Chapter 12 — Old Painting Restoration Workshop

Mien Thu recounted the discovery of the torn diary pages to Nguyen Vu the next evening, when he stopped by the factory with preliminary results from the laboratory. The two sat at the desk, soft yellow light shining down on analytical papers filled with charts and data that Mien Thu only partially understood.

"The results of the pigment spectroscopy analysis show," Nguyen Vu explains, pointing to a chart, "that the base of the painting—that is, the original composition covered—uses a pigment popular in the fifties, consistent with a presumed date of 1963 or earlier. But the upper coating, especially the woman's face and the signature, contains a small percentage of the newer synthetics, which only began to appear commonly on the market around the middle of the decade. sixties."

"So it matches what we suspected." Mien Thu said, her voice mixed with relief and heaviness. "The background was painted first, possibly by Tu Binh Son himself, while the finishing work on top was done a few years later."

"That's right. And this," Nguyen Vu pointed to another footnote in the report, "is completely consistent with what Ms. Dieu Lan told — about the unfinished painting being completed by someone else after Tu Binh Son passed away."

Mien Thu told him about the torn diary pages, about the cold final diary entry "It's over. I don't want to write anything more about this." Nguyen Vu listened attentively, occasionally nodding, his eyes full of thought.

"I think," he said after a moment of silence, "the torn pages might contain details about the forged signature, or about the agreement with Chau Boi Long to put the painting on the market. That's the part that your grandfather, despite agreeing to complete the painting out of teacher-student friendship, still feels the deepest torment — because completing an unfinished work out of loyalty is one thing, but signing someone else's name on it to put it up for sale, no matter how good the intention, is still a line in the sand. moral precepts are difficult to overcome."

"Do you think my grandfather signed that fake signature himself?" Mien Thu asked, her voice shaking from the question she had been avoiding for many days.

Nguyen Vu looked at her, his eyes were gentle but sincere. "I don't know for sure. But based on the fake signature under infrared light that we analyzed, it has a very high degree of accuracy and naturalness — not the type of clumsy fake signature of someone unfamiliar with Tu Binh Son's style. The person who signed that signature must be someone who has researched and seen his real signature countless times, enough to imitate it almost perfectly."

"That means it's most likely my grandfather." Mien Thu said, her voice low.

"There is a possibility." Nguyen Vu does not shy away from the truth, but his voice remains gentle and non-judgmental. "But you need to remember, Miss Mien Thu — even if your grandfather was the one who directly signed that name, the situation at that time was a family in despair due to debt, a dying teacher's last words, a war-torn society where many normal moral standards were overturned by the need to survive. That does not make your grandfather a professional con artist like the for-profit painting counterfeiting cases I have encountered in my profession."

Mien Thu remained silent, grateful for his understanding, but in her heart there was still an uneasiness that could not be dispelled. She stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the darkness outside.

"The problem is," she said, her voice quieter, "no matter how noble the motive, the consequences of that action linger to this day. An entire collection, an entire retrospective, an entire family reputation — all built on an incomplete truth. If I published this, I would not only hurt my grandfather's memory, but I could also destroy the careers and lives of many others involved, even though they were not involved. know anything about the true origin of the painting."

Nguyen Vu came and stood next to her by the window, remaining silent for a moment before speaking. "That's why how we announce the truth, if the time comes, is as important as the truth itself. Not every truth needs to be exposed in the most hurtful way possible. There are ways to tell a story with full empathy, respecting both the pain of those involved and the public's right to know the truth."

"Do you think that's possible?" She asked, her eyes searching for a glimmer of hope in him.

"I'm not completely sure." He answered honestly. "But I believe that if anyone is capable of doing that, it is her - someone who both understands restoration techniques and has a deeply personal story tied to this truth. She has a perspective that no other researcher or journalist has."

Mien Thu turned to look at him, the distance between them in that moment seemed to naturally narrow. The soft yellow light of the workshop cast a warm glow over his face, and she realized, not for the first time, that she was beginning to seek his presence for more than just business purposes.

"Thank you," she said softly, "for always knowing how to make things less burdensome, even if just a little."

He smiled, a rare and sincere smile. "That's probably the only thing I can do well besides looking at paintings under a UV light."

They both laughed softly, a laugh that relieved some of the tension that had built up throughout the evening. But right after that, Nguyen Vu's eyes became serious again.

"I think we need to go back to see Mrs. Dieu Lan earlier than planned." he said. "Not to force you to tell everything right away, but to let you know what more we've learned from scientific analysis. Maybe that will help you feel more secure about sharing the rest — knowing that we're approaching this truth with care and respect, not a sensational expose."

Mien Thu nodded in agreement, although she was still worried about what the rest of the story might bring. She looked out the window again, where the moonlight tonight was a little fuller than the night before, as if it was slowly coming to fullness with each step of the investigation, even though the road ahead still had many unpredictable twists and turns.

Before leaving, Nguyen Vu stayed behind to help her rearrange the stack of analysis documents, carefully classifying them into categories for easy reference later. He worked neatly and meticulously, no different from her own professional habits, and Mien Thu thought to herself, perhaps that was also one of the reasons why she felt so comfortable working with him — they both belonged to the type of people who valued caution over speed, truth over convenience.

"I have a somewhat personal question." She said, as they were both putting the last papers into the folder. "Do you ever regret engaging in this investigative work with me? After all, this is not your responsibility, and you have already paid the price once for similar suspicions."

Nguyen Vu stopped and thought for a moment before answering. "There are nights when I wonder if I'm making the same mistakes again." I'm honest. "But this time is different. Last time, I was alone, without solid evidence, and facing a system that didn't want to hear the truth. This time, I had you — someone who approached the problem not from the perspective of mere suspicion, but from the very hands that were touching every layer of paint, every physical detail of the work. That's a big difference, Ms. Mien Thu. And to be honest," he paused, a rare hesitation in his eyes, "neither do I regret having the opportunity to work with you."

That last sentence, though said softly, still made the atmosphere between them become strange for a moment — a warm silence, no longer purely the silence of two colleagues solving a professional mystery.

Mien Thu felt her cheeks heat up and quickly bent down to pretend to rearrange the stack of papers to hide her embarrassment. "Thank you." She spoke softly, not daring to look up at him straight in the eyes at that moment.

Nguyen Vu smiled and didn't say anything more, but when he left, standing at the factory door and looking back at her one last time before walking out into the dark alley, his eyes carried a nostalgia that they both felt, even though no one said it out loud.