Chapter 25 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

That day's event did not end according to the organizers' original scenario. The official program was interrupted, but no one in the hall left - instead, everyone automatically divided into small groups, discussed, shared emotions, and some journalists took the opportunity to quickly interview relevant people before they could leave the hall.

Ung The Khang, after apologizing, stepped down from the stage and walked straight towards Lam, Mr. Vinh, and Nha Ky, walking slowly as if carrying some invisible weight. His gait was no longer confident and proud like at the beginning of the show, but had a completely new humility.

"Miss Lam," he said, his voice still shaking, "I know an apology cannot make up for what my family has done to your family, to your alley, over the past few months. But I want you to know, I will do everything I can to make it right."

Lam looked at him, her heart still filled with many emotions, but she also realized that the man standing in front of her now was completely different from the man who came to Vong Chu shop with a bribe offer a few months ago. "I accept your apology," she said, her voice calm, her eyes looking straight at him. "But I hope you understand, the most important thing now is not to apologize to me, but to make Ms. Thuc Hien's true name officially and properly recognized."

"I understand," Ung The Khang nodded. "I will work with the publisher, with the scientific council, to correct all information about the copyright of Khoi Suong Lac Ben. I will also..." he hesitated, turning to look at Nha Ky, "I also look forward to meeting your family, to discuss how to honor Ms. Thuc Hien in the most worthy way."

He turned back to look at Lam, his voice lowered, somewhat more hesitant when mentioning the next thing. "As for Paper Do Alley... I will immediately pause the entire land acquisition process. I need time to review the entire project, with the residents' council, in a much more transparent and fair way than what my company has done before."

"Thank you," Lam said, although she was still a little cautious in her heart - the promise between an emotional event like today and the actual action later were two different things, and she had learned, through a long journey, that trust needs to be built with concrete actions, not just words in an impulsive moment.

As if reading her thoughts, Ung The Khang added, his voice more determined. "I know you have the right to doubt my promise, after everything I have done. I will prove it with actions, not just words. I will send an official document to suspend the project this week, and send it to every household in the alley."

Nha Ky nodded, her voice was still choked but much calmer than a few minutes ago. "My family will consider it. But I think what my aunt wants most is not a lawsuit or compensation, but simply to be mentioned by name, to be recognized as herself."

While everyone talked, Aunt Sau - the old maid who brought the fateful envelope - stood quietly in a corner, her eyes following Ung The Khang with obvious relief, as if she had just completed a mission she had carried for nearly thirty years. She never thought she would have to stand in front of hundreds of strangers to tell the secret she had kept for a lifetime, and now, when everything was over, her thin shoulders seemed a bit younger, much lighter compared to her heavy appearance when she stepped on stage.

Lam walked over, took her hand, bowed his head in thanks.

"Thank you, aunt," Lam said, her voice sincere, squeezing her skinny hand. "If it weren't for you today, perhaps the truth would be much more difficult to fully recognize. You were braver than many people in this hall."

“I just did what I should have done a long time ago,” Aunt Sau replied, her voice relieved. "My old master, despite his mistakes, tried to atone in his own way. I was just the one who completed the work he had not yet done, and I believe, somewhere, he is smiling because he has finally been relieved of his burden."

In another corner of the hall, Tieu Ngoc Lam was being interviewed by a group of journalists, explaining in detail the scientific appraisal process and the authenticated evidence. Duy Khoi stood next to her, occasionally adding academic details, his face now completely relaxed compared to the tension of the past several weeks.

"What do you think about the fact that I wrote a warning before?" a journalist asked Tieu Ngoc Lam, his voice somewhat sharp, not afraid touch sensitive spots.

"That was the biggest mistake of my career," Tieu Ngoc Lam replied frankly, without evading. "I let professional pressure overwhelm my responsibility for scientific truth. I hope you will take that as a lesson, not only for me but for the entire research community — sometimes, the silence of professionals is also a form of complicity in injustice."

That straightforward answer made several journalists nod and take notes, and Lam, listening from afar, felt a new respect for the woman who had disappointed her but was finally brave enough to admit her mistake in public.

When the crowd gradually thinned out, Duy Khoi found Lam's side, both standing quietly looking at the gradually empty hall, the afternoon sunlight passing through the large window casting long streaks of light on the shiny tile floor.

"We did it," he said, his voice still shocked by what had just happened.

"We can do it," Lam replied, smiling through tears that had not yet completely dried. "But I think this is just the beginning. There's still a lot of work to be done — official announcement, corrections in editions, re-compiling a whole section of literary history, and..." she looked toward the alley in her mind, even though she was now hundreds of kilometers away from Do Paper Alley, "and the alley thing too."

Duy Khoi took her hand, squeezing it tightly with trust. "I believe, after what just happened today, things will be different. He can no longer use the alley as a hostage, not when the whole society just witnessed him stand up and admit his mistakes in public." He looked at her, his eyes filled with gentleness mixed with pride. "You have done an extraordinary thing, Ms. Lam. I am proud to have accompanied you throughout this journey."

Mr. Vinh, resting on a nearby chair after a long and emotional day, looked at the two, his eyes filled with a contentment that Lam had not seen in his father since the stroke. He reached for the notebook, wrote the last line of that day, and gave it to Lam to read.

"Grandpa. Can. Rest. Okay."

Lam read those words, tears welled up again, but this time they were tears of complete peace that she had never felt during her long and turbulent journey.

On the way to the parking lot, the group passed by the main lobby area, where a few people were still lingering and chatting. The old professor came over and shook hands with everyone one by one, his eyes full of respect for Lam. "You did something that none of us professional researchers have been able to do in sixty years," he said. "Sometimes it's the outsiders, those unconstrained by academic bias, who see the truth most clearly."

Lam smiled and replied humbly. "I'm just a bookbinder, professor. I'm just doing what I do every day — taking apart old things, looking to see if there's anything valuable left inside."

"That is the most valuable thing," the professor replied, nodding in approval, then turned to shake Duy Khoi's hand, encouraging him to continue his research path despite many difficulties in recent times. "Don't let the recent stumbles discourage you. The literary research industry needs more people like you who dare to ask difficult questions."

She looked out the hall window, where the sunset was gradually falling over this strange city, and told herself, although there was still much work to do on the road ahead, the hardest part — the part that required the greatest courage — was finally over. Part V of the journey ends with the truth fully told, in front of an entire society, and now, only the work of healing, rebuilding what has been broken, and returning honor to a woman who has been waiting for sixty years remains.