Chapter 12 — Language is Wings

I said nothing.

"The American project... you should try it. The Silk Road—the places your parents used to go. Maybe... you should go yourself once."

He hung up. Nien Cao jumped onto the window sill and rubbed his head against my hand. I looked out at the city—where the windows still let in the cold wind in winter. Something in my heart... moved slightly. One road. Can be very long. But this time— It was my own choice. The next morning, I went to find Trinh Hao Nam.

“President Trinh, I need to take two months off.”

“What's the matter?”

“There was a documentary project that invited me to be an interpreter consultant, and I had to go to the Middle East and Europe.”

Trinh Hao Nam's expression became complicated.

"Two months? What about the Dong Thinh project—"

"I have completed the entire translation in phase two. Phase three is still three months away from starting."

“Are you planning to quit your job?”

"Please take your leave. I will be back."

He pondered for a long time.

"...Okay. I approve two months."

“Thank you, Mr. Trinh.”

“Lin Dao.” He called me back.

“After you came back… the position remained.”

I nodded. Stepping outside, To Uyen Tinh was standing in the hallway. She was transferred to the administrative department and worked as a clerk. The look in his eyes when he looked at me... was very complicated.

“Are you on a business trip?”

“Two months.”

She was silent for a moment.

“You know… seven years ago when I joined the company, I only knew one language.”

"After that, I taught myself German, got a C1 certificate, and went from intern to team leader. I thought... I tried really hard."

“She tries very hard.”

"But you don't need to do anything, you're already standing above me. Eight languages... What do you rely on?"

I looked at her.

"Relying on my parents. In exchange for their lives."

To Uyen Tinh looked at me for three seconds. Say nothing more. She turned away. That was the last time we spoke in that building. Before leaving, I sent Nien Cao to Tieu Manh's house.

"Don't worry! Leave the cat to me!"

“Don't feed it a lot of junk food, it gets fat easily.”

"I know, I know! When you go abroad, remember to send me photos! I want to see camels!"

At the airport, I suddenly met someone. Co Than Chau. He was wearing casual clothes—the first time I'd seen him without a suit.

“Are you going on this trip too?”

“Dong Thinh has work in Dubai.” He glanced at me, "The first point of your project... isn't it also Dubai?"

“What a coincidence.”

“It's quite a coincidence.”

The corners of his lips moved slightly, looking like a smile. On the plane, I sat next to the window. He... sat next to me.

“The business class is still available, why don't you change it?”

“The ticket I bought was economy class.”

He looked at me.

“The inheritance your parents left behind—”

“Do you know this too?”

"That law office once cooperated with us. Lawyer Chu mentioned a client who refused to accept inheritance. This circle is very small."

“So everyone knows?”

“Not everyone cares.” He paused for a moment, “It's just me.”

I turned to look at him. He still looked straight ahead. The voice was very calm. But the statement... was not at all calm. The plane took off. White clouds pass by outside the window. Eight languages. Sixty million assets. Three years of silence. I don't know where this trip will take me. But this time— I actually started walking. Dubai welcomed me with dry and harsh sunlight. The light seemed to burn the shadow under my feet. The film crew has fifteen people. The director is Vuong Tranh, over fifty years old, working all his life documentary film.

"Are you Lam Dao? That girl who knows eight languages?"

“Okay, try translating this paragraph.”

He gave me an interview sketch in Arabic. I read it for ten seconds, then translated it into Chinese. After listening, Vuong Tranh turned to Khuu Hieu Dong.

"Okay, choose her. Stronger than all three translation companies combined."

The first shooting location is the ancient market in Dubai. A Persian carpet store, open for forty years. The shop owner is third generation, of Iranian descent. I am in charge of direct Arabic - Chinese translation. Before starting, the boss looked at me and asked in Arabic:

“Are you Chinese? Your Arabic accent… sounds like you studied in Cairo.”

I smiled softly.

"That's right."

A hot wind swept through the ancient market. Colorful carpets sway gently in the sunlight. And I stood there— For the first time, no more dodging. The languages that were once hidden from me... Now, it's like doors are opening one by one.

"Yes. When I was a child, I lived in Cairo."

“Cairo Arabic has the taste of the Nile.” He laughed, “Sounds great.”

The interview lasted two hours. The shopkeeper told many stories about the Silk Road—about his grandfather carrying a roll of carpet from Isfahan to Dubai, about ocean ships carrying ceramics and tea. When I translated, I suddenly remembered my father. That year in Cairo, he often took me to the ancient market. He would squat down, talk to the old spice sellers in imperfect Arabic, and laugh so much that he couldn't keep his image. My Arabic… learned from markets like that. Not the textbook type. It is a language that has temperature, the smell of smoke, and the noise of life. At the end of the interview, Vuong Tranh patted my shoulder.

"Good job. Tomorrow go to Abu Dhabi, interview an investor—use English. Then go to Istanbul, interview a French archaeologist—use French. Are you ready?"