Chapter 18 — Makeup Artist for the Final Journey

Work started at two o'clock in the afternoon and lasted until late at night. An Nhiên works with a rare level of concentration, each move is carefully considered, not allowing herself to make any mistakes, even the smallest. Ms. Đoàn Diệu Hiền's right cheekbone and lower jaw were seriously damaged, requiring a structural reconstruction process as complex as Lương Việt Dũng's case, even more difficult because the extent of the damage was more widespread.

She began by reconstructing the bone structure using medical imaging wax, working in thin layers, constantly comparing with the photos the family brought in - including the most recent photo, of Ms. Diệu Hiền standing among the students at the end of the school year ceremony, with a bright smile and gentle eyes typical of a dedicated teacher.

"The right jaw bone needs to be supported from the inside first." An Nhiên told herself, as a habit she learned from Mr. Nghi, to verbalize the technical steps to keep her mind focused and avoid missing any details. She uses a small support frame made of specialized medical materials, carefully placed under the cleaned skin, creating a solid foundation for the next shaping layers.

Mr. Nghi stopped by a few times during the afternoon, did not directly intervene unless requested, just stood and observed and gave some technical comments when necessary. "You did a great job. The lines you reconstructed are very close to the original photo."

"I want to be absolutely sure before moving on to the next step, teacher." An Nhiên replied, not taking her eyes off her work. "I won't allow myself to make mistakes in this case."

In the evening, when the basic structure was completed, An Nhiên moved on to the stage of mixing background colors - the stage that requires the highest sophistication, where the color and light vision skills inherited from her mother come into play most clearly. She tested many different tones on the board, compared it under both the preparation room light and the light simulating the funeral room light, carefully calculating so that when Ms. Diệu Hiền was placed in the coffin, under the warm yellow light of the ceremony, her skin would look the most natural, without revealing any unusual traces.

*

Nearly nine o'clock in the evening, when An Nhiên was concentrating hard on the final details of the reconstruction, she glanced through the small glass window on the preparation room door and saw a small figure standing quietly outside - Dương Gia Hân, standing there, both arms hugging her body as if trying to keep warm, eyes glued to the door frame, not leaving even though she stood there for an unknown amount of time.

An Nhiên stopped for a moment and looked at the girl through the frosted glass. That image - a sixteen-year-old girl standing outside the door, not daring to enter but also unable to leave, longing to know how her mother was being cared for - made An Nhiên's sixteen-year-old memories come back so strongly, so clearly that she had to stop for a second, close her eyes, and take a deep breath to regain composure.

She walked to the door and opened it slightly, enough to talk to Gia Hân without letting her see directly what was going on inside.

"Have you been standing here long?" An Nhiên asked, her voice gentle.

"Yes, I don't know, it must have been an hour," Gia Hân replied in a small voice, her eyes still not leaving the door frame even though An Nhiên stood blocking most of the view. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't stand here and bother you, but I can't go home, I keep thinking..."

"I won't bother you." An Nhiên interrupted, her voice gentle. "I understand how you feel. Actually, when I was sixteen years old, I also stood in a similar place like this, waiting to hear news about my mother."

Gia Hân looked up at her, her puffy eyes shining with surprise mixed with curiosity. "Is your mother... the same as your mother?"

An Nhiên nodded, her voice lowered but still remained steady. "My mother also died in a traffic accident, when I was the same age as you are now. But unlike you, I didn't have the chance to see her face one last time, because that place wasn't capable of doing what I'm trying to do for your mother tonight."

Gia Hân was silent for a moment, her eyes filled with tears. "So...so you do this job because of your mother?"

"That's right." An Nhiên replied, smiling slightly, a smile that was both sad and warm. "And I promise you, tonight, I will do everything in my power so that you don't have to carry the same regrets that I have carried for the past thirteen years."

Gia Hân burst into tears, unable to hold back anymore, tears rolling down her young face. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

An Nhiên reached out, gently grabbed the girl's trembling little hand, and gave it a brief but sincere squeeze. "Go back to the waiting room and rest a bit, drink some water, I'll continue working. I promise to let you know as soon as everything is ready." Gia Hân nodded, wiped her tears, turned and walked slowly towards the waiting room, where her father was waiting. An Nhiên stood looking at the girl's shadow for a while, then returned to the preparation room, closed the door, and continued working with an even stronger determination than before, as if the promise just made had become an invisible thread connecting the present and the past, between Gia Hân's pain and her own never-ending pain.

Nearly eleven o'clock at night, Mr. Nghi stopped by to check and saw that An Nhiên was still working hard, her face was somewhat tired but her eyes were still clear with concentration. "You should rest for a bit, eat something first, then it's not too late to continue."

"I'm almost done with the hardest part, teacher. I want to finish it before I rest." An Nhiên replied, not taking her eyes off her work.

Mr. Nghi stood and watched her work for a while longer, then pulled a chair and sat down nearby, not leaving. "I'll sit here with you for a while, not to supervise, just... I don't think you should be alone tonight."

An Nhiên smiled slightly, touched by the silent concern of the teacher who had accompanied her for the past five years. "Thank you, teacher."

"You know," Mr. Nghi spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice thoughtful." thirty years ago, when I first started my career, I also encountered a case that reminded me of my relative. At that time, it was my younger sister, who passed away due to illness, even though the case I worked on was a completely strange young girl. I cried all night that night, after finishing my work, sitting alone in this preparation room."

An Nhiên looked up at him, a bit surprised by this rare sharing. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"My younger sister died when I was nineteen years old, long before Vĩnh An was founded. That's also part of the reason I chose this profession, even though I rarely told anyone," Mr. Nghi replied, his eyes distant as if remembering an old memory that had never completely faded. "I think, every person who works in this profession has their own story, their own reason to stick with their job. Your story, my story, are probably not too different." An Nhiên nodded, feeling a deeper sympathy than ever with the teacher who had taught her for so many years. "I think that's also the reason why you understand me better than anyone, even though you rarely say it."

"That's right." Mr. Nghi smiled slightly, then stood up and patted her shoulder. "Okay, keep going. I believe you will complete this shift excellently, like you always do."

He left the room, letting An Nhiên continue her work in the familiar silence, but her heart now felt much lighter, as if the emotional burden she had carried throughout the evening had been partly shared through that short conversation.

That night, An Nhiên worked until nearly three in the morning, meticulously perfecting every last detail — her skin was restored to its natural tone, her eyebrows were redrawn in the familiar curved shape from photos, her hair was neatly combed into the thin bangs style that Mr. Khiem had described. When she put down the last brush, she stood back, looked at Ms. Đoàn Diệu Hiền's entire face under the light of the preparation room, and felt a relief mixed with quiet pride that she had rarely allowed herself to feel so fully. The elementary school teacher's gentle face appeared clear and calm, as if she was in a deep sleep, with no trace of the terrible accident that took her life. An Nhiên stood silently looking at her results for a while longer, then began to pack up her tools and prepare for the final steps the next morning, before leaving the preparation room in the almost absolute silence of the night.