Chapter 10 — Dak Lak's Kangaroo Butter King: A 200-Billion-Dong Turnaround

The day Đơn was about to let go, a stranger placed evidence on the table that could not be ignored. Don't rush to conclusions. People who are used to red soil clinging to shoes, gongs and long dry seasons understand that a small sign can be the consequence of a whole series of wrong choices. The order placed the green cover book next to the notebook, circled the unusual points and reminded myself that the village's water source and the loan were in my father's name.

For months, Đơn pursues the drought-resistant avocado and understory grasses at an agonizingly slow pace. The work is not just about finding capital or putting up signs; it is also about learning to ask questions of the people directly affected. Therefore, Đơn returns to meet the people at the avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột, listens to each fragmentary story and then assembles it into a picture that the official report had tried to flatten.

Chapter 10 revolves around people contributing water. Đơn divides the work into tasks that can be checked: who goes where, what samples to take, who to notify and where to stop if there is a risk. Hoa records each timestep into a compressed audio file; they do not allow vague memories to replace data. Đạt may say the project just needs a boost, but on the avocado farm in the red soil of Buôn Ma Thuột, a wrong decision often costs years.

Red soil clings to shoes and gongs and the long dry season means work has its own rules. Đơn checks the fee schedule written in pencil, compares it with the compressed audio file, and records the time and who was present. A polished figure means nothing if no one knows how it was measured. Hoa often reminds everyone that doing things honestly is not always fast, but it allows everyone to see the same truth.

Đơn thinks about the first failed season. Back then, they chose a detour so as not to leave anyone behind. No one called it a strategy, but it taught Đơn that trust must be built from small things. Now, when Đạt wants everyone to believe in the big promise, Đơn only asks: who is responsible if that promise is wrong?

“Hoa, what do you see that's wrong?” Đơn asked. Hoa didn't answer right away, just pulled the blue notebook closer and pointed to the crossed out line. "It's not the result that's wrong. It's the mistake that people ignore those who aren't in the meeting room." They agreed to check again from the beginning, even though that meant missing a great opportunity.

Hoa is not someone who always agrees with Đơn. When Đơn suggested admitting his mistakes before reaching a conclusion, Hoa shook her head: "Don't use courage as an excuse to put others in danger." The two argued on the way home, no one raised their voice. Finally, they revised the plan so that affected people had the right to stop before signing.

On the other side, Đạt is using another method. Đạt submitted a slick presentation, calling the drought-resistant avocado and understory grass varieties a turning point and mentioning the money that could be made. No one saw in the appendix a provision to push the village water source and the loan in the father's name to the youngest person. Đơn read it to the end, take a photo of each page, and keep a copy where no angry phone call can erase it.

A person on an avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột told Đơn an old story. They did not talk about money first, but about the feeling of being treated like a line in a spreadsheet. The story made Đơn change the question: instead of asking what the project needed, they asked what the people wanted to keep. The answer was different, but that difference helped the plan become something that can live with everyday life.

The first evidence is in the compressed audio file. It's not conclusive enough, just enough to ask difficult questions. Đơn contacted the data creator, but the call was disconnected. When Đơn called back, a strange voice said the profile had been updated. Đơn looked at his watch and understood that his opponent already knew what they were looking for. For the first time, the game no longer took place behind the meeting room door.

To check, Đơn repeats part of the process himself. The pencil-written cost sheet took most of the afternoon, but the results could not be explained by random error. Hoa recorded each step, while Đơn marked the sample with his handwriting. No one was quick to call it a victory; they were only sure that silence would pass mistakes from one person to another.

Memories of the first failed season returned when Đơn saw the green cover book. They chose a detour so as not to leave anyone behind, which made Đơn want to quit his job, but that was also the reason they couldn't stand aside. People often waited for the character to get rich so everything could be resolved. I know life is not simple. A project was worth pursuing only if it made less powerful people less afraid.

Rumors spread faster than reports. Some people called Đơn an opportunist, others asked why Đạt did not make his records public. Open a small meeting, put maps and data on the table, invite anyone who has questions to speak first. Transparency did not make tensions go away, but it made it harder for lies to find a place to hide.

People on the avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột do not stand outside. Some people brought photos, some asked for an explanation, some said directly that they did not believe Đơn. Đơn thanked them for the objections, because drought-resistant avocado varieties and understory grasses will mean nothing if only heard from people who already agree. Hoa opened a list of questions for everyone to choose what they want to check first.

In the afternoon, a new detail appeared: people contributed water. It forced Đơn to look back at his motives. They were so focused on winning Đạt that they forgot their original goal of protecting the village's water source and the loan in their father's name. Hoa just asked: "If you win but everyone still loses what they need, what kind of win do you call that?"

The meeting with Đạt took place in a place where no one pretended not to listen. Đạt put the proposal on the table and called it the last way out. Đơn read it slowly, asked for the small print and required the name of the responsible person to be clearly stated. When Đạt lost patience, Đơn replied: "I don't need a big promise. I need a commitment to be able to check tomorrow."

After the confrontation, Đơn and Hoa did not celebrate. They sat next to the avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột, sharing a simple meal and checking the money in the fund. Đơn admitted being afraid of failure because he had drawn many people into it. Hoa said fear was the reason to have a backup plan. Together, they rewrote the plan in small, reversible steps.

The next morning, the price to pay appeared. A cost sheet written in pencil took more time, while a contract demands an immediate answer. One member left the group, another asked for an advance, and Đạt spread the news that the project was broken. Đơn publicly disclosed the actual progress, including unfinished parts. Listeners may be disappointed, but no one was led away by a false picture.

In a rare silence, Đơn realized that his relationship with Hoa had changed. They are no longer chasing vague dreams; they know each other's boundaries. Apology for making too many decisions. Hoa admitted that she hid her worries. There were no romantic promises, just the two returning to their desks after telling the truth.

A copy was sent unexpectedly. It showed that Đạt does not act alone and that people contributing to the country is just the outer layer of a longer plan. Đơn compared the signatures, file creation times and accounts. Each piece was small, but when placed next to the others it pointed to a door that no one dared to open before.

The petition presents a difficult choice: let the community retain veto power. It was slow, expensive, and had almost no good photos to post. But it allowed the person at the end of the chain to check, respond, and back out when disagreeing. Hoa signed first. The others looked at each other and then put down their pens; no one clapped, they just exhaled.

The consequences came soon. Divided public opinion caused part of the plan to stop. Đơn explained himself to those who believed in him. Some people leave, some stay, some bring new solutions. Small failures don't go away, but they prevent bigger failures. Đơn recorded the lesson under the names of those affected.

At the end of the day, a call from the Buôn Ma Thuột red land avocado farm reported that the old data matched suspiciously. Đơn listened to everything and asked for photos and a specific time. The story took a new direction. Opponents can prepare for controversy, but they were not necessarily prepared for everyone to check the truth. Looking at the green cover book, you understand that tomorrow was no longer the day to correct mistakes in a closed room.

The group acted immediately because the inspection deadline was tomorrow. Đơn assigns tasks, Hoa keeps a copy, and people at the avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột confirm on the spot. Sometimes the network goes down, data conflicts, or someone bursts into tears from fatigue. They continue slowly but in control, because no one wants to rush into a new error.

When everything calmed down, Đơn went out to listen to the bronze hammer. The red soil clinging to shoes, gongs and the long dry season were still there, calm as before, only the way they look at it was different. This job did not make them heroes; it gave the opportunity to do something right and then take responsibility if it's wrong. That thought was enough for them to go back and open the last file.

The last document does not have Đạt's signature. It bore the name of the person who once believed in it. The door opened with the question: can the project be kept without sacrificing the weak. Đơn did not call anyone immediately. They put down their pens, looked at Hoa and said: "Tomorrow we will tell everything, including the part that makes us embarrassed." Outside the door, the avocado farm in the red land of Buôn Ma Thuột wakes up; The real story had just begun.

Đơn returned with the penciled fee schedule, this time with another person to avoid one voice calling all the shots. They compared the red soil clinging to shoes, gongs and the long dry season with the previous day's data, asked the people who witnessed people contributing water and clearly wrote down the unknown part. The method was slower than a statement, but each step left a trace for later inspection. When Hoa said she was tired, Đơn put away the documents, poured water and reminded: "You can rest, but don't skip the question."