Chapter 4 — Heir to the Little Station

Khoa took Mai to the land behind the station. Red painted stakes mark the location of the hotel, parking lot and a new route crossing the tracks.

“If you sell, everyone here will be compensated,” he said.

“What about gas?”

“Another station can be built down in the district.”

Mai asked about the distance. Khoa said eighteen kilometers, then added that the resort would have a shuttle bus.

I'm not lying. The proposal includes a two-year transit budget. But after two years, no one knows who will pay.

Mai goes back to the station master's office to find the original will. In a locked drawer, she found a land plan with her grandfather's handwriting circling the railroad tracks. Next to it are the words: “The right of passage is not a gift.”

The lawyer explained that the land could be sold, but the railway line was in a public corridor. If the direction is changed, there must be a safety assessment and consultation with the villages.

Khoa asked her if she needed time. Mai said she needed data. He replied angrily not repaying her loan.

That night, Mai's mother called to ask if she had signed yet. Mai said no. Mom said my grandfather once refused a similar proposal, after which father and son argued for many years.

“Your father wanted to close the station?” Mai asked.

Mother was silent and then said: "Your father wants to fix it. But it costs more money to fix it than to sell it."

Mai looked at the station key on the table. One person wants to keep it, one person wants to sell it, and she has to decide based on what if both are no longer here.

Khoa met Mai at a temporary cafe set up next to the survey site. The shop has a new corrugated iron roof, two sets of plastic tables and chairs and an advertising board depicting the resort's perspective. In the picture, the green lake is located on the lawn behind the station. There are no railway tracks, no waiting houses, and no tea sellers.

“I want you to see the full plan before deciding,” Khoa said.

He spread the large drawing on the table. The resort consists of three areas: hotel, wooden house area and agricultural experience center. The main access road runs across the rail corridor, so the project proposes a railway loop down the valley. There is a new, smaller station eighteen kilometers from Da Trang station.

Mai asked what ground the new station was located on. Khoa pointed to the yellow area and said the company had made a preliminary agreement with a household. That household will receive land and money in exchange. Other households receive compensation based on square meters.

“Who manages the new station?”

“Railroad company, when completed.”

“Who pays for operations?”

“Resort supports two years.”

"Afterward?"

“The new route has tourists.”

Mai pointed to the forecast board. In off-peak months, the expected number of passengers is less than one-third of the train operating cost. Khoa said the forecast could increase if the project is promoted well. Mai asked who would bear the shortfall during the growth period. He didn't answer right away.

“You see I'm selling a dream,” Khoa said.

“I see you're putting an unclaimed expense in the 'will have customers' column.”

Khoa leaned back in his chair. "If you work in the city as a planner, you must have seen many projects that require assumptions."

"Assumptions must be clearly stated as assumptions. It cannot be used to delete an existing service."

I'm not angry. He just looked at the drawing longer. Mai knows that Khoa is not someone who does not understand life here. He used to take the train and sit on a wooden chair to the district. But he also knows that if the project does not build a growth story, the bank will not disburse funds.

On the way home, Mai walked along the railroad tracks. The north lawn is where her father once planted plum, now with red stakes. She remembers her mother saying her father wanted to fix the bridge, but no one provided the money. Grandfather refused to sell the land, father thought moving the station to the district was the least bad option. The two argued so much that they didn't speak to each other for a whole winter.

Mai called her mother as she stood in front of the White Stone nameplate.

“Did your father ever go to the station after signing the form?”

"Yes. He stood outside the box office for a long time and then left."

“Why didn't you say anything?”

"Because I didn't ask. I just heard my grandfather say my father wanted to sell the land."

Mai was silent. She wanted to blame both of them for letting her inherit an argument without anyone explaining it. Her mother said her father was not a hero, but also not a traitor. He chose a way to save that he thought he was capable of doing.

“If you keep your foot on the gas, are you going against me?”

"If you keep it or sell it, it won't bring your father back to life. Just don't choose to prove that you love your grandfather more."

The answer hurt Mai in that it was correct. She hung up the phone, sat in the ticket office and pulled out the drawer. The original will is under a stack of bills, next to the land plan. Grandfather circled the rail corridor and wrote, "The right to pass is not a gift."

Phuc explained that public corridors cannot be transferred simply by sales agreement. If the track direction is changed, the impact must be assessed, the villages consulted and proven that the new route is safe and effective. But station ownership and railway operation rights are two different things.

“What if I keep the land but the company still closes the line?” Mai asked.

“At that time, she kept a piece of land next to the tracks without trains.”

“If the land is sold and the line still runs?”

“You may no longer have the right to decide the station, but you have money to settle your debt.”

Phuc did not make her feel more comfortable. Mai knows it is his responsibility.

That evening, Khoa sent a text message: "I will ask the survey team to stop driving piles around the station until you receive the official documents." Mai replied thanking her, then added: "Don't call it a concession. Write it down as a work ethic." He sent an approval symbol.

The next day, a villager said Mai was bribed by Khoa because she met him privately. Mai did not explain in front of the crowd. She posted the meeting schedule, attendees, and received documents on the waiting room board. Ms. Ly said that was the most tiring way to quell rumors, but also the one that left the least amount of debt.

Mai started a folder called “unknown things”. Each question about land, bridges, roads and finance has a date, recipient and deadline for response. She posted a copy on the wall, so people could add other questions.

At the bottom of the first page, she wrote: "Don't sell because of fear. Don't keep because of pride. Decide after knowing who will pay the price."

That night, the old clock still stopped. But Mai no longer sees it as a blame. It was like a piece of evidence that reminded her that a station could stand still for a long time before anyone bothered to look at the lost time.

The next morning, Mai received an invitation to sign a reservation from the development company. The agreement was not a contract of sale, but there was a fee if you withdrew within thirty days. Khoa said he did not know the letter had been sent, then asked the legal department to stop releasing similar copies.

“If I don't sign, can they sell it to someone else?” Mai asked.

"They can find someone else. But the rail corridor still needs procedures."

“So what is this letter for?”

Khoa said that's how businesses keep their land fund during negotiations. Tomorrow returned, stating that no reservations will be accepted before the community is notified. He did not object, but said she was spending a large amount of money on her own.

Mai replied that the biggest amount of money is the one that makes the recipient not dare to ask for more. Khoa looked at her, then put the agreement in the "unreleased" cover.

Phuc called from the lawyer's office, saying someone asked to see the will because they thought Mai had not lived in the locality long enough to represent the property. Mai asked if that was a legal reason. He said no, just an opinion. She recommends that all requests be sent in writing, not responding to arguments at the restaurant.

A villager asked her if she really understood land use rights. Mai said she is studying and will hire an independent lawyer if necessary. That person was surprised because he thought the heir must know everything. Mai replied that the person who knows everything is usually the person who doesn't let anyone check.

In the afternoon, the group surveyed the rail corridor. They measured the distance from the edge of the rail to the red stake, recording where the stake had been moved. A stake lies near the plum tree her father once planted. Khoa asked the team to remove it, but the surveyor said the pile was only a temporary mark. Mai still records before and after, because changes on the ground need history like changes in the file.

Mr. Sau Van said the corridor is not just a strip of land. It has a maintenance path, drainage ditch and safety space when the ship tilts. The drawing of the resort only has a blue line, not showing invisible parts. Mai took a topographic map and asked for advice on adding those layers.

In the break room, she tried to calculate three financial options. Sell all land: pay debt quickly, lose rights. Selling the northern part: have enough money, need a station protection contract. Do not sell: must apply for financing and bear six months of risk. She did not write "the best plan", only "risk cannot be transferred to anyone".

Her mother sent a photo of her father standing by the station last year. He turned away, holding a file bag in his hand. Mai realized that behind it was an old nameplate whose paint had not yet peeled off. She asked her mother who took the picture. Mom said she took the photo when dad tried to talk to grandpa but couldn't get into the room.

Mai does not include photos in her profile. She sent it back to her mother, asking if she wanted to keep it private. Mom said to keep it, because sometimes the family needs evidence for those days when no one said anything, but that evidence doesn't necessarily belong to the public.

At the end of the day, Khoa texted him asking the project to stop all content calling the station an "abandoned land". Mai thanked her, then pointed out the station that was operating every day. He replied that he would replace it with "area awaiting decision". The phrase is longer, but less likely to turn off users.

Mai edited the information board in front of the gate: "The station is running a 30-day trial trip. All decisions about land and routes are made public at the station." Passersby stopped reading, some asked questions, some took photos, some continued on. The station has the added right to know before others call the place they live by another name.