Chapter 4 — Music Without Chorus

Tape box number 07 was placed in an anti-static bag, then taken straight to Water Circuit. An did not let Nam hold it on the street. He sat in the back seat with Vy, his hands on his knees, like a person who knew he had no right to ask what others would do with the evidence.

In the studio, An cleaned the tape reader with a specialized solution. The old reader was bought by Vy from a television technician. The plastic cover had turned tea color. Before placing the tape, An took a photo of each side of the box, recording the serial number and room temperature. Nam looked at the note board.

“You always do everything like you're ready to go to court.”

“Because when it comes to court, people often ask why we didn't do it from the beginning.”

Vy installed a blank tape to test the machine. The sound running through the speakers is a simple background sound, without any stretching sound. Then An put tape number 07 in. The machine made a dry sound and the tape rotated slowly.

The first part only has the sound of people talking in the distance. A man asked if the transfer could be taken back. A female voice replied that if recorded, the song would lose its reason to exist. An did not immediately recognize the voice because the tape was mixed with the sound of the fan. Nam stood behind her, not touching the table.

“Le Chi,” he said.

The female voice laughed very softly. "Mr. Nam, the song doesn't need to return to one place just to let the listener know you're still there."

Nam closed his eyes. An looked at him through the glass and saw his fingers clenched into fists.

The tape changed to the sound of a monochord. A long vibrato note, then an incomplete verse. The man in the tape asked about ownership. Le Chi said her name, Lam's name and the name of a folk musician in Ca Mau. She reminded that the label is only allowed to release the recording if all participants sign the confirmation.

“They said to sign after release,” Le Chi said. “I know that means never.”

The sound suddenly broke into a crash. The tape pulled quickly, then returned. Another male voice, not Nam, said: "You have no right to keep this copy. The contract for all recordings within the term belongs to the company."

“A contract cannot own the person who created it.”

“You should remember who pays for the studio.”

"I remember. So I also remember who will pay the price when the listener knows the truth."

The next part takes almost a minute. An checked the surface of the tape and found no scratches. Someone cut and reconnected it. The splice causes the sound to slow slightly, but the data is still there.

Nam asked: "Is it possible to recover?"

“Maybe. But need the original or another copy.”

“This box is the only copy.”

Vy turned the screen towards An. "No. Look at the recording time. The tape starts from minute twelve, but the file shows signs of starting at minute seven. Someone removed the beginning."

An recorded the tape and listened with the vibration transmitter. The rest of the verse is just a consonant and the sound of a chair being pulled. She asked to rewind each beat, then noted the position. At the last second, there was the sound of metal hitting three times, in the same rhythm as the anonymous email.

“The company's warehouse,” An said. “Not the theater.”

Nam nodded. "The Milky Way has an ice warehouse in District One. They transferred documents from Hoa Binh there."

“Can I come in?”

"I used to have a card. It's expired."

“Then don't come with me.”

“Are you planning on breaking in?”

"I plan to ask to see the archives. If they refuse, I will record the refusal."

Vy burst out laughing. “A recorded break-in.”

The conversation was interrupted by Quang Vu's call. He asked An to come to the company three hours in advance, saying that the contract needed to be "closed quickly." avoid misunderstandings." Nam intended to go with him, but An told him to stay with the gang. She didn't want Quang to have the opportunity to put the two of them in the same corner.

Quang's office overlooks the construction site. He did not invite An to sit down right away but poured tea and asked Mach Nuoc if there were still enough guests. An does not answer unrelated questions. She placed the marked appendix on the table.

“I agree to give it a try if the company accepts these terms.”

Quang skimmed. “Right to withdraw name, right to keep original files, not use images. You are so careful.”

“Being careful is how people without big companies protect themselves.”

“Khai Nam said you have personality.”

“He said it wrong. I just have a contract.”

Quang smiled. “This album is your opportunity. The company can put her name in front of millions of people.”

“I don't need millions of people to know I'm owned by someone.”

Quang's smile thinned. He tapped his finger on the image rights section. “Do you know that your accident can create sympathy? The right campaign will help people understand music is not just for the perfect listener.”

An stood up. “I'm not a campaigner.”

“I am asking for cooperation.”

“You are offering to take my story as property.”

Quang did not hold her back. Before leaving the office, An saw an old photo hanging on the wall: Le Chi standing next to Nam in the studio, in the corner of the photo was a young man holding a tape. The person's face was obscured by the light, but on his shirt was the name tag "Lam".

An took a photo with his phone. Optical does not prevent.

“You care too much about the past,” he said.

“Old stories are still used to sell new albums.”

“Don't mistake curiosity for righteousness.”

“Don't confuse power with truth.”

In the hallway, a young employee chased after An and gave An a memory card. “I didn't see you give this.”

“What's in it?”

“Old warehouse catalog. I just copied the public part.”

“Your name?”

“Don't write.”

An put the memory card in his pocket. When we got to the lobby, the phone showed a notification from Nam: "The tape has been changed. Someone just sent me another copy.”

An called back. Nam did not listen. She tried again, only to receive a busy signal.

In the memory card there is a catalog file. Item number 07 no longer reads “Translation — not to be repeated”. It has been changed to “Promotional material — worthless.” The last person to edit was Quang Vu's admin account, the edit time was seventeen minutes ago.

An turned back to look at the office window. Quang is standing behind the curtain, not waving. A short vibrating sound went through the phone. Text message from unknown number: “Do you want to hear the cut part? Please bring Nam to Thu Thiem ferry terminal on Saturday morning.”

An did not leave the company immediately. She went down to the archives floor and asked to see the person in charge of the catalogue. A man named Hoang, about thirty years old, took her to a small counter next to the equipment warehouse. He did not open the warehouse door, just showed the file name system on the screen.

“I cannot export data to you without legal requirements,” Hoang said.

“I did not ask for an exit. I request to see the edit history of item number 07.”

Hoang looked over her shoulder. “Are you working on a project with Mr. Nam?”

“I work with data.”

“Then you should know that edit history can be deleted.”

“But deletion also leaves a mark.”

He laughed lightly, then opened the admin panel. Item number 07 had its name changed four times. The first time it was written “The way back without repeating — Le Chi/Lam”, the second time it was changed to “Template — K.Nam”, the third time it was “Promotional material”, the third time it was changed to “Promotional material”. ends up as "Not valid". Each edit has a different user, but they are all in the admin group.

“Who fixed it first?” An asked.

Hoang pointed to the account code. “My account.”

An looked at him. “You fixed it?”

“I followed orders.”

"Whose?"

“Duc Minh.”

“Do you have a copy of the email?”

Hoang did not answer. An turned off the machine, did not force it. An employee may be a witness or person defending their employment. Tung will need you later, but not today.

In the hallway, An met Gia Linh. Linh is holding a new lyric book, but her eyes are looking at Le Chi's billboard in the lobby. The old photo has been covered with glossy glass, the sponsor's name is larger than the singer's name.

“Have you ever met her?” An asked.

"No. I just listened to the tape."

“Do you know that the demo of the album uses her voice?”

Linh shook her head. “If I knew, I wouldn't have accepted.”

"Don't say something you're not sure about. You said it because you wanted to sing. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Linh looked at An. “So who do you think is bad?”

"I don't know yet. I just know someone erased their name."

Linh gave me the lyric book. On the edge of the paper were the handwritten words of another person: "Sing softer, don't let the consonants show." She said the label's assistant gave it to her after the recording session, saying it was a "Le Chi-like" way to sing.

An took a photo, but did not get a paper copy. She asked Linh if she wanted to keep it.

"I want to. Here are the instructions they gave me."

“Don't delete it.”

“I will keep it.”

In the elevator, Nam called. An told about the history of file editing and Hoang. Nam sighed.

"Hoang just joined after I left the company. He has nothing to do with the old story."

“You protect him?”

“I just know the feeling of being forced to follow.”

“Feelings are not proof.”

"I know."

An walked out into the lobby. Quang Vu is waiting, holding a new contract. He said he had edited the rights, but did not agree to let An keep the multi-channel version because of "security risks".

“If I don't keep the file, I don't do it,” An said.

“You can do it in any studio.”

“Then let me do it in my studio.”

Quang folded the contract. “Do you think the Water Circuit can compete with our system?”

"I'm not competing. I'm just not handing over the keys."

He looked at the evidence bag in An's hand. “You are holding documents belonging to the company.”

“The document I found at the theater contains the management minutes.”

“We can demand payment.”

“Send it through a lawyer.”

Quang didn't laugh anymore. "Do you know why people like Le Chi always lose? Because they think their name is enough to protect them."

An looked at an old photo in the lobby. “No. They lost because others were allowed to erase their names before they could speak up.”

Quang took a step forward, but his assistant called him from behind. An walked out the door, keeping the recorder turned on in his pocket. Out on the street, Nam is waiting. She showed him photos of the file editing history.

“I can ask Hoang,” Nam said.

“No. You'll scare him more.”

“I just want to help.”

"Helping is letting the person with the information choose how to deliver it. It's not about taking over your reputation."

Nam was stunned, then nodded. They walked to the bus stop. An received an email from Hoang, attaching a copy of the first repair order. At the end of the email, he wrote: "I don't know if you can protect me. But I don't want to always be the one who pushed the button."

An sent it to Tung, then deleted the download from his phone. Before getting in the car, Nam asked: "Can you protect him?"

“I don't know. But I can't use his name until it's okay permission.”

In the car, the sound of the engine created a heavy rhythm under the floor. An placed his hand on the armrest of the chair. A person sitting in the back is listening to the demo using a speakerphone. Le Chi's voice has not yet appeared, only the first three notes. An realized that the bass rhythm had been adjusted to resemble the sound of a ferry terminal, as if someone was deliberately imitating the memories they had just recorded.

She texted Vy: "Don't open new files in the public folder. Some people are learning how to fake their tracks.”