Chapter 6 — Champion Bodyguard of the Female President

The next morning, before leaving Van Son Mon, Bach Nguyen took Tue Lam for a walk around the training area, as if wanting to show her the full world he had lived in for the past eighteen years before embarking on a new journey full of uncertainties. The morning dew still hung faintly on the pine trees, and the first sunlight of the day filtered through the leaves, creating sparkling streaks of light on the moist ground.

"This is where I practice Iron Shadow Fist every morning," he pointed to a flat clay court, footprints deeply imprinted on the ground over the years. "And that's the cliff I used to practice Van Bo, the light art of Van Son Mon."

Tue Lam looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a steep cliff several tens of meters high. He couldn't help but shiver. "Have you ever climbed up there?"

"Not only climbing, but also moving across that cliff using small rocks just large enough to fit the tip of your toes," he replied, his voice calm as if he were telling a very normal story. "Master said, only when the body gets used to facing fear at the edge of life and death, can the mind truly reach the level of calm necessary to react correctly in all situations."

They sat down on a large stone on the bank of the stream, where the clear water gurgled through the smooth pebbles. Tue Lam looked at the peaceful scene before her eyes, then turned to look at Bach Nguyen, her heart suddenly filled with intense curiosity about the years she had missed in his life.

"Tell me," she said softly. "About that night. I only remember fragments, not sure what really happened."

Bach Nguyen was silent for a long time, his eyes looking far away towards the stream, as if preparing to reopen a door of memories that he had tried to lock tightly for many years. "It rained heavily that night," he began, his voice low and slow. "I remember sleeping in a small room next to my parents' room, behind the main building of the villa. I was startled awake by the sound of shouting and footsteps running in the hallway."

Childhood memories appeared clearly in his mind as if they had just happened yesterday. At that time, nine-year-old Bach Nguyen jumped up from bed and ran outside to see black smoke billowing from the west wing of the villa. Bright red firelight reflected through the glass windows, dyeing the rainy night sky into a terrifying red color.

"My father was on the night shift," he continued, his voice choked despite his efforts to stay calm. "He discovered that a stranger had broken in and deliberately set fire to the area near my father's office, where all the company's important documents were stored. My father rushed in to stop it, and my mother ran inside to make sure my family escaped safely."

Tue Lam clenched her hands, feeling tears threatening to flow again. "I remember someone carrying me and running outside, but I don't remember that person's face clearly. I only remember the crying, the screaming, and..." she paused, taking a deep breath, "...and the image of you standing in the middle of the yard, screaming for your parents."

Bach Nguyen's voice revealed a rare tremor for the first time since Tue Lam met him again. "At that time, I tried to rush inside to find my parents. But someone held me tight, not letting me in, because the fire was so big that there was no way to save me anymore. I stood there, helplessly watching the fire devour the place where my parents were, unable to do anything else."

The two were silent for a long time, only the sound of the gurgling stream and the distant birdsong breaking the heavy silence. Tue Lam reached out and gently placed it on Bach Nguyen's hand, a simple but sincere gesture of comfort.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm sorry that my family caused you to suffer such a great loss."

"It's not your fault," Bach Nguyen shook his head and gently squeezed her hand in response. "My parents chose that job, and they fulfilled their responsibilities until their last breath. I have never blamed your family, not even for a moment."

"But I remember," Tue Lam continued, trying to recall every piece of memory, "before you left, we stood under the old phoenix tree in the yard, right? You said something to me."

A sad smile flashed across the corner of Bach Nguyen's lips. "Do you still remember that?"

"I vaguely remember," she replied, "but I'm not sure exactly what you said. I just remember the feeling at that moment, as if something very important had just been given to me, even though I was too young to fully understand its meaning."

Bach Nguyen looked at her, his eyes softened, containing a sky of memories. "The morning after the night of the fire, before my master took me out of the villa, I came to you. You were still scared, sitting in a corner of the living room, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You came to me, held my hand, and said that no matter where I had to go, no matter how long it took to return, I would always come back to protect you, keeping that promise to the end."

"I also gave you that silver bracelet," Tue Lam said, gently touching the bracelet on her wrist. "I remember you said it was a gift you saved up and bought a while ago, intending to give it to me for my birthday, but I decided to give it to you right then."

"That's right," he nodded. "I'm afraid that if I wait any longer, I may not have the chance to give you anymore. At that time I was too young to fully understand what was happening, I only knew that I was about to leave the only place I ever called home, away from the only friend I had."

Tue Lam felt her heart ache. She remembered the years that followed, when she kept asking adults about Bach Nguyen, but everyone avoided answering them, only saying that he had "gone away with a family acquaintance." Gradually, over time, she learned not to ask anymore, learned to bury her memory of her childhood best friend in a deep corner of her heart, until she almost completely forgot his face, only retaining the vague feeling of something lost.

"Have you ever blamed your master for taking you so far?" she asked.

"Never," Bach Nguyen replied without hesitation. "Master saved my life, raised me to be a good person, taught me everything I know today. Without my master, I probably would no longer exist in this world, or would have grown up into a completely different person, perhaps immersed in hatred and suffering."

"So now," Tue Lam asked, his voice becoming more serious, "do you intend to find out clearly who caused that fire? If it was really a deliberate plot like senior Mo Thanh Hac once hinted?"

Bach Nguyen was silent for a moment, his eyes became unusually cold, revealing a part of himself that he had never shown during the conversation just now. "I've been quietly trying to find out about this for many years now, every time I have the opportunity to go down the mountain to do errands for my master. But the clues are too few, the records of that year's fire are almost completely sealed, no one wants to bring up the old story. Now, when you tell me about what is happening to your family, I have a strong feeling that, finally, I will find the answer I have been searching for the past eighteen years."

The morning sunlight gradually rose higher, passing through the foliage, creating shimmering streaks of light on the surface of the stream water. Tue Lam looked at Bach Nguyen, her childhood friend who had now become an adult man with deep emotional wounds, and she suddenly realized that the journey ahead of both of them was not simply about protecting and being protected, but also a journey to find justice for both families, a journey that fate seemed to have arranged for them to walk together.

She held his hand tighter. "We will find the truth together. No matter what happens, I won't let you face that sad past alone anymore."

Bach Nguyen looked at her, the corner of his lips curled up in a rare warm smile, his deep black eyes shone with a ray of hope that he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time. "Thank you," he said softly. "The old promise, now it's time for you to fully fulfill it."

Before leaving the rock beside the stream, Tue Lam also asked one more thing that she kept on her mind throughout the conversation. "Do you remember the names we used to call each other when we were little? What did you call me, I forgot."

Bach Nguyen laughed lightly, a rare sound that he had fully revealed for the first time since meeting her again. "I called you Brown Squirrel, because back then you used to climb trees to pick wild apples in the garden, as agile as a baby squirrel."

"Oh my god, do you even remember that embarrassing name?" Tue Lam blushed, both amused and touched. "So what do you call me?"

"I call you Baby Bear, because you're taller than me but you're clumsy and you often tease me." He shook his head, his eyes distant and nostalgic. "Those days were simple, there was nothing to worry about except skipping naps to catch crickets."

"I wish I could go back to those days," Tue Lam sighed, but then she smiled and held Bach Nguyen's hand tightly. "But perhaps finding each other again today, even in uncomfortable circumstances, is a luckier thing than many people have."

Bach Nguyen gently squeezed her hand in response, without saying another word, but his eyes expressed his deep agreement with that statement. The two stood up, put their backpacks on their shoulders, and walked towards the main building, where Mo Thanh Hac and his fellow monks had gathered to see Bach Nguyen on his way, carrying not only the responsibility of protecting one person, but also the hope of exonerating two families who had suffered the same pain for nearly two decades.

Behind them, the voice of Mo Thanh Hac instructing his disciples to pack Bach Nguyen's luggage still echoed in the mountain wind, while in front, the trail leading down to the foot of the mountain stretched dimly in the morning mist that had not yet completely dissipated. Tue Lam gently tightened the hand she was holding in hers. She did not look back to look at Van Son Mon one last time - her eyes were glued to the road ahead, somewhere at the foot of the mountain was a pickup truck, the airport, a hospital room with her father still lying motionless waiting for an answer that she now believed she had the courage to find.