Chapter 7 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

Three days after the first meeting, Duy Khoi went to Do Paper Alley, saying that he wanted to see the book and the original stack of papers with his own eyes, instead of just relying on photos. Lam stood at the store door to welcome him, a bit surprised to see him riding an old motorbike, wearing a simple shirt, not a neat suit like when she met him at school, looking a lot closer.

"This alley..." he stood outside the door, looking along the old tiled alley, his eyes scanning every low roof, every faded sign, "looks exactly like in some old documentary photos I've seen of Tra Lang old town in the sixties. Surprisingly, it has remained almost intact until now."

"I probably won't be able to hold on much longer," Lam said, her voice a bit bitter, then briefly told him about the liquidation plan, about Tinh Hoa Land Company.

After Duy Khoi heard, his face visibly darkened. "Tinh Hoa Land... is a subsidiary of Tinh Hoa Publishing House. I know they have expanded into real estate for several years, but I didn't expect them to target this area." He was silent for a moment, then added, his voice low: "Maybe it's not as coincidental as I thought."

Entering the workshop, Mr. Vinh was sitting in his usual place, looking at the stranger with searching eyes. Lam introduced, trying to use the simplest words so he could easily understand. Mr. Vinh nodded in greeting, then looked at Lam, a look that was both worried and as if asking if she was sure about this decision.

"Hello, uncle," Duy Khoi bowed politely, then sat down, his calm and respectful attitude made Lam secretly grateful. He did not rush to ask questions, did not appear impatient even though he was clearly anxious to review everything, but patiently waited for Lam to bring out the stack of papers and place them on the table under a specialized working light with even brightness, not harmful to the old paper.

He put on a pair of thin cotton gloves from the bag he brought with him - the habit of someone used to working with ancient documents - then carefully lifted each sheet of paper, read slowly, sometimes pausing for a long time on a verse, his face flashed with many expressions: surprise, emotion, then a deep contemplation.

"This sentence," he pointed to a line in the third poem, "'the wind blows smoke and mist through an empty wharf, the person leaving has not yet made an appointment to return' — in the official print it is 'the wind blows smoke and fog through the old wharf, the person leaving has an appointment to return'. Only one word is changed, 'absent' becomes 'old', 'unscheduled' becomes 'appointed', but the meaning of the whole verse changes completely. The original is sadder, more uncertain, true to a woman who doesn't know the date of her return. of his own life. The later version has a falsely optimistic tone, as if the writer had a certain appointment in mind."

Lam listened silently, realizing something that she, despite reading these pages of poetry many times, had never seen from such a profound literary analysis perspective. "So who do you think edited that verse? Did Ms. Thuc Hien herself edit it later, or..."

"Or Mr. Ung Boi Chau 'edited' it when preparing for printing," Duy Khoi said, his voice heavy. "This is exactly the kind of fix of someone trying to dress a poem that is very private, very personal, in a more universal mantle, more easily accepted by the public — turning one person's specific pain into a generic romance that everyone who reads it can see themselves in. It's also exactly the technique that makes Lost Smoke so famous — it's just vague enough for everyone to sympathize with."

He continued reading the letters, and when he got to the part where Thuc Hien wrote about being forced into marriage by his family, about having to give up writing, his face became unusually serious. He put the letter down, took off his gloves, and rubbed his hands together as if trying to keep calm.

"I need to tell you the truth," he said, his voice slow, "after reading these pages, I no longer have much doubt about their authenticity. My professional sense, after many years of reading posthumous and ancient manuscripts, gives me a very clear feeling that this is not a fake - the tone is consistent, the details of life are very specific, not something one can just make up. But the feeling is not scientific evidence. I need to do this methodically."

He took out his notebook and began to list the things he needed to do: send paper and ink samples for dating to a laboratory specializing in heritage preservation that he knew, look for survivors who witnessed the publication of Khoi Suong Lac Ben in 1965, and compare them with archived documents at the provincial library and at Tinh Hoa Publishing House itself if accessible.

"The hardest thing," he said, "will be finding living witnesses. Sixty years is a very long time, most of the people directly involved are probably gone. But I remember hearing about an old man who worked as a typesetter at the old printing house that printed Smog Suong Lac Ben, is still alive, and last year was interviewed by a group of students for a topic on the history of the local printing industry. Let me find the contact information."

In the middle of the work session, when both of them were tired from concentrating for too long, Lam invited Duy Khoi to Mrs. Nu's tea shop across the street to rest for a while. Mrs. Nu saw the stranger coming with Lam and immediately started making a new pot of tea, her eyes glanced back and forth full of curiosity but it was not convenient to ask directly.

"Where is this guy from, Lam?" she asked as she brought out the tea, her voice was deliberately calm but everyone could hear the scrutiny inside.

"Yes, Mr. Khoi, a university lecturer, come over and help me look at some old books," Lam replied, avoiding going into details.

Duy Khoi smiled politely and took the cup of tea that Mrs. Nu gave her. "The tea is so delicious, in my town we rarely get to drink marinated tea like this."

"The lotus tea she marinated herself. There used to be a lot of lotus flowers. In recent years, the lotus pond near the market has been filled in to make a parking lot, and the lotus flowers have become fewer and fewer." Ms. Nu sighed, then turned to Lam, her voice lowered. "What are you planning to do to help my shop? Does it have anything to do with the clearance?"

"Not really," Duy Khoi replied for Lam. He and Lam's eyes exchanged a brief look, implicitly understanding that they should not be made clear to Mrs. Nu at this time. "I'm just helping Ms. Lam learn about an old book in the house."

Mrs. Nu nodded and did not ask more questions, but her eyes when looking at the two people sitting next to each other, her head slightly bent towards the cup of tea, had the gentle mischief of an experienced woman, as if she had seen something that the two people involved had not yet realized. Lam pretended not to notice and bent down to drink tea, but her ears burned inexplicably.

On the way back to the workshop, Duy Khoi asked more about daily life in the alley, about Lam's book restoration work, and about how she learned the trade from her father. He listened attentively, occasionally asking questions to show that he was truly interested and not just asking for a favor, and Lam realized she was telling more than she intended, including things she rarely shared with outsiders — the sometimes lonely feeling of working in a profession that modern society gradually forgot, the fear that one day no one would want to learn this profession anymore, and Vong Chu shop would close with her, without a successor.

"Your profession is not outdated," Duy Khoi said, his voice surprisingly serious. "If it weren't for someone like you, old books would rot over time, and what's hidden inside them — like the stack of papers we just found — would be lost forever without anyone knowing. You're not just repairing books. You're preserving memories."

That sentence surprised Lam so much that she didn't know how to respond. She just silently nodded, a warm feeling spreading in her heart that she didn't dare to name clearly.

Before leaving, Duy Khoi turned to Mr. Vinh, bowed again, and said sincerely: "I promise you, I will do this very carefully, not letting anyone get hurt more because of this truth, no matter what the truth is."

Mr. Vinh looked at him for a long time, then nodded, his eyes softening a bit compared to the initial wariness. He reached for the notebook, wrote a short line, and gave it to Lam to read before Duy Khoi could see: "You. Hey. Okay."

Those three short words, from someone as cautious and rarely trusting strangers as her father, made Lam feel a peace of mind that she never expected to need. When seeing Duy Khoi off to the end of the alley, the two passed by the clearance notice that had faded from the rain and sun. Duy Khoi stopped to read, his face darkened again.

"Miss Lam," he said, calling her name naturally for the first time, not formally like the first meeting. "I think we need to do it faster than originally planned. If Tinh Hoa Land is speeding up the process of clearing this area, they may have reason to fear something will be discovered. We don't have as much time as I thought."

Lam nodded, watching his shadow disappear at the end of the alley, feeling both worried and a vague warm feeling that she had not yet named - the feeling of, for the first time in this lonely journey, there was another person who was also truly worried with her, and was also willing to bet part of his career to join her in finding the truth.