"Su Yao's Dazzling Counterattack Chapter 115"
The sun baked the arid landscape of Oaxaca, where cacti with spines like daggers dotted the hillsides and adobe villages clung to the slopes. In a small town surrounded by fields of cotton that should have been lush but now wilted under the drought, women sat in the shade of jacaranda trees, their hands busy at looms, creating the vibrant huipiles that were the pride of their Zapotec heritage.Their leader, 60-year-old Doña Carmen, looked up from her work, her face lined by the sun and her hands calloused from decades of weaving. She wore a traditional huipil, its white cotton base embroidered with geometric patterns in red, blue, and yellow—symbols of the sun, the moon, and the stars that guided her ancestors. "This is our tequio (collective work)," she said in Zapotec, her voice rough from the dry air. "Our huipiles carry the stories of our land, the wisdom of our elders, and the dreams of our people."Huipil making, an art form passed down through generations, is a testament to the Zapotecs' connection to nature and their community. The process starts with harvesting cotton from local fields, which are tended to with care and traditional rituals. The cotton is then spun into thread on hand spindles, a task often done while women gather and share stories. "We sing as we spin," Doña Carmen's granddaughter, 24-year-old Marisol, explained, showing a spindle with a whorl carved in the shape of a hummingbird. "The songs are like prayers, asking the spirits of the land to bless the cotton and make the thread strong."The threads are dyed using natural sources: cochineal insects for red, indigo plants for blue, and achiote seeds for orange. The dyes are prepared in large pots over open fires, and the threads are soaked for hours, sometimes days, to achieve the rich, deep colors. "The dyes are a gift from the earth," Marisol said, stirring a pot of red dye. "We must treat them with respect, for they give our huipiles their life."The weaving is done on backstrap looms, which are simple yet versatile. The women sit on the ground, the loom attached to their waists, and use their feet to tension the threads. The patterns are complex, often incorporating symbols that represent the Zapotecs' history, religion, and daily life. "Each pattern is a lesson," Doña Carmen said, pointing to a design of a deer. "The deer teaches us to be swift and alert, to respect the land and its creatures."Su Yao's team arrived after their Jeju Island project, drawn to the huipil's bold colors and cultural significance. They brought samples of seaweed-metal threads, hoping to add a new dimension to the traditional fabric. But when Lin displayed a machine-woven sample with printed patterns, Doña Carmen's husband, 65-year-old Don Juan, a respected elder with a wide-brimmed hat and a poncho made of handwoven wool, scowled. "Your machine has no soul," he said in Spanish, his voice booming. "Our huipiles are made with love, with the sweat of our brows and the stories of our hearts. This thing is a mockery."Tensions flared when the drought worsened, drying up the wells and killing the cotton plants. The community faced a shortage of raw materials, and the once-bustling weaving workshops fell silent. "The gods of the land are angry," Don Juan muttered as men dug deeper wells, their hands bleeding from the hard work. "They punish us for allowing this foreign metal to enter our sacred craft."That night, Su Yao sat with Doña Carmen in her adobe house, where a clay stove simmered with pozole, a traditional soup. The walls were decorated with huipiles, each one a masterpiece of art and history. A small shrine held offerings of corn, beans, and flowers to the gods of agriculture. "I know these huipiles are more than just clothes," Su Yao said, sipping the hot soup. "They are your identity, your connection to the past. We want to help you preserve that, not destroy it."Doña Carmen sighed, passing Su Yao a piece of memela, a flatbread made of corn. "My abuela used to say that even in the darkest times, there is hope," she said. "But we need to find a way to make our huipiles relevant to the younger generation. They are losing interest in our traditions, lured by the bright lights of the city."Over the next few weeks, the team worked closely with the weavers. They helped dig new wells, using modern technology to find water sources deeper underground. They also introduced new ways to care for the remaining cotton plants, sharing knowledge about drought-resistant farming techniques. "We can learn from each other," Su Yao said, as she and Marisol planted new cotton seeds treated with a special coating to help them survive the dry conditions.Lin experimented with blending the seaweed-metal threads with the local cotton, using a traditional technique of interweaving to ensure the new material didn't overpower the natural feel of the fabric. "It needs to be a harmonious blend," she said, showing Doña Carmen a swatch. "Like the different elements of nature coming together." Doña Carmen examined the swatch, running her fingers over the threads. "This has potential," she said.Fiona collaborated with Marisol to design a new pattern that incorporated elements of the ocean, reflecting Su Yao's travels. The pattern featured waves that merged with the traditional Zapotec symbols, with the seaweed-metal threads adding a shimmering effect. "It's a way to show that our worlds are connected," Fiona explained. Don Juan, who had been skeptical at first, nodded in approval. "The ocean is a vast mystery, like our land," he said. "This huipil tells a new story."As the first rains finally came, bringing life back to the cotton fields, the community celebrated. The weavers, inspired by their collaboration with Su Yao's team, worked day and night to create a new collection of huipiles. On the day of the Guelaguetza, a festival that celebrates Oaxacan culture, the women paraded through the streets wearing the new huipiles. The fabric shimmered in the sunlight, the traditional patterns and the new ocean-inspired designs creating a stunning display.Doña Carmen draped a new huipil over Su Yao's shoulders. "You are now part of our tequio," she said. "You have helped us find a way to keep our traditions alive while embracing the new."As the team prepared to leave, they could hear the sounds of celebration and the rhythmic beating of drums. Su Yao's phone buzzed with a message from Jeju Island. Yeonmi had used the new gudeul techniques to create a line of waterproof bags that were selling well in local markets. Su Yao smiled, typing back: "We've added new threads in Oaxaca. Your turn to create something that bridges cultures."Somewhere in the distance, the sound of mariachi music blended with the voices of the Zapotec women singing, a harmony that echoed the spirit of resilience and innovation.