Chapter 10 — Old Painting Restoration Workshop

It took nearly three weeks, through many circuitous relationships in the art research world, for Nguyen Vu to find clues about Tu Dieu Lan's whereabouts. An old friend working at the Elderly Association of a suburban district mentioned an old woman named Dieu Lan, over eighty years old, who lived alone in a small house in the suburbs, rarely socialized, but was still occasionally mentioned with respect because "once upon a time she was the daughter of a famous artist".

"I'm not one hundred percent sure that's the person we're looking for." Nguyen Vu spoke on the phone, his voice still maintaining professional caution even though he was clearly excited. "But there's enough of a match to make it worth a try."

Mien Thu agreed immediately, although she was a little worried. She had spent the previous week re-reading all of her grandfather's remaining diaries, finding a few more passages mentioning the name "Miss Dieu Lan" in a respectful tone, sometimes mixed with an unknown feeling of guilt. There is a passage, written around 1968, that especially caught her attention: "Today, when I met Ms. Dieu Lan at the market, she avoided me. I understand, I don't blame her. There are things that once done, no matter what the reason, will forever stand between the two of you."

Saturday morning, they drove together to the suburbs, where asphalt roads gradually gave way to smaller dirt roads, with green rice fields stretching to the horizon on both sides. Ms. Dieu Lan's house is located at the end of a small alley, the old tile roof is covered with moss, the front yard is planted with a few ten o'clock flowers and an old star fruit tree that is older than the house.

They stood in front of the gate for a while, both feeling an indescribable thrill. This isn't just an informational interview — it can be the door that opens the door to all the truth they're looking for, or it can be a door that closes forever if they approach it the wrong way.

"Let me speak first." Mien Thu said softly. "I think, if she knew I was Mr. Bach Nien's niece, maybe she would be more likely to open up than if a complete stranger came to ask about her father's past."

Nguyen Vu nodded, took a step back, letting her be the one to knock on the door first.

The woman who opened the door was a petite old woman with white hair tied in a bun at the back of her head. Her gait was slightly stooped but her eyes were still unusually sharp. She looked at the two strangers with a questioning look, but did not immediately open the door.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Yes, I'm sorry for suddenly coming to bother you." Mien Thu bowed her head politely. "I am To Mien Thu, the granddaughter of Mr. To Bach Nien. I wonder if you are Mrs. Dieu Lan, the daughter of Mr. Tu Binh Son?"

As soon as the name "To Bach Nien" was uttered, the old lady's face suddenly changed color. She stood still for a moment, her hand holding tightly to the door frame, her eyes staring at Mien Thu as if trying to find in that young face a familiar figure from a long time ago.

"Bach Nien's nephew." She repeated, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Oh my god, I haven't heard anyone mention that name in so many years."

She invited them into the house, even though her hands were still shaking slightly as she poured water for the guests. The house is simple but neat, on the altar in the middle of the house is a black and white photo of a man wearing round glasses, with a thin figure - Mien Thu immediately recognized it as the person in the old photo she found at home, the person standing next to her grandfather in the studio in 1961.

"That's my father." Ms. Dieu Lan said, realizing Mien Thu's eyes were stopping at the altar. "Tu Binh Son. Do you know about him?"

"I just found out recently." Mien Thu answered honestly. "Through a painting I'm restoring — 'Vong Nguyet'."

As soon as the name of the painting was mentioned, Ms. Dieu Lan's hands stopped midway while pouring more water into the tea cup. She put down the kettle, sat down in the chair opposite, and sighed deeply, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time, even though she still didn't want it to come.

"Vong Nguyet." She spoke softly, her eyes looking distantly at the front yard. "I thought that painting had been forgotten a long time ago. Who would have thought that after so many years, it would find its way back, through Bach Nien's granddaughter."

Nguyen Vu, sitting quietly next to him, gently looked at Mien Thu, both understanding that they were standing on the threshold of something extremely important.

"Grandma," Mien Thu said softly, her voice filled with caution, "I'm sorry if this question makes you uncomfortable. But I need to know the truth about that painting. I discovered that under the paint there was another signature, another date — 1965, two years after Mr. Tu Binh Son died. Do you know anything about this?"

Ms. Dieu Lan sat still for a long time, her trembling hands clasped together in her lap. Her eyes, when she looked up at Mien Thu, contained a pain that had been suppressed for more than sixty years, and now seemed to be vibrating, about to overflow.

"I've kept this quiet all my life." She said, her voice trembling. "Because I'm afraid that if I speak out, people will misunderstand about my father, about Bach Nien, about my whole family. I'm afraid that the truth, no matter how beautiful it is in my heart, will be seen by people as a sin."

"I promise you," Mien Thu said, her voice choked but determined, "whatever the truth is, I will do my best to have it told fairly, not to judge anyone, but to properly honor what everyone has sacrificed."

Ms. Dieu Lan looked at her for a long time, then looked at Nguyen Vu, as if considering whether to trust these two young strangers or not. Finally, she stood up, went into the room, and returned a moment later with a small old wooden box covered with the dust of time.

"In here," she said, placing the box on the table but not opening it immediately, her hand still resting on the lid as if hesitating one last time, "there is a photo, and a few letters. I have never shown these to anyone since the day my father died."

She looked at the box silently, her heart beating rapidly. Nguyen Vu, sitting next to her, also held his breath and waited.

"But today," Ms. Dieu Lan continued, her voice mixed with relief and pain, like a final burden was about to be laid down, "I think it's time. I'm old, and I don't want to carry this truth to the grave without anyone knowing the real story of what happened."

She opened the lid of the box. Inside, a black and white photo that had yellowed over time was revealed - the image of a young man, skinny but with steady eyes, standing next to an unfinished painting, holding a brush, behind him, an old man lying on a hospital bed was looking at him with eyes full of trust and gratitude.

"This," Mrs. Dieu Lan said, her voice trembling with emotion, "is the last day my father was conscious before he passed away. And the person who continued to paint that unfinished picture was Bach Nien - the student my father loved most in his life."

Mien Thu held up the photo with both hands, as if afraid that a strong movement would make it disappear. She looked for a long time at her grandfather's youthful face in the photo - a face that had not yet shown any traces of time, but carried an anxiety and responsibility far beyond his age at that time.

"Can you tell me more?" She asked, her voice urgent. "I don't want to force you to tell me everything today if you're not ready. But I need to understand, even if just a small part, what really happened."

Mrs. Dieu Lan sighed, her old eyes looked far away at the star fruit tree in the yard, as if searching for memories that had been buried deep for more than sixty years. "Those were the hardest years of my life." She began, her voice slow. "My father was seriously ill during the chaos of war, medicine was scarce, and the family's money was exhausted. Bach Nien was just a poor student at that time, but he took care of my father like his own son, day and night by the hospital bed, more than I could do at that time because I also had to take care of the children in the house."

She stopped, her hands clasped the hem of her shirt, as if trying to suppress a surging emotion. "There was a distinguished guest who commissioned my father to paint the painting 'Vong Nguyet' a whole year ago, paying a large sum of money in advance, which my family urgently needed for medicine. But my father's illness worsened so quickly that he did not have time to complete it. If we fail to deliver the painting, we will not only lose the money we have spent, but will also have to compensate, and also have to bear the reputation of breaking our promise to a powerful guest."

Mien Thu and Nguyen Vu sat silently, not daring to interrupt, letting her continue the stream of memories that were flowing out after many years of repression.

"My father knew he was not going to survive." Ms. Dieu Lan continued, her voice choked. "On the last night he was still awake, he called Bach Nien to his bedside, held his hand, and said that only he could understand every brush stroke, every idea he was cherishing for that painting. He asked him, not as an order, but as the last plea of a father who is worried about his family - please complete the painting, so that my family can survive the difficult days ahead."

"And my grandfather agreed." Mien Thu spoke softly, almost silently.

"He cried all that night, I still remember clearly." Ms. Dieu Lan nodded, tears began to roll down her wrinkled cheeks. "He didn't want to do it, he was afraid he wasn't worthy of touching his teacher's work. But he loved my father, loved my whole family, so in the end he accepted, not for money, not for fame, but just to keep his final promise to the teacher he loved most in his life."