Chapter 16 — Language is Wings

That night, Co Than Chau returned from Korea. He stood under my house and texted a sentence:

“Get down.”

In December, the cold wind cuts the skin. Street lights lengthen shadows on the ground.

“I watched the documentary.” he said.

"Not worthy of your translation level. Average director."

“Don't say that about the King's Path.”

"But her part is very good. Every interview... she doesn't just translate. She conveys emotions."

“My father once said, understanding a person's mother tongue is understanding their heart.”

“You did it.”

We walked for a long time. Go to a riverbank. The water surface is covered with a thin layer of ice. The streetlight shines down, sparkling like it's broken. He called me.

"Next year, Dong Thinh will establish an international cultural exchange department. Filmmaking, publishing, exhibitions, transnational forums."

He looked straight at me.

“That department… I need someone in charge.”

The cold wind passed by. But this time— I don't feel cold anymore.

“You came to seduce me again.”

"It's not a lure. It's a way to create a position for you."

“What do you mean?”

"You're not fit to just be a translator. A translator is just a tool. You should use it to do bigger things. Your father's ceramic collection... could be made into an exhibition. 'Chinese Ceramics on the Silk Road'. Using your eight languages... tell the whole world."

I looked at the river surface, the ice reflecting the broken lights.

“How much is the salary?”

“You set the price.”

“You have a lot of money, but I don't like taking advantage.”

“Then I will take your advantage.”

"Be my girlfriend. No need for salary anymore."

“General Manager Co!”

"Just kidding. One million a year, plus project profit sharing. But the girlfriend thing... is real."

I turned to look at him. The streetlight covered his face, softening his usually cold features.

“I will think.”

“About work… or about your boyfriend?”

“One week.”

“Five days.”

Two days later, I got my answer. Both—agree. The day I left Trung Hoa, Trinh Hao Nam personally saw me out the door.

“Lam Dao, you are the most underrated employee in the history of this company.”

“Mr. Trinh, you also gave me the opportunity.”

“The opportunity is yours to take.” He shook his head, “By the way… at the year-end party I said that in German—”

“Seventy percent salary increase?”

“You understood from then on, right?”

“Then why don't you…”

He stopped, sighed.

“I wish you smooth sailing.”

I looked back at the Trung Hoa building one last time. Eighty thousand a year. A tiny place. What needs to be paid… I have paid it. The roads that need to be taken... I have also gone through. Dong Thinh officially established the International Cultural Exchange department. I am the first person in charge. First project— Ceramic Road. An international exhibition of Chinese ceramics on the Silk Road. The center of the exhibition... is the more than forty ceramic items my father left behind. I spent three months preparing. The exhibition opens simultaneously in five cities: Beijing, Berlin, Dubai, Istanbul, Paris. At each location, I personally translated the narration into the local language. Beijing—in Chinese. Berlin—German. Dubai—Arabic. Istanbul—English and French. Paris—French. Opening day in Beijing, more than three hundred people attended. Several retired leaders of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs also came. Uncle Truong stood in the exhibition room, looking at my father's handwritten cards... his eyes turned red.

“Chan Quoc... your daughter can do it Already."

Khuu Hieu Dong led the entire US crew to continue filming.

“Lam Dao, can this be made into a second season?”

“Can discuss.”

Vuong Tranh also came.

“I told you, you're not just a translator.”

In the corner of the room, Co Than Chau stood silently. Black vest, hands in pockets. He did not move forward. Just standing there… looking at me under the light. The reporter asked:

“Miss Lam, it is known that you worked for three years at a trading company with a salary of eighty thousand, despite knowing eight languages. Why are you hiding your abilities?”

I think a bit.

“Because I'm hiding. Every language is associated with memories of parents. I thought if I hid it, it wouldn't hurt anymore. But later I realized… language doesn't disappear just because you're silent. It's still there, in your blood... waiting for you to speak.”

“What made you decide to ‘speak up’?”

“A letter. My father wrote. He said—shine, then go do what you should do.”

That interview aired that night. Hot search appeared a phrase:

“The eight-language girl.”

I don't like that name. But… it doesn't matter anymore. The second day of the exhibition— Someone I didn't expect... appeared. To Uyen Tinh. She stood at the exhibition door. An old jacket, hair tied loosely. Completely different from the sharp appearance of the previous day in Trung Hoa. I stepped forward.

“What did you come for?”

“I saw the news in the newspaper.” She looked at the ceramics, "Your father collects them?"

“It's beautiful.”

She was silent for a long while.

“Lin Dao… I owe you an apology.”

“No need—”

“Let me finish.” Her voice lowered.

“I envy you. From the day she spoke German in Dong Thinh, I was jealous. It took me seven years to climb to that position. And you... don't need to do anything to stand taller than me. I cannot accept it.”

“So you chose slander.”