Chapter 16 — Forest Keeper

Brown has fully recovered after a few days of careful care, returning to being as mischievous as before, making both Khue and Nguyen breathe a sigh of relief. But that peace did not last long. One morning, when Khue went out to check the official motorbike parked in the corner of the station yard to prepare for patrolling, she discovered that both wheels had been punctured, not by accidentally running over a sharp object but by neat, purposeful cuts, in positions that were difficult to detect at first glance.

"Someone intentionally sabotaged it," she told May, her voice tense, kneeling down to take a closer look at the cut on the tire. "Look at this cut, use a sharp, precise knife, not a naughty child."

Cloud stood next to him, his face showing concern. "I was on duty last night and didn't hear anything unusual. Whoever did this must have been very careful and not make any noise."

Khue stood up, looked around the station yard, the familiar feeling of insecurity in recent days had now turned into a much more specific fear. This was no longer a vague figure standing watch in the night — this was a direct act of sabotage, a clear warning.

That afternoon, while Khue was feeding Nau, her phone received a text message from a strange phone number that was not in her contact list. The content of the message was brief but enough to make her blood run cold: "You should know your limits. The forest is very large, not everywhere a girl should go alone."

She stood dumbfounded for a moment, reading and re-reading the message, feeling both fear and anger rising at the same time. She took a screenshot and immediately called Nguyen who was in the barn behind to periodically check Mun's health.

When Nguyen read the message, his face changed color and his jaw clenched. "They know we're investigating. They're monitoring your movements."

"Maybe from the encounter in the forest the other day, or from the time I approached the company headquarters," Khue said, trying to keep her voice calm even though her hands were shaking slightly. "Or maybe someone at the station is informing them."

That thought made them both silent for a moment, realizing a terrifying possibility that they had never dared to seriously think about before: there could be an insider right within the team of Ngan May station, who was silently providing information to Ta Quoc Bao's line.

“We need to be more careful about what we say, and to whom,” Nguyen said, his voice serious. "From now on, we should only exchange sensitive information in person, not over the phone, not through text messages, and only with people we really trust — May, Mr. Chinh, and maybe Loc, although I'm still a little cautious with him."

Khue nodded in agreement, although inside she felt a deep sadness when she realized that the level of danger of what she was getting into was far beyond what she had initially imagined. She is no longer simply facing a group of anonymous loggers in the deep forest, but with an organization that has the ability to track, threaten, and know her every move.

She brought the threatening message to Ma Van Loc that afternoon, partly because she wanted him to know the seriousness of the situation, partly because she wanted to test his reaction to such a specific, direct threat. Loc read the message, his face turned pale, his hands tightened on the table.

“This is exactly the kind of warning they use,” he said, his voice low, memories from eight years ago clearly rushing back to his mind. "At first it was just gentle messages like this. If they don't stop, they will escalate."

"What do you think I should do?" Khue asked, even though she already had her own answer in her heart.

"I think you should officially report this message to the district police, with clear evidence, to create a tracking record," Loc said, then hesitated another sentence, his voice filled with worry. "But I also think you should be mentally prepared that, like eight years ago, the report may not go anywhere if the recipient is also in their network of contacts. This time, perhaps you should find a way to contact the provincial police directly, or even the press, to create parallel public pressure."

That advice, although carrying a certain pessimism, also shows that Loc is really trying to make up for eight years of silence with practical actions. Khue nodded, acknowledged, then left his office with a new plan gradually forming in her mind.

That evening, she decided to learn more about Ta Quoc Bao, the head of Kim Phat Company, through public information sources she could access - local newspapers, business registration information, old interviews if any. She sat at the station's computer and looked up every little clue with Nguyen.

They found an old article, published in a local newspaper four years ago, praising Kim Phat Company for its contribution to the district's social security work, sponsoring the construction of a preschool in a remote area. In the article there is a photo of Ta Quoc Bao, a middle-aged man with an imposing appearance, a round face, and a confident smile standing next to the district leaders at the inauguration ceremony.

"He doesn't look like a smuggler at all," Nguyen commented, frowning at the photo on the screen. "On the contrary, it also builds an image as a businessman with a heart for the community."

"That's how networks like this survive for so long without being detected," Khue said, her voice filled with bitterness. "Build the perfect cover, build relationships with the government, and do charity work to create prestige in the eyes of the public, while continuing illegal activities behind the scenes."

She zoomed in on the photo, carefully observing the people standing around Ta Quoc Bao during the inauguration ceremony. One of them, standing right next to him, wearing a neat tie, was a man with a familiar face that Khue suddenly recognized - the same man she and Nguyen had seen getting down from the blue car in front of Kim Phat Company's headquarters the other day.

"Nguyen, look at this," she said, her voice shaking with excitement, pointing to the man in the photo. "This is the person I saw at the company headquarters the other day."

Nguyen squinted his eyes carefully, then read the caption below the photo. "The caption reads 'Comrade Vi Dinh Thuan, Vice Chairman of the District People's Committee in charge of economics, at the inauguration ceremony of the school sponsored by Kim Phat Forest Products Company Limited'."

The two looked at each other, realizing the importance of this discovery. A district vice president, who has significant power in approving projects, granting exploitation licenses, and directly influencing the forestry management of the entire district, has a public and close relationship with the owner of a company suspected of being behind a large-scale illegal wildlife and timber trafficking ring.

"This could be the 'bureaucrat' that my father once suspected," Khue said, her voice choked with both anger and a small sense of victory at finally piecing together another important piece of the whole picture.

"We need more specific evidence to directly connect him to illegal activities, not just public social relationships," Nguyen said, his voice cautious but unable to hide his excitement. "But this is a very worthwhile line of investigation."

That night, after carefully saving and copying all the documents she found, Khue sat alone looking out at the dark yard, thinking about the punctured tire, the threatening text message, and Ta Quoc Bao's imposing, confident face in the photo. She clearly felt that the war between her and this ring had entered a new phase — no longer a silent, discreet investigation, but had become a direct confrontation, where both sides knew about each other's existence, and the other side had begun to take action.

Nguyen found her at that time, brought two cups of hot ginger tea, sat down on the steps next to her without saying anything for a moment, just quietly gave her one cup. "Are you still scared?" he asked softly, when he saw her hand shaking slightly as she took the cup of tea.

"Scared," Khue admitted, not trying to hide it like before. "But I'm more afraid for the people around me — for May, for Uncle Chinh, for you too — than I am for myself. If something happens because I got everyone involved..."

"I didn't drag anyone in," Nguyen interrupted, his voice determined. "Each person voluntarily chooses to stand on the side of truth. That is our choice, not a responsibility you have to bear alone." He looked at her, his eyes still shining with unwavering determination in the darkness. "You've come further than the previous eight years of silence combined. Don't let a threatening text message stop you."

Khue took a sip of warm tea, feeling the warmth spread down her throat, somewhat soothing the cold that had crept into her heart since reading the afternoon text message. She rested her head lightly on Nguyen's shoulder, not saying anything else, just letting his silent presence reassure her through one of the most stressful nights since she started this journey.