Chapter 20 — Mist Peak Rescue Team

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Uncle Tong asked, standing at the Gate of Heaven station gate, looking at Khanh Van who was checking the compact backpack on her shoulder - not full rescue equipment as usual, just enough for a short walk.

"Yes. This time you need to do it yourself." She looked at him, her eyes were steady but no longer had the usual tension when mentioning this place. "But thank you for asking."

Today's sky is a rare clear blue, not a single dew clinging to Sa Mu peak - a day so beautiful that it's almost ironic compared to what happened just three days ago on the very road she was about to cross. Khanh Van walked out of the station, alone, towards the spine of Cloud Dragon, a place she had avoided for two years and only recently, out of necessity, had gotten partially close.

The road up the mountain today was completely different from the time she walked in dense fog just a few days ago. The sunlight shined through the foliage, warming every stone she walked over, the sound of birds singing echoed throughout the bushes along the road - a scene that was almost impossible to relate to the harshness she had experienced during the last rescue trip.

She walked slowly, without rushing, giving each step time to mentally prepare for what was waiting ahead. As she approached the area with the fang-shaped ledge — where memories of the accident had come back strongly from her previous trip — she stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and then continued walking, not letting herself hesitate any longer than necessary.

Finally, after nearly an hour of walking, she reached the observation point overlooking Ham Rong abyss - the same position she stood in two years ago, witnessing Nam Long fall in an unforgettable moment.

The sunken abyss looked completely different from the image it had framed in her memory for the past two years — no longer a black mouth that swallowed everything in darkness and hail, but just a natural crack between the rocks, with sunlight shining down to the bottom, revealing patches of green moss and a few small bushes growing from the rocks — life still went on, even in a place that had witnessed a great loss.

Khanh Van sat down on the edge of the cliff, not too close to be dangerous, but close enough to fully feel the presence of this place. She took out a small object from her backpack — an old, slightly rusty carabiner, which she had kept from Nam Long's harness after the search team recovered his body two years ago. She had never had the courage to look at it directly, just kept it in a closed drawer in her private room, and today was the first time she brought it outside the station.

"I came to visit you, Long," she said, her voice gentle, not shaking like she had feared. "Three days ago, I found a woman who almost died of heart disease, right nearby. I saved her, and both of us came with her."

A light wind blew, carrying the scent of mountain grass and trees, completely different from the bitter cold of that day two years ago.

"I've been afraid for the past two years," she continued, "afraid that if I acted decisively again, I would cause another loss. So I became cautious to the point that some people thought I had lost my bravery. But this time, I learned that caution does not mean fear, and action does not mean recklessness — if I know how to balance the two, at the right time, in the right way."

She turned the carabiner in her hand, the sunlight reflecting off the tarnished metal surface. "You once told me, early in my career, that rescue is not about never making mistakes, but about learning from mistakes to save more people in the future. I think it took me a long time to truly understand that."

She was silent for a long time, letting the wind and birdsong fill the space around her, without needing to say anything else. This wasn't a conversation that needed an answer — just a moment where she allowed herself to fully face her past, not avoiding it, not burying it, but accepting it as a part of who she was today.

Finally, she stood up, not dropping the carabiner off the cliff as some might have done in a symbolic gesture — instead, she put it back in her backpack, deciding to carry it with her from now on, as a reminder not of the pain, but of the lesson that had been paid at too high a price to forget.

"Goodbye, Long," she said, her voice steady. "I will do a good job, for you, and for everyone else out there still waiting to be found."

She turned around and walked away from the edge, not looking back again — not because she was running away, but because for the first time in two years, she felt like she could truly move on without the burden of fear, with only the lesson engraved, gently but firmly, in every decision she would make from here on out.

On the way back, she passed by the same crack that the team had wired across on the last rescue mission — now, in the daylight, it looked much smaller than she remembered in the thick fog that day. She stopped for a moment, looking down at the bottom of the ravine, where a small stream gurgled through the rocks, reflecting the sparkling sunlight.

She thought about Bao Anh, about Son, about Nam, wondering what they were doing at the district hospital right now — perhaps Bao Anh was being thoroughly examined by cardiologists, perhaps Nam was telling his story to friends over the phone with a mixture of pride and fear, perhaps Son was sitting next to the hospital bed, not taking his eyes off the woman he almost lost.

She also thought about Kien, about this morning's conversation, about how a tense relationship that had lasted for months had found a way out in less than an hour, just because they were both willing to truly listen to each other.

Continuing to walk, Khanh Van felt an extraordinary lightness in each step, as if her shoulders, after two years of carrying an invisible weight, had now been significantly freed. Not everything — the pain of Nam Long will never completely go away, and she doesn't want it to go away either, because it had become an inseparable part of who she was. But it was no longer a cage holding her back, like Uncle Tong said.

When the Heaven's Gate station appeared ahead, its corrugated iron roof sparkling in the sunlight, Khanh Van walked a little faster, filled with a feeling of anticipation of returning - not to escape from anything, but to continue the work she loved, with a confidence that was more fully restored than ever.

Uncle Tong was waiting at the gate, as if he knew exactly when she would return, even though no one had scheduled a specific time. He looked at her for a moment, judging by her eyes and gait, then nodded slightly, a small but meaningful gesture.

“It's lighter,” he said, without explaining what he was talking about.

"Yes." Khanh Van stopped in front of him, smiling sincerely. "Much lighter, Uncle Tong."

"That's good." He patted her shoulder, then turned back inside, giving her another private moment to stand there, looking back at the familiar scene of Heaven's Gate station - the place that had witnessed both the deepest pain and the proudest victories in her career, and now, was welcoming her back as a person who had found herself.

She stood there for a few more minutes, letting the early afternoon sun warm her face, before stepping through the station gates, ready for whatever lay ahead—not with the fear that once bound her, but with a serenity that had been a long journey to find again.

In her coat pocket, the old carabiner still lies, no longer a testament to her obsession, but a quiet reminder of why she does this work, and why she will continue to do it, better every day, until she can no longer climb these mountainsides.

Behind her, Sa Mu peak still stood there, clear and quiet in the afternoon sun, as if no storm had ever roared across its slopes, as if no one had ever fallen or been saved in its midst — just a mountain, patiently waiting for the next people to step forward, bringing with them both their own fear and their own courage.