Chapter 1 — Medicinal Garden After Hospital

The morning mist was still lingering on the old tiled roofs of Yen Son town when Dao Thuc Quyen walked out of the hospital gate, still holding an incense stick that had not yet been fully inserted into the incense bowl temporarily placed in the corner of the garden. The first death anniversary of her mother, Mrs. Dao Thi Sen, had just ended last night, but its echoes were still heavy in her heart, like a smoldering rock pressing on her chest since morning until now.

She stood silently in front of the low bamboo fence separating the medicinal garden from the hospital's office building, looking inside. Weeds had grown almost knee high, overwhelming the beds of medicinal plants that her mother had meticulously cared for thirty years. The honeysuckle flower trellises that once covered an entire corner of the wall have now withered, the withered vines clinging to rotten wooden slats. There are only a few lemongrass bushes and a few mugwort bushes still stubbornly rising among the weeds, like the last remaining witnesses of a glorious time.

"Miss Quyen, are you really going to go into the garden?" The call made Quyen turn around in surprise. That was Mai Tuyet Nhung, a nurse in the same department, her best friend at the hospital, standing behind her with worried eyes. "You don't have to force yourself, if you're not ready."

"It's okay, I'll just stand and watch for a bit," Quyen replied, her voice trying to remain calm, even though her hands were still gripping the bamboo fence so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Since my mother passed away, I haven't stepped foot here once."

Nhung remained silent, didn't say anything, just stood next to her friend, letting her have time alone with the emotions swirling in her heart. Quyen looked deep into the garden. Memories of early mornings following her mother out to the garden to pick leaves, of the smell of medicinal herbs wafting throughout the small kitchen, of her mother's warm voice each time explaining the uses of each plant, kept coming back, making her unable to help but turn her face away, not wanting to let her friend see her red eyes.

"Let's go, let's go back to the pharmacy counter, my shift is about to start," Quyen said, trying to change her voice, walking quickly towards the main building of the hospital, leaving behind the garden that was engulfed in the heavy silence of weeds and memories.

The morning at the pharmacy passed like any other day, with familiar prescriptions, elderly patients coming to get regular medicine for high blood pressure and diabetes. Quyen worked with absolute concentration, as if only work could help her temporarily forget the pain that was still fresh in her heart. That is also the reason she chose to stay and work at the hospital's Western medicine counter, instead of taking over her mother's medicinal garden as many people expected.

Near noon, when Quyen was rearranging the medicine cabinet, the pharmacy door opened, a strange man walked in, tall, serious but somewhat tired face, holding a thick file in his hand. "Sorry, I'm looking for the pharmacy room to receive medicine for the Internal Medicine Department," he said, his voice low and somewhat polite.

"This is indeed the pharmacy room, but I haven't received any handover notice from the Internal Medicine Department today," Quyen replied, her eyes examining the strange man in front of her. "Who are you, sorry can I ask?"

"I'm Chu Bao Nam, a new doctor transferred to the Department of Internal Medicine this week," he introduced, showing his work card to prove it. "Perhaps the handover documents have not been updated yet. I will contact the administrative department again."

Quyen nodded, said nothing more, and returned to her unfinished work. But the new doctor's eyes accidentally stopped on the small shelf next to the pharmacy window, where Quyen still kept a few bottles of lemongrass essential oil and a few bags of dried herbal tea - things left over from the last time she helped her mother pack medicine before she fell ill. "Does our hospital also sell herbal products?" he asked, his voice somewhat surprised, mixed with something unpredictable.

"It's not a product for sale, it's a souvenir," Quyen replied, her voice stiffening slightly. "My mother used to be a physician in charge of the medicinal garden behind the hospital. These things were left by my mother."

Bao Nam nodded slightly, his eyes flashing with something like reserve. “I see,” he said, his voice becoming more careful. "Sorry if my question is a bit sudden."

The atmosphere between the two became awkward for a moment, until Bao Nam received the necessary documents and left, leaving Quyen alone with her chaotic thoughts. There was something in the new doctor's eyes that made her feel uneasy, a sneaking suspicion of anything related to her mother's heritage, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

In the afternoon, when Quyen was preparing to end her shift, Mr. Thai Van Hung, the hospital director, suddenly stopped by the pharmacy room, his face looking unusually thoughtful. "Miss Quyen, I want to discuss something with you, related to the medicinal garden behind," he said, his voice cautious.

Quyen frowned slightly, a bad premonition spreading in her heart. "What's wrong, director?"

"The Department of Health has just approved a plan to expand our hospital's medical examination department, due to the increasing number of patients," Mr. Hung explained, his voice monotonous as if trying to maintain objectivity. "After survey, the most feasible option is to use the medicinal garden land behind to build a new house, with parking for patients and family members."

That news was like a bucket of cold water poured straight into Quyen, leaving her stunned for a moment, unable to utter a word. "Are you going to level my mother's garden?" she asked again, her voice shaking with shock, with anger rising uncontrollably.

"I know, this is a difficult decision for you," Mr. Hung said, his voice somewhat guilty. "But that garden has been abandoned for more than a year since Mrs. Sen passed away, while the hospital is seriously lacking in space. I hope you can understand this decision."

Quyen stood still, her eyes looking far away toward the window, where she could see the silhouette of the garden bathed in the fading afternoon sunlight. She never thought that after just one year since her mother's death, the last legacy she left behind would be in danger of being completely wiped out, turning into a lifeless parking lot, with no trace of what her mother had worked so hard to build all her life.

"Is this plan official yet, director?" she asked, trying to regain her composure, her voice less shaky but still stuck in her throat.

"In terms of policy, it has been approved by the Department of Health," Mr. Hung replied, his eyes avoiding looking directly at her. "But the detailed construction plan is still in the consultation stage. A meeting of the entire hospital is expected in the next two weeks to officially announce it."

"So that means, there's still time to discuss further," Quyen said, her voice harder, her eyes shining with a fragile glimmer of hope. "I hope you can consider more carefully before making a final decision. That garden is not only a souvenir for my family, but also a place where many patients in the area have come to ask for medicine and advice from my mother over the years."

Mr. Hung sighed softly, nodded as if in a vague promise, then left the pharmacy room, leaving Quyen standing alone in the middle of the small room, her mind a mess. She looked down at her hands, which still had the scent of incense from this morning's incense sticks, then suddenly clenched them into fists.

That evening, when returning to the small house located right next to the medicinal garden - where she and her father, Mr. Dao Van Thanh, still live - Quyen saw her father sitting quietly on an old rattan chair on the porch, his eyes looking towards the bamboo fence separating the garden, where darkness had long been covered. Since his wife's death, Mr. Thanh has almost stopped stepping foot in the medicinal garden and rarely talks with his daughter about anything related to the family's traditional medicine profession.

"Dad, the hospital plans to level Mom's medicine garden to build a parking lot," Quyen said, sitting down next to her dad, her voice low and filled with worry. "I don't know what to do to stop this."

Mr. Thanh was silent for a long time, his eyes still did not leave the darkness of the garden, as if trying to find the image of his late wife who had spent her whole life attached to every row of trees there. "Your mother spent her entire youth in that garden," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse, full of regret. "But perhaps, since the day she passed away, father no longer has the courage to step in there, let alone think about whether to keep it or leave it."

Quyen looked at her father, her heart aching at the pain still etched deeply on his austere face. She realized that not only herself, but also her father were trapped in a loss that had never been healed, and perhaps, keeping that garden was not simply protecting a piece of land, but also a way for her whole family to learn how to face and heal the wounds that were still bleeding for more than a year.