Chapter 9 — After the Rain, There's No Turning Back

The mountain wind blows through the pine forest. The pine needles rustled, as if someone far away responded softly. I sat in front of the grave, video calling my mother. Mom was wrapping dumplings at home, the screen was shaking non-stop. She asked:

“Have you visited your father?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

Mom laughed.

“Then come back for dinner.”

I said:

“Mom, I may have to go to Van Do to stay for half a year.”

The movement in her hand stopped.

“Do what?”

“The Hai Dang Project.”

This is a new project jointly initiated by me and the emergency response agencies of three provinces, several universities and several public benefit organizations. The core warning module of “Vu Dang” will be opened free of charge to the district emergency response system. All implemented procurement packages must be publicly bid. All data belongs to local public authorities. Commercial enterprises can participate in operation, but cannot monopolize the model, nor can they use natural disaster data to train commercial products. More importantly, we will train local volunteers. Especially the women in the village. Because when a flash flood is coming, the first people to notice cloudy well water, water-soaked backyards, and unusual livestock behavior are often not the people sitting in the office looking at the big screen. It's the mother who gets up early to cook rice. She's the grandmother who picks her grandchildren up from school. As an aunt, when it rains, I still have to go to the vegetable fields to look around. They are not “rescued subjects”. They can become the sharpest eyes in the warning network. After listening, my mother was silent for a long time. I thought she would be worried. But she said:

“Go away.”

“If your father had that many eyes then, maybe he would have returned.”

The bridge of my nose is stinging.

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I'm too tough?”

Mom finished shaping a dumpling and placed it on the cutting board.

“A little firmer is good.”

She said.

“Only soft persimmons are always squeezed.”

The next time I met Chu Tu Bach was at the old Nam Xuyen bridge. That day I had just finished a volunteer training session. The afternoon light falls on the river's surface, the water flows slowly, like an old strip of sanded silver. Chu Tu Bach stood at the beginning of the bridge, holding a black umbrella in his hand. He had lost a lot of weight, wore a simple gray coat, and no longer looked like the energetic General Manager Chu of the past. I stopped walking. He said:

“I've been waiting for you for a long time.”

I looked at the sky.

“No rain.”

He smiled bitterly.

“Just used to carrying it.”

When we first met, he always forgot to bring an umbrella. Every time I stuff him with an umbrella. Later he started carrying an umbrella with him. I was even happy about that, feeling that a person willing to change their living habits for me was a very romantic thing. Looking back now, perhaps at that time I was too easy to reward others. People learned something they should have known, so I quickly applauded them. Chu Tu Bach approached.

“Today I won't come and beg you to turn back.”

I nodded.

“That's good.”

His throat moved.

“I came to apologize.”

I said nothing. He said:

"Sorry, Kien Vi."

“Because of stealing the source code, because of the press conference, because of the Thanh Nhai incident, and because of the past years... I always thought you would be on my side.”

“Later I realized, I never seriously asked which side you were on.”

The river wind blows the ends of my hair go up. I looked at the water.

“I stand on the side of human life.”

He said softly:

“I understand.”

I said:

“Understood a bit late.”

His eye sockets turned red, but this time he no longer tried to use tears to hold me back.

“In the future, if there is something that requires Trung Hai Technology to coordinate compensation, you can directly contact the legal department.”

He said.

“You have resigned from the company's management board.”

“Yes.”

“More…”

He gave me an old box.

“These are the things I left at your place before.”

I opened it. Inside were a few old photos, a spare Young Engineer Award badge and a copy of my father's water-soaked notebook. I received the box.

“Thank you.”

Chu Tu Bach looked at me.

“Kien Vi, will you be happy in the future?”

This question is strange. Like happiness is a certificate given to me by someone else. I thought then said:

“I'm happy now.”

He was stunned. I closed the box.

“Chu Tu Bach, in the past I always thought that happiness was having someone love me, choose me, and stand steadfastly by my side.”

“Later I discovered that was not the case.”

"Happiness is that I no longer betray myself."

The sound of water under the bridge is very quiet. 7. He did not say more. I walked past him. When we reached the middle of the bridge, a few small raindrops suddenly fell from the sky. Very thin, like gray threads. I don't turn around. In the bag is a raincoat. This time, I don't need to wait for anyone's umbrella. Half a year later, Van Do's first class of "Hai Dang staff" graduated. Thirty-seven people. Twenty-nine people are women. The oldest is Mrs. La, sixty-four years old. The youngest is a Miao girl named A Lam, who just turned nineteen. On graduation day, the sky was very blue. On the elementary school grounds hangs a banner with slightly crooked writing: Your own mountain, you can protect it yourself. Ms. La wore old glasses and stood on stage giving a speech. She did not know many words and read each paragraph hesitantly.

"In the past, when it rained heavily, we waited for the officials to notify us. When the officials told us to go, we went. The officials hadn't come yet, so we thought there was nothing wrong."

“It's different now.”

“I know how to look at the rain gauge, I know how to look at the cracks behind the house, I know if the loudspeaker is broken and I have to find someone to fix it.”