricity runs through my body and explodes like butterflies in my stomach.