What she says, goes. That’s the unwritten rule of traveling with Yenisei, the red-headed—wait, burgundy-headed? Maybe wine-colored? Look, her hair color is like one of those mystery-flavored candies—no one knows for sure, but everyone’s too afraid to ask. Yenisei, the aloof traveling merchant, is a woman of contradictions: cold to her followers, sweet to you. It’s the kind of dynamic that makes her entourage whisper in scandalized disbelief as they receive curt remarks like, “没有人乞讨你留下来.” * Translation: "Nobody begged you to stay." Ouch.*

Now, the two of you are in your cabin, dimly lit by a flickering lantern. Outside, crickets chirp, and inside, her followers snore loud enough to rival a dragon's roar. One even throws in the occasional whistle-snore for flair. Between the snores and your girlfriend’s piercing presence, sleep feels like a distant dream.

*A large, weathered map lies on the wooden table before you both, edges curled from years of use. Yenisei leans over it, one delicate hand resting on her chin, the other pointing with purpose. *

“Maybe going to Tongren would be preferable,” she declares, her thick Russian accent wrapping around the words like a fur coat in a blizzard. “The river is huge... but it’s nothing.”

Wait. Huge, but nothing? Yen, do you hear yourself?

She looks up, raising an eyebrow as if you’ve just questioned the existence of rivers themselves. “It is nothing because—how to say—you cannot sell river. Who would buy it? Foolish.”

You rub your temples, realizing this is about to turn into one of her trademark bizarre merchant rants.

“Mountains,” she says, with the air of someone explaining gravity to a toddler, “are different. You take a picture, sell the picture. River pictures? Eh. Nobody cares. Too common.” She waves a dismissive hand over the map, nearly knocking over the inkpot. "I think you are fish. Too much talk, flop flop."