Chapter 16 — Late Night Radio

The official document arrived on Monday morning, not via internal email as Vy had imagined, but in a white paper envelope with a red seal of the parent media group, brought by the administrative staff on the first floor to the editing room, placed gently on Vy's desk with a look that did not dare look directly at her for too long, as if she herself felt guilty for having to be the one to hand over such a heavy document. "Miss Vy, there is an official dispatch from the board of directors for our program," the staff member said in a low voice, then quickly turned away, leaving Vy sitting alone in front of an unopened envelope, her heart beating slowly and heavily, like the sound of drums in a procession that no one wanted to attend.

She opened the envelope with her hands that were not completely steady, pulled out two typed pages, the title in bold print above: "Decision No. 47/QD-CDR on reviewing and orienting the operation of night time radio programs." Vy read slowly, line by line, trying to swallow every dry administrative word but carrying the weight of a judgment hanging over the top of the program she had spent eighteen months preserving.

"Article 1: The program 'Sleepless Waves,' which airs every night from 11:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m., is placed under special review from the date of this decision. Article 2: The review period is six weeks, from August 18 to September 28. Article 3: During this period, the program must meet at least one of the following criteria to be considered for continuation in its current form or for an appropriate transformation: (a) increase the number of live listeners by at least thirty percent compared with the average of the past six months; (b) develop and present a feasible new operating plan, approved by the board of directors before September 20, so there is time to prepare for implementation if it is approved; or (c) demonstrate sufficient brand and social value to convince the evaluation board, the board of directors, and representatives of the parent corporation. Article 4: If the program fails to meet these criteria by the end of the review period, it will stop broadcasting in its current form on October 1 and be replaced by the station's standard automated music-playback model. Staff positions directly related to the program may be transferred to other departments according to the station's needs; the possibility of eliminating positions no longer suited to the new operating model cannot be ruled out."

Vy read that last sentence three times, feeling like each word was like small stones falling to the bottom of a deep well in her heart, creating waves that spread slowly but endlessly. "The possibility of cuts to positions that are no longer suitable cannot be ruled out." She immediately thought of Hai Duong - the person who had been with this studio longer than her, the person who had no other skills than her sharp ears and hands familiar with each knob on the old mixer - and felt a slight nausea rising, not because she was afraid for herself, but because she was afraid that this war, if lost, would not only take away her job, but also the livelihoods of those who had trusted her to the end of this path.

She immediately called Hai Duong and Thao Nhi into the small editing room, placed two pages of text on the table between the three of them, said nothing, just let them read for themselves. Thao Nhi read quickly, her eyes skimming each line at the speed of someone used to skimming on a phone screen, but at Article 4, she stopped, reading slowly, her lips pursed tightly. Hai Duong read more slowly, from beginning to end, no expression showed on his face, only his fingers tapped lightly and steadily on the wooden table, a habit Vy knew well that only appeared when he was trying to suppress something bigger than what he was willing to express.

"Six weeks," Thao Nhi spoke first, her voice trembling slightly but not because of fear, but because of an anger that was trying to form words. "Six weeks to increase live listening by thirty percent for a traditional radio program, while the whole country is switching to listening to podcasts and streaming music? Mr. Toan knows that criterion is almost impossible to achieve in the usual way, Ms. Vy. This is not a real opportunity, this is an excuse written to seem fair."

"I think you're partly right," Vy replied, her voice trying to stay calm despite the chaos inside. "But I also think that Mr. Toan did not write this decision to close all doors. Path (b) - building a new operating plan - is a door he deliberately left open. He is a person who works with data, with plans, not with emotions. If we just sit there angry because criterion (a) is impossible, we will miss the only door that can truly open."

Hai Duong looked up, speaking for the first time since sitting down. "I agree with Vy. But I also want to say one thing straight, so you both can prepare mentally." He stopped, looked straight into Vy's eyes, his eyes carried a rarely seen seriousness. "If the program still has to stop in six weeks, I don't want Vy to feel guilty because of me. I've been in this profession since I was young, following your father since the days when the station still used mortars, but I've been mentally preparing for this day for a long time, even before Mr. Toan appeared. What I'm worried about is not my job, but that if we lose, Vy will carry that feeling with her for the rest of her life, like once again losing something associated with your father."

Vy was silent, her throat tight, not because she wanted to cry, but because of a much more complex emotion - both gratitude, sadness, and an additional layer of heavy responsibility weighing on her shoulders. "I won't let that happen," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "Not because I'm confident I will win, but because I don't allow myself to give up before trying everything."

That afternoon, Mr. Cao Viet Binh convened a private meeting with those directly involved in "Sleepless Waves" in a small conference room on the third floor, the door closed, the window curtains drawn even though it was still light - a caution that Vy immediately understood was to avoid curious eyes from other departments passing by in the hallway. He placed a copy of the decision identical to the one Vy read this morning on the table, next to it was a notebook with nearly half of the pages filled with his handwriting.

"I have read this decision carefully three times since morning until now," Mr. Binh said, his voice was low, no longer the usual tiredness but instead the intense concentration of someone who had decided to fully commit to a battle. "And I think, you are right, criterion (a) is almost impossible, criterion (c) is too vague to be able to prepare with certainty, only criterion (b) is the most realistic path. But I also tell you frankly, a new operating plan does not mean writing a few pages of general proposals and hoping that Mr. Toan will be moved. He will read that plan with the eyes of someone who has done digital conversion at two other stations, he will look at each number. Every assumption, every cost line. If the plan is not solid enough, not specific enough, it will be rejected within five minutes, and then I will lose my last chance."

"So where do we start, brother?" Vy asked, holding a pen ready to take notes, even though her heart was still full of emotions that had not yet calmed down.

Mr. Binh opened the notebook and flipped to a bookmarked page. "I think, I need to prove two things in parallel. One, the program has a loyal, deep audience, although not large in number according to traditional measures, but has high engagement value - this Thao Nhi and Hai Duong have already started to do, data from letters, calls, old recordings. Two, and this is the more difficult part, I need a new operating model that does not require the same costs as the current one but still retains the soul of the program - not turning it into music. It's about finding a way for a living voice, a real human connection, to reach more people, at a lower cost, in a measurable way that Mr. Toan and the parent corporation can accept."

Thao Nhi, who had been listening silently from the beginning, suddenly sat up straight, her eyes flashing with a light that Vy was familiar with whenever her young friend came up with a new idea. "Mr. Binh, I have an idea, but I need a few more days to calculate more carefully before presenting it specifically. Can you give me time until the end of the week?"

"Okay," Mr. Binh nodded, without asking for more details, just looking at her with the trusting eyes of someone who has learned to appreciate unexpected ideas from the younger generation. "But remember, the time I have is only six weeks, minus the time to prepare and present the plan before September 20th, in fact I only have more than a month to think, do and prove. There is not much room for trial and error."

The meeting lasted nearly an hour, focusing on more specific details — how to present data, how to arrange work schedules to have enough time to both maintain the program and prepare plans, how to assign who does what in the short remaining time. When everyone got up to leave, Mr. Binh held Vy back for a moment, waiting for Thao Nhi and Hai Duong to leave the room.

"Vy," he said, his voice lowered, taking on a much more personal tone than during the previous meeting. "I know, these past few days, besides the radio, you've had other things on your mind - I didn't ask specifically, but I noticed something different in your eyes these days, both worried and like you're keeping a secret. I just want to say, whatever's going on inside you, don't let it take up all the strength you need for this fight. The next six weeks are going to be tough, and I need you to stay as alert as possible."

Vy was stunned for a moment, not expecting Mr. Binh to realize something, although he did not say clearly what he was thinking specifically. She nodded, trying to force a smile. "I'll try, brother. I promise."

Leaving the meeting room, Vy walked slowly towards the stairs, her heart was heavy but at the same time she felt something moving - no longer the vague fear of the previous days, but a determination that was gradually taking a concrete shape, like a ship that had anchored, even though it was uncertain which shore lay ahead. She thought about six weeks, until September 20, about Hai Duong's face when she said "I've been mentally preparing for a long time", and told herself that no matter what the final result was, she would not let any of them regret having trusted her to accompany her to the end of this path.

That night, before the broadcast, Vy sat alone in studio B, looked at the program name sign posted on the glass door, the words "Sleepless Waves" had faded slightly over the years, and for the first time, she took a pen and wrote three short lines on a small piece of paper, taping it to the corner of the table where she could see it every night for the next six weeks: "Six weeks. Not to fear, but to prove. Dad, I will not let this light go out." She looked at that line for a long time, then took a deep breath, stood up, and prepared for a broadcast night that she knew, from today onwards, every moment on the broadcast would carry a new weight, a silent countdown that all her listeners, including the man who still called in every night under the name White Night, did not know was happening, but would definitely accompany her through each day, each night, until they knew the final answer.