Chapter 13 — I Returned After 18 Years and Found Mother's Lifelong Secret

A jewelry designer. If he ever existed, he would definitely leave a trace. The storage area for old newspapers and professional magazines smells of damp paper. I searched all afternoon. Finally, in a defunct industry magazine, I found him. A small interview. Blurred black and white photo. The man in the photo is very young. Wear gold-rimmed glasses. The face is scholarly and courteous. The article said Tran Mac was a new star in the design world at that time. Especially good at handling rare rough stones. His design is full of spirit. Called "the one who can converse with gems". But when his career was at its peak, he suddenly disappeared. At the end of the article there is only one short sentence:

"Knowing that Mr. Tran Mac passed away from an accident a year ago, the experts are extremely saddened."

Another accident. Like Lam Phong. Is it really just a coincidence? I took a photo of the article. Intuition told me — the deaths of Tran Mac and Lam Phong are related. Even related to diamond veins. That night, I rented a hotel room. I need a safe place to organize everything. I spread all the clues out on the table. Letter from mother. Lam Phong's photo. Rough diamond. Mahogany wooden box. Recording pen. Article about Tran Mac. I stared at that black and white photo. That man... doesn't look like someone who would get involved with someone like Lam Dao. Even less like a character in a construction site accident. I enlarged the photo. Look closely. Gold frame glasses. Thin lips. And between the eyebrows… A vaguely familiar feeling. I met this face. Definitely met. Memories roll back. Behind the scenes of the show. The face passed by. Not. Go deeper. Before I left. Back to the house I hate. The faces fade and then become clear. Giang Minh. I jumped up. Heart beating rapidly. I remember now. This face. I've seen it. When I was very young. In an old family photo hanging in the living room. He is not just Tran Mac. At least not just by that name. He has another name. A name my father almost never mentioned. He is Giang Chan Quoc's younger brother. Giang Chan Dong. The person is said to have "passed away" before I was born. Giang Chan Dong. That name was like a bolt of lightning tearing through the fog of memory. I remember now. The family photo was pressed to the bottom of the box. In the photo, next to the young father is a man who looks seven parts like him. Wear gold-rimmed glasses. Laugh peacefully. Mom once said, it was you. Died of acute illness before I was born. Dad never mentioned him. Every time his mother said something wrong, his face darkened as if someone had just torn open an old wound. Turns out he never died. Just change the name. Change identity. Become jewelry designer Tran Mac. Then there was another "accident". After all, what is it all about? My father, Giang Chan Quoc. My uncle, Giang Chan Dong. My mother, Liu Yufeng. Lam Phong is dead. Lam Dao is still alive. And that damn diamond vein. All people and events are like invisible strings stretched and wrapped tightly together by an invisible hand. And that hand... I have a strong premonition. Belongs to an uncle who should have died long ago. Mysterious call. The ghost knows everything. It's definitely him. He stood in the dark observing everything. Control every move. Push me into a chess piece to confront Lam Dao. Want to sit and wait for the final benefit. I have to see my father. Right now. He is the weakest link. But it is also the most important link. I rushed out of the hotel, took a taxi, read the address where I thought I would never return. The car stopped in front of an old apartment complex. I ran up the stairs. The hallway is messy. Broken furniture was thrown everywhere. The door to the fifth floor apartment was wide open. On the door, two bright red letters in spray paint: I'm entering. Inside was even more chaotic. The sofa was torn apart. The TV burst. Shards of glass and plastic were scattered across the floor. Giang Minh and his wife disappeared. Only my father remains. Giang Chan Quoc. He cowered in the corner of the room, like an abandoned old dog. More gray hair. More confusing. His face and body were full of wounds. He looked at me. Cloudy eyes. There's no more light. Only numbness and despair remain. He called my name hoarsely. I walked over and sat down in front of him. There is no more pity in my heart. No more resentment. Just a cold calm, like waiting for a verdict. I opened my phone. Put the photo of Tran Mac in front of his eyes.