Chapter 2: Chapter 2 The Escape Ride — Where the Sun Returns

The long-distance passenger bus swayed out of the Eastern bus station at five o'clock in the morning, carrying bustling people and broken souls longing for a place of refuge.

Mộc Miên sat with her forehead pressed against the glass window, watching the orange high-pressure lights of the city gradually recede. In an old backpack placed on his lap, in addition to a few worn-out clothes, there was only a sketchbook and a laptop - the only means of earning a living that had now become a lifeless lump of iron. The savings in her account were only enough to sustain a frugal lifestyle for three months. That's all she has after four years of exchanging her youth in a prosperous place.

Failure. That's the only word that describes Miên right now.

Some of her friends have bought a car, some have become team leader, some are about to marry a rich husband. And she, 24 years old, carried a weakened body and a job application, threw it straight in her boss's face, grabbed her backpack and fled back to her hometown like a pathetic loser.

She took out her phone and scrolled through the profile pages of a few old friends. One just posted a photo of her trip to Japan with her fiancé, the caption sparkling with a heart emoji. Another child showed off his "Outstanding Employee of the Year" certificate at the grand year-end party. Miên turned off her phone screen, face down, feeling like she had just been left behind in a race where she never knew what the real rules were.

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the flow of negative thoughts surrounding her. The steady rhythm of the car engine gradually pulled her into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

When Miên woke up, the car had already started climbing the pass.

The cold air typical of the highlands rushed in through the gap in the glass window, awakening all the sluggish senses. Miên opened her eyes. Through the foggy glass, she saw vast pine forests stretching along the mountainside, green and quiet under the morning mist. In the distance, tea hills undulate like blue waves rolling under the clouds.

The sky here is not marred by tangled electrical wires or tall buildings obscuring the view. The sky is soaring, deep blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds.

The car slowly crawled through the curves, on both sides of the road were small stilt houses hidden behind rose gardens and plum gardens. Miên lowered the window a bit, letting the cold wind carry the smell of pine resin and newly plowed soil into the car compartment. She took a deep breath. This is the Sương Giăng Plateau, the land where her childhood spent short summers, now appearing before her eyes so vividly and so familiar that it makes her choking.

The small town appeared after the last bend. The low red tiled roofs are nestled on the hillside. The streets are quiet, with only the occasional sound of motorbike engines roaring from farmers carrying baskets of fresh vegetables to the market.

The car stopped at the gas station at the beginning of Đá Bàn town. Miên put on her backpack and got out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she felt the smell of pine resin, the smell of damp earth, and the smell of wild flowers along the roadside. Her chest suddenly felt light. No more smell of dust, no more invisible pressure suffocating your breathing.

She stood silently in the middle of the deserted road, letting the highland wind blow through her tangled hair. An old lady carrying a pair of baskets full of vegetables passed by, smiled and nodded to her as if greeting an acquaintance even though she had never met her. That simple smile made Miên pause for a second. How long has it been since she received a disinterested smile, without any deadlines or work requirements attached?

She walked about fifty meters to turn onto the familiar small slope leading to her grandmother's house. The slope was strewn with small gravel, and on both sides of the road were bushes of purple wildflowers, wafting the familiar sweet scent that Miên had forgotten about for four long years. The three-room fish-scale tiled wooden house was nestled in the middle of a large garden filled with fruit trees. The fence was made of neatly trimmed hibiscus bushes that were spreading red flowers to welcome the morning sun.

"Grandma!" Miên called out, gently pushing the creaking wooden gate.

From the kitchen, an old woman with white hair, a slightly hunched back, wearing a brown three-piece shirt hurriedly walked out. She squinted her cloudy eyes at her niece standing in front of the alley, holding a bandana to quickly wipe the sweat from her forehead.

"Is that Miên? Why are you back so early? I thought you'd only come in the afternoon!" Grandma was so happy, she hurriedly walked out and hugged Miên.

The smell of betel and kitchen smoke lingering on her grandmother's shirt made Miên's nose sting. She snuggled her head into her grandmother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent that she had craved for the past four years. Unable to hold back her weakness, Miên burst into tears like a child.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Grandma patted Miên's skinny back, her voice as gentle as a small stream. "People bully you in the city, right? Go home with your grandmother. Our family is poor, but there's always enough rice for you to eat."

Grandma's simple words were like a warm stream of water flowing through Miên's heart, which was covered in scratches. She quickly wiped away her tears, looked up and smiled brightly. "No one is bullying me, Grandma. I'm so tired, I'll take a leave of absence and come play with Grandma for just one month."

Miên lied. She didn't want her grandmother to worry about her being unemployed. At least for now, she just wants to be a carefree grandchild.

Grandma held Miên's hand and rubbed her thin fingers. Her eyes flashed with concern even though she didn't say it. She had lived long enough to realize that a niece asking for a month off was not as simple as she said, but she chose to stay silent, just holding her hand a little tighter, as if implicitly telling her that no matter what happened, this house would always be the place for her to return to.

After a lunch with a bowl of vegetable soup and a pot of braised fish rich in hometown flavors, Miên fell into an unprecedented sleep on an old bamboo bed, under a cotton blanket with a strong smell of sunshine.

She slept until late afternoon, when the orange sunlight began to slant through the wooden window frame.

Miên stretched and walked out onto the porch. The afternoon scene in the hills is so peaceful. Grandma is busy picking vegetables outside the well. The sound of roosters crowing softly, the chirping of birds calling to the flock.

In the distance, someone's kitchen smoke slowly rose up and mixed with the afternoon mist that was lightly hanging over the pine hills. The scene was so quiet that Miên could clearly hear the rustling of leaves and the chirping of insects, the prelude to a highland night. She stood silently looking at that scene for a long time, feeling like every cell in her body was being washed away from the dust and traffic fumes that had stuck for four years.

Miên decided to take a walk around the garden behind the house to get some fresh air. This garden is nearly two acres wide, and my grandfather used to use it to grow coffee. Since the day he passed away, my grandmother was too old and weak to cope, the garden was abandoned, and weeds grew as high as a person's head.

However, as soon as she turned through the bamboo bush, Miên was surprised to see that half of the garden had been cleared. The furrows of land were plowed straight, with a faint smell of newly cleared soil. An automatic drip irrigation system is being installed.

What's going on? Who took it upon himself to dig up his aunt's garden?

"Hey there! What are you doing on my land?" Miên shouted loudly when she saw a man's back diligently hoeing the soil in the corner of the garden.

The young man stopped, stabbed the pickaxe into the ground, and slowly turned around.

He wore a faded shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows, khaki pants covered in mud, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. His skin was dark from the sun, but the lines on his face were surprisingly angular and determined. Deep, calm eyes looked at Miên as if looking at a strange creature that had just fallen from another planet.

There was a brief moment when their eyes met. Miên felt a light breeze blowing, carrying the smell of damp soil and freshly cut grass. The man in front of her did not appear confused or frantic like the city boys she had met. On the contrary, he stood there with an unusual calmness, as if this land had belonged to him for a long time.

He took off his protective wool gloves, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and then spoke in a deep voice, without any embarrassment.

"Are you Mrs. Tám's niece? I'm Hoàng Phong. Mrs. Tám has rented half of this garden to me as an experimental farm for three months now. You just got back from the city, so don't you know?"

Miên was stunned, her lips pursed tightly because she had accidentally spoken. An agricultural engineer appeared right in the backyard garden? Her "healing" trip seems like it won't be as peaceful as she imagined.

She stood rooted to the spot, looking at the strange man bending down to pick up the pickaxe, continuing his unfinished work as if she had never appeared. In Miên's head, a series of questions kept coming: Who is he? Why didn't grandma say a word to her about the land lease? And why, after just a few seconds of meeting, her heart was beating faster than usual, even though she was sure it was just because of temporary anger.

The afternoon wind blew through the garden, carrying with it the steady sound of hoeing. A new chapter in Miên's life, even though she didn't know it, quietly began from that very moment.