Chapter 24 — Cartographer of Lost Roads

Mr. Tuyen stood in front of the microphone, his hands placed on the podium to maintain balance. It took him a long time to speak, his voice shaking with emotion and age.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice breaking on the first words, but gradually regaining its steadiness. "I am Quach Van Tuyen, seventy-eight years old this year. Thirty years ago, I was the one who directly measured, surveyed, and drew the map of the current status of Van Dang Hamlet that you just saw on the screen. And it was also me, later, who redrawn another map, completely removing that fishing hamlet from the city's official planning records."

The whole hall was silent, not a single sound, all eyes were focused on the little old man standing on the podium speaking.

"I did it under the direct orders of Mr. Diep Khac Bon, then Deputy Head of the City Land Fund Management Department," he continued, his voice now more certain, as if each word helped him relieve another part of the burden that had been on his shoulders for thirty years. "He threatened to fire me, ruin my future, and implicitly hinted at causing hardship for my family, specifically my sister, if I did not comply. I was scared, weak, and I complied. I'm sorry, sorry to all the families who have lived in Van Dang, sorry for my cowardly silence over the past thirty years that caused this truth not to be known sooner."

His voice choked, but he persisted in continuing, recounting in detail the process by which he was forced, and how he secretly kept the original map as the only silent act of resistance he could do at that time. He held up the map that had been removed from the plastic tube and spread it out so the whole hall could see it. The spotlight shone on the faded but still intact drawings after thirty years.

“Here's the proof,” he said, his voice now ringing with determination. "This is the real Van Dang Hamlet, with two hundred rooftops, with a temple, with a ferry wharf, with a banyan tree that is still standing there, waiting. I hope you, and Mr. Binh," he turned to look straight at the Hai Nguyen Group's table, "please acknowledge this truth fairly, not to punish anyone, but so that those who have lost can be recognized and respected."

A sporadic round of applause rang out from the audience, then gradually spread into a large, prolonged round of applause, mixed with the choked sobs of many people in the hall. Van Khue sat in the row of chairs, tears rolling down her eyes uncontrollably, proud and suffocated as she watched her grandfather stand firmly on the podium, completing what he had been afraid to avoid all his life.

But just before the applause had subsided, a sudden commotion occurred at the main door of the hall. A wheelchair was pushed in, on it was a thin old man with white hair, his face lined with deep wrinkles of age and illness, being pushed by a middle-aged woman wearing a nurse's uniform amidst the surprised eyes of the entire hall.

"Dad," Mr. Diep Nhat Binh stood up from his chair, his face changed color, clearly this was not something he had planned. "What are you doing here, Dad? Your health..."

"Let me talk," Mr. Diep Khac Bon interrupted his son. Although his voice was weak due to old age and illness, it still carried the authority of a person who once had a position. He signaled the nurse to push his wheelchair closer to the center of the hall. Opposite the podium where Mr. Tuyen was still standing, the two men, now both gray-haired old men, looked at each other for the first time in nearly thirty years.

The whole hall held their breath as they watched that moment, no one dared to speak, even the host stood still, not knowing whether to intervene or let things happen naturally.

"Tuyen," Mr. Bon said, his voice hoarse, "you still remember me."

"How could I forget," Mr. Tuyen replied, his voice did not tremble as Van Khue feared, but on the contrary, carried an unusual calmness, as if thirty years of waiting for this moment had helped him prepare enough courage to face it. "You took away many things from me, Mr. Bon — took away my self-esteem, took away my youth when I could have lived true to myself."

Mr. Bon was silent for a long time, his old eyes looked down at the map still spread out on the podium, a complex expression flashed across his deeply wrinkled face - not exactly remorse, but also no longer the cold, calculating look that Van Khue once imagined about this person through his stories.

"I'm old, Tuyen," he said, his voice slow. "The doctor said I don't have much longer to live. I came here today, not to defend what I did thirty years ago, but to say that I know I was wrong. That day, I only thought about benefits, about power, about protecting my position. I disregarded the lives and livelihoods of two hundred families like meaningless numbers on paper. I don't expect you to forgive me, I just hope, before I die, I can contribute a part. small to partially correct what I've done."

Those words made the whole hall silent in shock. Mr. Diep Nhat Binh stood dumbfounded next to his father, his face pale, clearly not expecting his father to be here, and even more unexpected that he would say such words in front of so many cameras and so many public eyes.

"Dad," Mr. Binh stammered, "you don't have to..."

"Let me finish," Mr. Bon interrupted his son, his voice resolute even though it was much weaker. "I know, you've built your whole career on the foundation of this land, and I understand you're afraid of losing everything if this truth is recognized. But son, a career built on lies and the pain of others, sooner or later will collapse, it's just a matter of time. I don't want you to have to live with the same burden that I had to carry all those years."

Van Khue sat quietly, witnessing that entire moment with a feeling of shock mixed with strong hope. She did not expect that the man who was once the source of all suffering would now, in the last moments of his life, become the person who contributed to opening the door for the truth to be fully recognized.

Mr. Bon turned to look at the representative of the City People's Committee sitting on the chairman's podium. Although his voice was weak, it still resonated enough in the silent space of the hall. "I would like to officially confirm before you and before the law that the entire process of land acquisition in Xom Van Dang in 1994 was wrong, the records were edited and destroyed by my order to hide the inadequate compensation for the households. I am willing to take responsibility before the law for what I have caused, even though it is late, even though it may have passed the statute of limitations for handling according to regulations. I only hope that this admission will help the city have enough grounds to consider. fairly restore the origin of the land, and have a plan to compensate and memorialize the families who have suffered disadvantages."

That public confirmation, coming from the man who was the architect of the entire conspiracy, carries a legal and moral weight that no documentary evidence can match. The whole hall once again erupted, but this time there were excited whispers, mixed with scattered applause from people who couldn't contain their emotions.

The representative of the City People's Committee, his face could not hide his surprise at this development, quickly conferred with the members of the appraisal council, then announced a suspension of the consultation for fifteen minutes to give the council time to discuss the new details that had just arisen - a public, direct admission from the person who held the decision-making power thirty years ago, which was something no one on the council could have anticipated when entering the meeting room that morning.

During the break, Mr. Diep Nhat Binh stood silently next to his father's wheelchair, unable to say a word, his face full of mixed emotions that Van Khue could not fully read - perhaps anger at the broken plan, but also, somewhere, a relief that he himself did not dare to admit, when the burden of family secrets was finally laid down.

Van Khue weaved through the bustling crowd, came to her grandfather's side, and supported his arm, which was shaking from exhaustion. "You did it," she whispered, tears still falling. "You did it, grandpa."

Mr. Tuyen looked at her, his eyes were red but shone with a serenity that Van Khue had never seen on his face in the past twenty-six years. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet. "If it weren't for you, I would never have had the courage to stand here today."

Duy Khanh also walked over and respectfully squeezed Mr. Tuyen's shoulder, while Mr. Lam and Mrs. Bich Nguyen hurriedly ran from the family row, the whole family hugged each other in the presence of hundreds of strangers, no one bothered about the cameras pointing at them, only the burst of happiness after a long journey.