Chapter 12 — No Resentment, No Forgiveness

Inside the boardroom of our partner company, the tension was palpable. After delivering the final presentation of our proposal, I set my laser pointer down and lifted my head. Facing me sat the seven members of the selection committee. Directly in the center sat a woman in her forties, surnamed Trinh, the co-executive director of the technology giant. She locked eyes with me and asked, "Your company... have you ever handled a project of this scale before?"

I remained composed. "No," I replied, "but I have handled projects far more complex."

Ms. Trinh raised a single eyebrow, intrigued. I continued, "I once led the planning for the largest outdoor wedding in the city. Two hundred tables, twelve separate vendors coordinating simultaneously. It was handed over perfectly, without a single complaint." I slid the folder containing the documentation toward her. She flipped through a few pages in silence before closing it. Three days later, the official contract arrived. I had won the bid.

That afternoon, back at the office, General Manager Ngo shook my hand with a smile. "Nhuoc Tinh," he said, "well done."

I gripped the contract tightly, my mind drifting back to an afternoon in Daocheng Yading. I remembered looking up at that vast, deep blue sky, harboring a single thought: It is time to collect what is owed. Now, the debt was finally beginning to be repaid.

Word of my success rippled quickly through the local wedding planning industry. An annual corporate event contract worth eight million yuan was no small feat; in a city this size, only a handful of firms possessed the capability to pull it off. Naturally, people began reaching out. New friend requests flooded my social media—some proposing partnerships, others claiming they had long admired my professional reputation. I accepted them all with polite, measured responses, yet I understood the reality of the situation perfectly. Most of these people were not strangers. Some were industry peers, while others were associates of Chu Minh Hien. Some had even witnessed Chu Minh Hien and Lam Tu Vu standing side by side in the past. People are fickle; as long as you are standing in someone else’s shadow, they only see the person beside you. Only when you finally walk away do they realize that the person of true value was you all along.

Even Chu Minh Hien learned of my success. I heard it through his mother, who sent me a brief message: "Nhuoc Tinh, congratulations." I kept my reply equally succinct: "Thank you."

As for Lam Tu Vu, she remained completely silent. I did not bother to inquire about her. Once, To Dao could no longer contain her curiosity. "Nhuoc Tinh," she asked, "do you truly not want to know how they are living now?"

I shook my head. "No. It has nothing to do with me."

To Dao stared at me for a long time, then gave a faint, knowing smile. "You really don't want to know, or are you just pretending not to care?"

I nodded firmly. "I truly stopped wanting to know a long time ago."

"Since when?"

"On the road down from Mount Zheduo," I replied, looking toward the horizon with a faint smile. "From the moment I drove away from that place, I finally let go."

On the night the annual event concluded, I sat alone on the office balcony, watching the city lights shimmer like fallen stars. On my phone, I kept a video capturing the peak moment of the evening: the stage lights flaring to life, the crowd beneath, the people on stage, everyone smiling. It was the fruit of two months of relentless labor. I watched the video once, then posted a single wide-angle photo of the event to my social feed. I added no caption. Among those who liked the post were General Manager Ngo, my colleagues, my new clients, To Dao, my mother, and even the mother of Chu Minh Hien.