The rainforest of South East Asia presents a great challenge to kin-making discourse partly due to its long history of postcolonial political struggle and capitalist extraction. The rainforest novels of the Kuei-hsing Chang 張貴興 (1956–), which dwell on the entanglement between people and nature and explore the possibility of resilience and redemption, provide some gleam of hope for this conundrum. His Houbei 猴杯 (Monkey Cup, 2019) features Peng Zhi Yu’s 余鵬雉 (referred to in the novel as Zhi 雉) returning from Taipei to Sarawak to search for his missing adoptive sister Limei 麗妹. In his rainforest journey, Zhi atones for the crimes committed by the plantations’ Chinese managers-turned-masters, that is, his great-grandfather and grandfather, against their kin and the Dayaks alike. As the mystery of the whereabouts of Limei is solved in phases, so is the enigma surrounding the fragmented fetus in Pig-Basket Grasses’ 豬籠草 pitchers at the cemetery disclosed in relays. The mystery is emblazoned as the Pig-Basket Grass tattoo. Being a work of natureculture, as how Donna Haraway defines the term, the tattoo is a sign chosen by Xiaohuayin 小花印, Limei’s grandmother, and the other Chinese prostitutes fleeing Yu’s plantation upon Japanese invasion. Tattoo as bodily inscription, whose mimicry operation solicits insights from Tim Ingold’s idea of “correspondence” and Isabelle Stengers’s theory of “reciprocal capture.” This epistemological-ecological framework helps to illustrate how the dynamism of the tattoo buttresses the lovers’ discourse between Zhi and the Dayak girl, Yanini 亞妮妮, and the coda sung by Zhi’s Dayak guide-cum-killer, Badu 巴都. This essay further situates Ingold’s and Stengers’s views within David Der-wei Wang’s mesological groundwork in order to contend that the Pig-Basket tattoo, encapsulating the energy ricocheting between humans and nonhumans, is a “vital” sign of future kin-making.