Chapter 19 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

The decision to release information was not as simple as Lam's resolute statement the night before. The next morning, when the two sat down to discuss details, they realized countless practical difficulties: where to publish, in what form, how to ensure the information is not distorted, how to protect Nha Ky and her family from being drawn into the whirlpool of unwanted public opinion.

"If posted on personal social networks, information can easily be considered lacking credibility, easily suppressed by organized rebuttal articles like the one by Tieu Ngoc Lam," Duy Khoi analyzed, sitting in front of a computer screen with dozens of open tabs. "If you go to the mainstream press, it takes time for them to verify and edit, and not every newsroom dares to publish a story that could cause them to be sued by the Ung family."

"So is there any other way?" Lam asked, his voice tired after many consecutive sleepless nights.

"I think of one possibility," Duy Khoi said, "the conference commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of Lac Ben's Smoke that Tinh Hoa Publishing House is organizing, is scheduled to take place later this year. It is an official academic event, with the participation of researchers, the press, and the literature-loving public. If we can present the evidence right there, in front of a large number of witnesses, it will be difficult for anyone to quietly suppress the story anymore."

The idea was both bold and risky, but they both realized it was probably the best, most legitimate opportunity they could find. The problem is, that conference was organized by Tinh Hoa itself, and it is almost certain that Duy Khoi, as the person in charge of the reprint project, will no longer be invited to attend in an official capacity, after the relationship between him and the publisher has broken down.

“Maybe I need a different approach,” Lam said, thinking for a moment. "Not asking them to invite me, but finding a way to make my presence something they cannot refuse - for example, through Nha Ky, as a family representative directly related to the work being honored at the conference. It is difficult for them to ban a relative of the author from being mentioned right at the event honoring that work."

Duy Khoi looked at her, his eyes lit up. "That's a good idea. I will contact Nha Ky immediately and ask if she is willing to apply to attend as a special guest. If the organizers refuse such a legitimate request in front of public opinion, they will put themselves at a disadvantage."

The plan gradually took shape, but both understood that this was only the first step in a series of risky actions to come, requiring close coordination, careful preparation, and a lot of luck to succeed.

The days that followed were a series of stressful days, filled with work preparing documents, contacting lawyers, trying to find ways to ensure they still had a place and a voice at the upcoming event. The pressure of work, combined with the mental pressure from constant threats, begins to wear down on both of them.

Lam noticed that she had become noticeably thinner in just a few weeks, the dark circles under her eyes were getting darker, and her hands were shaking more when holding a paper cutter, forcing her to be doubly careful not to damage the books sent by customers. Her father, even without saying it out loud, noticed his daughter's fatigue, often quietly preparing a pot of ginger tea on the table whenever she worked late, a silent gesture of care but enough to warm Lam's heart amid stressful days.

As for Duy Khoi, in addition to the pressure from the incident, he also had to face the gradual alienation of some former colleagues. People who were previously close now began to keep their distance, fearing it would implicate their own careers. Someone frankly advised him to retreat while there was still time, saying that "the truth of history is that there is no rush to run away, wait a few more years, when everything calms down it will not be too late" - an advice that sounds reasonable but makes Duy Khoi even more determined, because he clearly understands that, for Thuc Hien, "waiting a few more years" already means waiting another sixty years, a whole life that has passed in oblivion.

One evening, after a long day of disappointment when Duy Khoi's call to confirm his eligibility to attend the conference was tactfully rejected, he went to Vong Chu shop in a state of physical and mental exhaustion. Lam made him a cup of hot tea, sat down next to him at the desk, the soft yellow light shining on two tired faces.

"There are times when I wonder if I'm doing the right thing," Duy Khoi said, his voice rarely betraying such wavering. "I risked almost everything I had built over the past ten years — my reputation, my professional relationships, my steady teaching career — in pursuit of a truth that I wasn't even sure would ever be widely recognized."

Lam looked at him, her heart aching because she understood clearly what he was having to endure because of her, because of her family's story. "Do you regret it?"

Duy Khoi was silent for a long time, then shook his head, his eyes when looking at her contained a deep sincerity. "No. No matter how difficult it is, I don't regret it. Because I believe that what I'm doing is right, and because..." he hesitated for a moment, then continued, his voice softer, "because I met you on this journey. If it weren't for this truth, maybe I would never have had the chance to know someone like you."

Lam felt her heart beat faster and her face felt hot. "Don't say that, I'm afraid I'll..."

"What will happen?" he asked, his voice gentle, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I won't be able to hold back anymore," she whispered, her eyes lowered, not daring to look directly at him.

Duy Khoi reached out and gently lifted her chin, letting their eyes meet in the unprecedented closeness between them. "Then stop holding back," he said softly, his voice shaking with emotion.

At that moment, under the warm yellow light of the bookstore, amidst the familiar smell of old paper and glue, Lam let her heart guide her for the first time after many years of living a careful, closed life. She leaned closer, and so did Duy Khoi, the two met in a gentle kiss but filled with all the emotions that had silently accumulated over the past many months - trust, understanding, wordless companionship through so many storms.

When they separated, they both smiled, a smile that was both shy and full of happiness, a rare happiness amid days full of anxiety and insecurity. Duy Khoi held Lam's hand, his voice was more certain than before.

"No matter what happens next, I will be here, with you to the end. Not because of responsibility, not because of research, but because I want it, from the bottom of my heart."

Lam nodded, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks, mixed with the anxiety that still remained about what lay ahead. "Me too," she said, her voice shaky but sincere. "Even though the road ahead is still full of hardships, I'm glad I don't have to go alone."

Before leaving, Duy Khoi lingered to help Lam clean up the desk, something that was not his job but he still volunteered to do every time he stopped by, putting each tool back in the correct position that he had gradually memorized over many months of coming. Mr. Vinh, looking out from inside the house, smiled slightly at that scene, then quietly wrote a short line in the notebook, showing it to Lam when Duy Khoi went out to get the car.

"Grandpa. Surely. Happy."

Lam read that line, tears threatened to flow again, but this time they were tears of happiness mixed with a deep comfort - feeling like, somewhere, her grandfather who had never had the chance to express his heart was also watching, also nodding in approval of the love that his granddaughter was freely receiving, the freedom that he himself, because of circumstances and fear, had never dared to grasp.

That night, when Duy Khoi had left, Lam stood alone by the familiar window, looking at the crescent moon hanging above the low roofs of Do Paper Alley, his heart filled with a complex but warm emotion. She thought of Thuc Hien, of her grandfather, of the unfinished love that they never had a chance to fully develop, and told herself that even though the battle ahead was still difficult, at least she had found what her grandfather had not dared to hold all his life - the courage to love openly, not hiding it, not being afraid of what people might say.