Eastern Shan State: September 2025

  Chiang Lap

  The scent of fear permeated every direction, from the crowded metropolises in every corner of the world to the remote countryside. Face masks had become a symbol across all social classes, communicating a shared fear. Fear is a basic human emotion, arising in response to threats—whether real or merely imagined.

  A Songthaew taxi, flinging mud from its tires, headed north from Tachileik towards the village of Chiang Lap. This location marked the easternmost coordinate of Shan State, flanked by the borders of China and Laos. The pickup truck was packed tight with villagers squeezed on both benches, overflowing onto the roof, mingled with crates of fruit and baskets of chickens that squawked rhythmically.

  I watched the dirt road, riddled with large potholes filled with thick sludge, battered and bruised by tires crushing it throughout the rainy season. Yet, amidst this ruggedness, the elderly laughed, their bodies swaying with the bumps, mud splattering their faces. Though only their eyes were visible, I could sense their joy and amusement, unphased by the hardship. The young people listened and laughed along with the elders' stories.

  The expensive smiles in their eyes, set upon faces meticulously painted with Tanaka paste, made the harsh surrounding environment look valuable and meaningful.

  Along the route the Songthaew passed, work buffaloes stood chewing their cud lazily in pens beneath stilted houses. Bamboo fences, woven loosely, displayed the people's trust, which fascinated me. The villagers here lived a life so simple it was amazing. Bamboo tubes lined up over fires with smoke still wafting; little children picked sticky rice from the bamboo tubes, chewing happily while beaming broad smiles. The backdrop behind the houses was lush green rice fields, their tips swaying to welcome the drizzling rain.

  Bamboo electric poles along the roadside leaned precariously; some had snapped and sunk into puddles, as if they had lost the strength to resist the storm. But what caught my eye the most was that almost every galvanized iron roof had a large black satellite dish installed. And stranger still... in the center of those dishes, a plastic water bottle covered some object. What on earth was that?

  At times, the truck passed through large communities with Chinese-style architecture, making me feel as if I had slipped into Xishuangbanna. The artistic influence from the mainland had clearly spread here. Reaching the destination took so long I almost forgot the days and nights.

  The rain poured down in another heavy wave as the Songthaew pulled into the Chiang Lap station. Everyone jumped off the vehicle with cheerful demeanors, letting the rainwater wash away the thick mud cakes from their clothes and hair without a care. Smiles staining faces amidst the rain were a rare sight... a raw experience like this couldn't be bought with money in the European countries I came from.

  The host had instructed me to look for a green motorized tricycle and tell the driver only, 'Go to Boss's house.' I spun around to look and immediately spotted a queue of such vehicles lined up.

  The engine of the aging tricycle panted as it braved the rain for another long moment, finally coming to a halt in front of a high, long wall at the end of the village.

  Amidst the atmosphere of the rain slowing to a drizzle, mist drifted lazily against the quiet, lush green mountains. The large front gate was left wide open as if waiting to welcome visitors. The concrete house, a rectangular shape resembling shipping containers, was arranged simply in a square formation. A large tree planted in the center spread its branches to cover the house, providing another layer of shade.

  Little birds sang to welcome the break in the rain. The area around the house was shaded by various trees, growing thick and green, comfortable on the eyes. The owner of the house lay reclining on a hammock right in front, tapping his foot and listening to music in a good mood.

  “Bonjour...!” I called out amidst the sprinkling rain, adjusting my backpack which was filthy with mud, before turning to look at movement on the far right.

  “Hey!” A large group of tough-looking men were playing snooker boisterously at four or five tables.

  “Bonjour! You’re all wet... Still tall as ever, huh,” Sawn grabbed a towel and walked straight over, draping it over my head and rubbing vigorously while muttering... “Told you not to come...”

  “Are those customers or subordinates?” I ignored his grumbling, turning to look again at the group of men who looked inhumanly buff.

  “Subordinates,” he answered shortly before walking away to brew hot coffee and handing it to me. “Here! Drink something hot to line your stomach. Eat first, then hurry and shower and wash your hair so you don’t die of a cold.” He said this while shoving the coffee cup into my hand.

  I blew on the steam before downing it in one go. “Thanks.”

  “Here to do news?”

  “Hmm... I need to go get something in China, and I’m going to find more news on the White Silence Epidemic. So I planned to ask for a ride on your truck across the border.”

  “Why suffer going with a trailer convoy? If you have money, just fly to Wuhan! It’s much more convenient.”

  I didn't want to use this method either; it was exhausting enough to break my back. “Top secret. I have to handle it myself,” I dismissed it with just that.

  He turned to squint at me, analyzing... “Then, want to go cover the mob crackdown with me tomorrow? The state sent soldiers to shoot villagers in Taunggyi.” Sawn pointed towards the back of the house as if it were just nearby.

  If I had known this, I certainly wouldn't have chosen to meet him at his house. But what could I do... I was already here, so I had to accept it. I secretly thought he probably just wanted to test his guns.

  “Met Jetdoe lately?” I asked about his boss.

  “Often... We’ll talk about that later. So, are you going tomorrow or not?” Finished speaking, Sawn walked into the house for a moment.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The sound of a sliding door echoed loudly, followed by clattering sounds as if he were rummaging for something.

  Suddenly, a massive black object flew out through the air... “Catch!”

  He threw a long gun straight at my face... “Be my Spotter tomorrow.”

  I grabbed the barrel by instinct, looking down at the weapon in my hand... “Wow! This is a .338 LAPUA Sniper Rifle with a suppressor... An absolute Angel of Death.”

  It showed he hadn't lost his ruthlessness. Was he inviting me to go kill people in the mob?

  “Tomorrow... you point the target, I pull the trigger,” he said calmly, sitting down to wipe the lenses of his binoculars with care.

  “Just shooting people, you don’t need armor-piercing rounds, do you? Twenty-five rounds... if you fire all this, you could punch through people by the dozens,” I turned the gun over in my hands to check its condition.

  I had seen him fight guerrillas in the middle of the desert with my own eyes. He was a man who didn't know the meaning of fear.

  “Tomorrow, we’re going to shoot dogs!”

  “Hah!” I cried out in surprise. Why call the mob dogs?

  “Their masters ordered them to come bite the villagers again. I really hate them, these scraps of humanity. They’re a disgrace to soldiers.” He cursed at the end before getting up and walking back into the house.

  I was stunned... Turns out I misunderstood that he was going to shoot protesters. He was actually going to the mob?

  “If you were a soldier on that side... what would you do?” I asked to test the waters, wanting to know what he was thinking.

  “I’d probably quit and find something else to eat that has more honor. Not working for the state won't make you starve; there are plenty of places to go in this world. I feel more honor driving a truck than being one of those low-ranking slaves. Picking up homeless people walking the road to their destination makes me feel prouder,” he answered indifferently, before hoisting the rifle up to his shoulder and aiming at the sky skillfully.

  “So when and where will the soldiers shoot the villagers tomorrow?” Since it was unavoidable, I decided to go with the flow. At least if I had to risk death, I should have some exclusive news to take back.

  Sawn lowered the gun and walked into the house for a moment before shouting back...

  “Asking like that means yes! Here... come eat first.”

  He walked out carrying a tray of food to place on the table at the front porch, then walked back in to grab cold water to serve again, following the nature of a good host in Southeast Asia—Shan State, land renowned for its generosity.

  “Do you collect a lot of weapons?” I got up to follow and help carry the dishes while sweeping my eyes around suspiciously.

  “Loads! The Border Guard Forces on the Thai side stole government property to sell to me. In that vehicle, it’s a warehouse; stuffed full.” Sawn pursed his lips towards the gray trailer truck parked quietly by the fence wall next to the snooker hall.

  I looked following his hand... Besides the pristine gray Volvo tractor head, there were three sports cars parked in a row, one shiny yellow Hummer, and two giant big bikes. The luxury of these vehicles contrasted completely with the condition of the simple concrete house.

  “Don’t you get searched when running across the border?” I asked in dispute, because vehicles running long distances across multiple national borders must pass strict checkpoints.

  “No one wastes time checking. Most of those checkpoints take bribes anyway. My truck has a clearance sticker pasted on it; officers see it and wave me through... Corruption is the fine lubricant of the bureaucratic system.” He answered comfortably, as if hiding war weapons was as normal as transporting vegetables or fruits.

  “Is it that easy?”

  “Ideally, you must have them in the car. If we don't help ourselves, who will? Goods are expensive, trucks are expensive... Mine are just light guns. If you meet those Afghans, they have RPGs; no one dares mess with them.” He spoke while spooning rice into his mouth, chewing fully.

  Sawn was a Shan man with a square face, jawline clearly visible. He had dimples and fangs that were his signature, making him look like someone who smiled a lot—completely opposite to his true nature. His physique was sturdy and strong in the typical mold of an old soldier who had been through heavy battles.

  I could only sit and stare at the rice and the strange-looking local food until he grabbed a salted fish and threw it to me...

  “This is delicious.”

  I was hallucinating at the sight of the fish burnt black.

  “This is also delicious...” He scooped red chili paste into a bowl.

  “Oh!” My tongue trembled, unable to separate the flavors. Both the spicy heat and the intense saltiness... “Water, please.” I wanted to cut my tongue off... it was both stinging and hot.

  You think the people will win the protest this time? The military dictators won't step down easily... When was that year they surrounded and shot people and monks dead all over the streets?” I diverted the conversation to avoid eating this food.

  Sawn sighed long and turned to answer... “Year 2007.”

  He stopped chewing rice for a moment before continuing...

  “The central government whispered to the ethnic leaders that if they let an election happen, the power they held would vanish instantly. So every group flocked to help the soldiers suppress the people. But in the end, what happened!... Betrayed repeatedly, just like the Pang Long Agreement.” He spoke with a face of utter boredom, as if this was a rotten cycle he was used to seeing.

  Although not understanding deeply... I nodded to the game of power devoid of truth among leaders. I had done news in Southeast Asia enough to know these hidden cultures. Soldiers always claimed 'National Security and their own people,' when in reality, that war ended long ago. These types often fabricated stories to deceive the people and used war as a tool. When they couldn't show off their military might and war weapons anywhere else, they turned back to their own people, who were the easiest targets to eliminate because it was 'shooting birds in a cage.'

  “So now the ethnic groups have switched sides?” I tore a small piece of salted fish to eat with rice to stave off hunger, thinking resignedly...

  “ The world has developed communication technology far ahead. Facebook, YouTube, TikTok—they all let people know stories of the outside world. Plus, there was an election here once. People have tasted democracy... even if it just touched the tip of the tongue, the taste was so sweet that most villagers can't forget it.”

  He turned to look at a tough-looking man who had walked up to stand and watch from a distance…

  “What’s up, Long San?”

  “Boss!...I’m going back to get prepared,” he replied.

  Sawn didn’t answer, merely nodding slightly. I turned to see the entire group of men who had been playing snooker walking out through the door together.

  “You mean just a fragment of democracy?” I asked while stroking the barrel of the rifle lying beside me to resolve the saltiness in my throat. It was maintained so well it shone, but no matter what... in my eyes, it was a reaper all the same.

  “Correct! Even if getting just a tiny bit of democracy, the taste is still better than combat boots that are all talk. Stupid yet acting smart, arrogant thinking that being a soldier makes them good at everything.” Sawn spoke while lifting water to drink, gulping it all down. He patted his white belly and pushed a bowl in front of me.

  “Eat this! 'Thua Nao' (Rotten Bean)... National dish. It's very delicious...” He smiled broadly until his eyes squinted, pushing the bowl containing round, burnt brown sheets towards my face.

  “Ugh!” The pungent smell hit my nose hard, causing me to recoil back, almost falling off the chair.

  The smell was intense, like old cheese rotting in a fridge... Sawn said the name translates literally to 'Rotten Bean'... God help me! Just the name is horrifying. Who would be crazy enough to name food like this?

  In my heart, I wanted to swipe the bowl away and shout in his face,

  But when I thought of the 'Trailer Truck' parked in front of the house... the only ticket that would take me across the border into China safely, the thought of complaining vanished instantly.

  The status of 'Resident' was weighing on my neck... If I was too demanding now, getting kicked out would be bad luck indeed.

  So I could only force myself to swallow my saliva, put on a dry smile, and refuse politely...

  “I’ve eaten some already... Thanks.”

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