Chapter 21 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

Two weeks passed faster than Lam thought, each day was so packed with preparations that she barely had time to worry. The final set of documents has been completed: the appraisal report of Tieu Ngoc Lam and two colleagues, officially stamped for confirmation; notarized testimony of Mr. Vu Khac Dien; a detailed comparison between the poems in the stack of papers and the published book Smoke Suong Lac Ben; and a concise, easy-to-understand presentation, carefully drafted by Duy Khoi and Lam together, preparing for the situation where they only had a few minutes to present to a large number of attendees.

The conference venue is a large hall of a cultural center in the city, about two hours by car from Tra Lang. Early in the morning of the event, the whole group — Lam, Duy Khoi, Mr. Vinh, Nha Ky, who had taken the bus the night before to arrive on time, along with Tieu Ngoc Lam — gathered at a nearby cafe to review all the details one last time.

"Everyone remember," Duy Khoi said, his voice serious, his eyes looking at each person in turn. "We will enter the hall like normal attendees, sitting scattered, not gathering in groups to avoid attracting early attention. At the question and answer session at the end of the main program, I will be the first to stand up and ask the opening question. After that, Ms. Lam will continue, presenting her findings. Ms. Nha Ky will appear in the third step, confirming as a relative. Ms. Ngoc Lam will be the one to give the final, decisive scientific assessment conclusion."

"And what if they cut off the microphone and don't let me continue speaking?" Lam asked, his voice still nervous even though he had rehearsed it many times.

"I have invited three trusted reporters, they will sit in the press area and record the entire event," Duy Khoi replied. "Even if the microphone is cut off mid-sentence, what we said before is still recorded and cannot be completely erased anymore."

Mr. Vinh sat quietly listening to all the plans, his hands shook slightly because of nervousness but his eyes remained steadfast. He reached for the notebook, slowly wrote a longer paragraph than usual, and gave it to Lam to read.

"Dad. Will. Stand. Up. Say. A Few. Sentences. If. Needed."

Lam looked at his father, both worried and touched. "Are you sure you want that? Dad, it's very difficult to say, I'm afraid you'll be tired."

Mr. Vinh nodded affirmatively and added: "Grandpa. No. Says. Okay. Dad. Must. Say. Instead."

That sentence made the group silent for a moment, feeling the weight of responsibility that the man, despite having a weak body after a stroke, was still determined to shoulder - speaking for his deceased father, who never had the courage to speak up for himself when he was alive.

At nine o'clock in the morning, the hall began to welcome guests. Lam stood at the door, watching the stream of people coming in - literary researchers, students, journalists, readers who loved Smoke and Fog of Lac Ben from many different generations. On the stage, a large backdrop hung an enlarged image of the cover of the poetry book, with the words "SIXTY YEARS ANNIVERSARY OF THE SMOKE OF LONG BEN — THE JOURNEY OF A MASTERPIECE" standing out amidst the bright stage lights.

She wore a light moss green ao dai today, the color reminiscent of the fabric covering the cover of the book that led her to this entire journey, a deliberate choice, almost a silent gratitude to Thuc Hien. In the small handbag she brought with her, she carefully kept the original one page of the manuscript - the page with the clearest signature "Thuc Hien" - wrapped in a layer of paper given to her by the old man in the alley, in case she needed to present physical evidence on the spot.

Mr. Vinh, although moving slowly due to weak legs, still insisted on entering the hall by himself, only leaning lightly on Lam's hand when necessary. He sat down in a row of chairs near the aisle, his eyes never leaving the stage, where the enlarged image of Ung Boi Chau - the man who had unintentionally determined his father's entire life in some way - was smiling gently from the large backdrop, a smile that now, knowing the truth, had a completely different meaning.

She saw Ung The Khang standing in the front row, dressed formally, confidently chatting with several important guests, completely unaware of the impending storm. Next to him were a few elegantly dressed older women, perhaps other relatives of Ung's family, and a few faces Lam recognized from the press - famous literary critics, representatives of the Ministry of Culture, and even an elderly professor introduced as the person who wrote the first thesis researching in-depth about Ung Boi Chau's career.

The program started on time, opening with a short documentary about Ung Boi Chau's life, images of him in his youth, the calligraphy he wrote, and book signings with a large audience, all created into a heroic story about a literary genius rising from hardship. Lam sat and watched, his heart heavy as he thought that most of the "hardships" mentioned in that video probably never belonged to him, but to a woman whose name was never mentioned.

Next was Ung The Khang's opening speech, praising his grandfather's literary legacy, emphasizing the importance of "preserving traditional cultural values intact in the face of unverified information streams that are deliberately distorting literary history". He spoke in a confident voice, occasionally scanning the auditorium as if searching for something, and for a brief moment, his eyes stopped right where Lam was sitting, making her shiver - clearly he had known in advance that she would be present, and this speech was an implicit warning to her before the real battle began.

Lam sat in the middle row, listening to every word he said, clearly feeling that it was a deliberate preemptive strike, preparing public opinion to refute whatever they were about to present.

Duy Khoi, sitting a few rows away from her to avoid attracting attention, occasionally glanced at her, a brief look but enough to convey silent encouragement. Lam tightened her grip on the documents in her hand, clearly feeling her heart beating faster with each passing minute, as the program gradually progressed to the main discussion - where the speakers would analyze the artistic value of the poetry collection, and then, the open question and answer session, the only opportunity they were waiting for.

The discussion went smoothly, the speakers took turns presenting familiar analyzes that Lam had read countless times throughout his research journey - praising the talent, delicate sensitivity, and ability to capture the human soul of "the great poet Ung Boi Chau". Each of those words of praise, for Lam, now carries a completely different bitter meaning - she knows, behind each of those praised verses, is a woman whose name has been erased, forced to stay silent, and forgotten for sixty years.

An elderly professor, who was introduced as having spent his entire career researching Ung Boi Chau, stood up to analyze a verse in the poem "The Smoke and Mist of Lac Ben" - the same poem Lam had read countless times in Thuc Hien's manuscript. He praised the "rare sophistication in the way the poet captures the loneliness of the human condition", completely unaware that loneliness is not an abstract artistic creation, but the real, concrete loneliness of a girl who once stood crying at the gate of a strange printing house.

Lam clasped her hands tightly on her thighs, a feeling of anger and sadness welling up in her heart. She glanced at Nha Ky sitting a few rows away and saw that her shoulders were also shaking slightly, clearly experiencing the same pent-up emotions when hearing people praise a work whose name had never been mentioned by the person who wrote it.

When the host announced the entrance to the question and answer session, inviting the audience to ask questions to the speakers, Lam felt her whole body tense up. She looked around the hall - saw Tieu Ngoc Lam sitting quietly in the right corner, the appraisal file placed on her lap; saw Nha Ky clutching the handbag containing the family photo; saw his father sitting straight, his eyes firmly directed towards the stage, his hand placed on the familiar notebook, ready for the moment when he might have to write down the most important words of his life.

She took a deep breath, clearly feeling her heartbeat pounding, but this time, not because of fear, but because of a readiness that had been honed through months of careful preparation. She looked over at Duy Khoi and saw him standing up, one hand raised high, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment but enough to convey a clear message: it's time.