Chapter 15 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

Just as Duy Khoi feared, the news could not be kept secret for long. Just two weeks after meeting Nha Ky, Lam received a strange phone call in the evening, the number was not saved in the contact list. She hesitated for a moment then picked up the phone, a young woman's voice rang out, claiming to be the assistant of Mr. Ung The Khang, General Director of Tinh Hoa Publishing House, inviting her to the company office to "discuss some issues related to family cultural assets".

Lam stood still holding the phone, his heart beating rapidly. The assistant's voice on the other end of the line was gentle, professional, without any harshness, but it was that somewhat excessive politeness that made Lam feel more insecure than a direct threat. "Mr. Khang looks forward to having a frank and open discussion with you, to avoid unfortunate misunderstandings that could affect both sides," the assistant said, his voice monotonous as if he had been rehearsed.

She politely refused, saying she was busy and would call back later, then hung up as soon as possible. Her hand was still shaking when she put the phone on the table, feeling like she had just touched something cold, invisible but heavy. She immediately called Duy Khoi, her trembling voice recounting the entire call.

"They know," Duy Khoi said, his voice equally tense. "Perhaps it was through Nha Ky, or through someone in her family who accidentally revealed it, or..." he hesitated, "or possibly through Tieu Ngoc Lam herself. I don't want to have unfounded suspicions, but she has quite a wide connection in the publishing world, maybe someone in her network of acquaintances leaked it, whether accidentally or intentionally."

"So what should I do now?" Lam asked, his voice worried.

"We need to calm down," Duy Khoi replied, although his own voice was not entirely steady. "Don't meet them alone, don't sign any papers, don't say anything unprepared. If they contact you again, let me go with you, or better yet, we should consult with a lawyer before having any official meetings."

That night, Lam couldn't sleep. She sat at her desk, looking at the stack of papers that had been carefully stored in a specialized moisture-proof box she had just bought for better preservation, filled with anxiety mixed with a new determination. She thought of her grandfather, of the promise he never fully fulfilled, of Thuc Hien standing alone crying in front of the printing house sixty years ago, and she told herself, no matter what happens next, she will not back down like her grandfather did.

The next morning, when Lam opened the factory door, she discovered a thick envelope placed right in front of the door, with no stamp, no return address, just her name handwritten in formal black ink. She opened it, inside was a letter printed on paper with the Tinh Hoa Publishing House logo, signed by Ung The Khang, the content was polite but contained an indescribable weight.

The letter said, in general, the publisher had heard "some unverified information" related to the copyright origin of the poem collection Khoi Suong Lac Ben, and wished to meet directly to "clarify any misunderstandings and avoid unfounded speculations that could damage the honor of both parties." At the end of the letter, there was a sentence that sent chills down Lam's spine: "I would also like to inform that our company attaches great importance to the relationship with the Giay Do Alley residential community, and hopes that the process of renovating the old town will take place in consensus and harmonizing the interests of all stakeholders."

That sentence, although written in polite, soft language, carries a clear hidden meaning that anyone who reads carefully can recognize: a clever reminder that the fate of the alley, of the Vong Chu store, could be affected by the way Lam chooses to handle this "problem".

Lam brought the letter to Duy Khoi to see that morning. He read it over and over again, his face becoming more and more serious.

“This is a disguised threat,” he said, his voice firm. "Very sophisticated, soft enough that it cannot be considered a direct threat before the law, but anyone who reads it will understand the true meaning behind it. They are using the alley as a card to put pressure on her."

"So should I meet them?" Lam asked.

Duy Khoi pondered for a long time. "I think we need to meet, but we must prepare carefully. If we avoid it, they may think we are weak, or worse, they will switch to more drastic measures without prior notice. But if we meet without enough preparation, we could be led by them and forced into a disadvantageous position."

He suggested that before officially meeting, both of them should complete their existing evidence file as much as possible, and seek more legal advice to clearly understand their rights and risks in this situation. He also reminded Lam to inform his father about the new developments, so that the whole family could agree on how to respond.

"I will ask some old classmates to see if anyone is a lawyer specializing in intellectual property or land disputes," he added. "Your case could be related to both areas at the same time - both a copyright dispute and a land use rights dispute if they really use the clearance issue to exert pressure."

Lam nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the complexity of a situation she had never faced in her life. "I didn't expect that a bunch of old papers found in the spine of a book could lead to so many things."

"The truth is often like that," Duy Khoi replied, his voice thoughtful. "It's rarely simple, and there are always people willing to do anything to keep it under the dust of time, especially when that truth threatens what they have."

Mr. Vinh, when listening to Lam recount the contents of the letter, did not appear panicked as Lam feared. He read and reread the letter many times, his eyes following each line with unusual concentration, occasionally nodding as if he were comparing the tone of this letter with what he had heard from his father about how the Ung family behaved sixty years ago - still the same iron-clad softness, still the same way of using material benefits to bind others into silence.

In contrast to the panic that Lam was worried about, he had a reaction that surprised her: he reached for the notebook and wrote a strong line, almost like a statement.

"This. Time. No. Hiding. Again."

Lam looked at his father and felt a profound change in him since the day he read his grandfather's diary. The man who chose to stay silent for many years, now, despite having a weak body after a stroke, is showing a more determined will than ever - perhaps because he understands better than anyone the price of silence, and he does not want his daughter to pay the same price.

That evening, as Lam stood looking out at the alley through the familiar window, the light from Mrs. Nu's tea shop was still on, and the laughter of a few neighbors sitting and drinking late tea echoed, she felt more clearly than ever the weight of responsibility being placed on her shoulders. Not only is it a responsibility to Thuc Hien's truth, to his grandfather's unfinished promise, but also a responsibility to an entire alley that is in danger of disappearing, to the people who have lived their whole lives attached to every brick and every roof here.

She pulled out her phone and texted Duy Khoi a short sentence: "Tomorrow I will start preparing the most complete documents possible. Can't wait any longer." A few seconds later, a response message appeared, just a few words but enough to warm her heart in the dark night full of anxiety: "I'm always here, with you to the end."

Lam put down the phone, went back inside, locked the door more carefully than usual, and checked the moisture-proof box containing the precious stack of papers one more time before turning off the light and going to bed. Lying on the mezzanine, she listened to the sound of rain falling on the corrugated iron roof, the sound of traffic in the distance in the alley, and even the sound of her father's steady breathing coming from downstairs - familiar sounds throughout the twenty-seven years of her life, which now suddenly took on a different meaning, more precious, more fragile, as if each sound was reminding her of what she was trying to protect.

She thought of Thuc Hien, of her grandfather, of everything that had led her to this night, and in her heart, despite her many worries, she also felt a strange calmness - the feeling of someone who had finally found her own standing position, no longer a faint shadow behind family secrets, but someone who would continue to write, and perhaps, completely close the story that had been unfinished for the past sixty years. Part III of the journey ended with a silent but decisive declaration of war - from now on, no one in the Khuc family chooses to stay silent anymore.