Chapter 2 — Old Painting Restoration Workshop

Hong Lam Fine Arts Museum is located on a wide, tree-lined street, an old French-style building with high arched windows and gray stone steps that have become smooth over the years. Mien Thu stood in front of the gate for a while, looking up at the words engraved on the relief above the entrance, feeling both familiar and strange. Familiar, because she had followed her grandfather here several times when she was young, sitting quietly in the corner of the office while he talked to museum staff in a technical language she did not fully understand. Strange, because this time she came alone, not as the granddaughter of a master, but as the owner of a restoration workshop trying to prove that she was still worthy of that name.

Ms. Quach Thien Kim welcomed her right into her private office, a large room with ceiling-high bookshelves and soft light from antique table lamps. The woman in her fifties, with silver-colored hair in a bun and sharp but not cold eyes, stood up and shook her hand with a sincerity that surprised Mien Thu.

"I am the granddaughter of Mr. To Bach Nien." Mrs. Kim said, not a question. "I had the opportunity to work with him twice, when I first came back to work here for a few years. He is the most demanding person I have ever met in appraising paintings, but also the most trustworthy."

"Thank you." Mien Thu sat down on the offered chair, trying to keep her voice calm even though her heart was filled with an indescribable sense of pride and excitement. "My grandfather still talks about his museum with great respect."

Mrs. Kim smiled, then stood up, signaling Mien Thu to follow. "I won't beat around the bush anymore. Come with me, let me show you what I want to deliver to the Bach Nien factory."

They walked through a long hallway, past several galleries temporarily closed because they were preparing new exhibitions, down a narrow staircase leading to the storage and preservation area in the basement - where temperature and humidity are strictly controlled, and light is filtered through special glass panels so as not to harm the precious works. A security guard nodded when he saw Ms. Kim and opened the door to the central storage room.

In the middle of the room, placed on a specialized stand, covered with a white cloth, is a large picture frame.

"This," Mrs. Kim said, her voice suddenly becoming unusually solemn, "is 'Vong Nguyet'."

She pulled the cover down gently, as if she were revealing a secret curtain. Mien Thu held her breath.

A medium-sized oil painting appeared before her eyes - a moonlit night scene, a woman sitting next to an old wooden window, silver moonlight pouring down her shoulders, her eyes looking into the distance with a wordless sadness. The technique of handling light is surprisingly delicate - the moonlight seems to be moving and breathing, even though the artist used cold, dark colors. The old varnish layer is heavily yellowed, there are a few crow's feet cracks spreading across the surface, one lower left corner is slightly peeling, revealing a patch of burlap background.

"Is this—" Mien Thu said softly, not taking her eyes off the painting.

"That's right. The work is believed to be by the famous artist Tu Binh Son, painted around the year nineteen sixty-three, the year he passed away. This is one of the few works from the last period of his life still preserved, and is also the most important work in the collection that the Chau family - owner of Tinh Hoa Auction House - donated part of it, lent part of it, so that the museum can organize a major retrospective of his career at the end of this year."

Mien Thu has heard the name Tu Binh Son since childhood - in the stories her grandfather told, in some old art books on the workshop's shelves, and in research articles that she sometimes skimmed through in her free time. A famous artist from the generation of those who studied at the Indochina Fine Arts School, famous for his poetic light painting style, passed away suddenly in the midst of the chaotic war years, leaving behind a small amount of work but highly appreciated by experts.

"The retrospective," Ms. Kim continued, "will be the biggest event on Vietnamese modern art in recent years. There is the cooperation of the museum, Tinh Hoa Auction House, and several international art research units. 'Vong Nguyet' will be the central work, placed in the most honorable position in the exhibition space. But as you can see, its current state of preservation does not allow for immediate display. The varnish layer is too stained. heavy, losing most of the true beauty of the original colors. There are some peeling areas that need to be carefully treated. And most importantly—" she paused, looking straight into Mien Thu's eyes, "the museum needs a restorer who really understands and truly respects the historical value of the work, not just simply cleaning the surface."

"Do you trust my factory to handle this?"

"I trust you." Ms. Kim replied directly. "I've been following some of the recent restoration projects of the Bach Nien workshop, even though they're not big. The way you handled the portrait of the Tong family last year - I saw the before and after photos, the way you kept the correct skin tone, not flattening the original brush strokes - that's something not everyone can do. Many big workshops nowadays only focus on making 'new' paintings brighter and brighter, but forget that restoration is not about making new, but about returning exactly what once was. yes, nothing more, nothing less."

Mien Thu felt a sting in her nose. That was exactly what her grandfather had said to her, almost verbatim, the day he first put the first restoration paintbrush in her hands.

"I'll take this job." She said, her voice more certain than she expected. "But I need to carefully review the condition of the painting before giving a specific completion time. With crow's feet cracks and peeling patches like this, I don't want to make hasty promises and then rashly deliver."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear." Mrs. Kim nodded with satisfaction. "The exhibition is scheduled to open at the end of the year, about four months away. I know that's not much time for a careful restoration project, but I believe you will know how to arrange it."

They spent another half hour discussing the contract, insurance terms for the work during transportation and storage at the workshop, and how the museum would periodically send supervisors in accordance with heritage conservation procedures. Mien Thu carefully recorded every detail, her hands shaking slightly from both excitement and pressure. This is the largest contract Bach Nien workshop has received since his grandfather passed away — not only because of the value of the work, but because of its meaning: once again, the name Bach Nien is mentioned in the same story as the most important works of art in the country.

When leaving, a specialized museum vehicle was waiting to transport "Vong Nguyet" to the workshop, carefully packaged in a specialized shock-proof and moisture-proof box. Mien Thu sat next to the driver, her hand on the box as if afraid that even a small bump on the road could damage the treasure inside.

Returning to the factory, it was already dark. Thuy Chi and Mr. Doan Van Le - the foreman who has been with the workshop since his grandfather was young, is now over seventy years old but still comes to the workshop a few times a week to "watch over the young owner's hands" as he jokes - both stood waiting at the door, eyes filled with curiosity.

"What is so important that it needs to be transported by a museum car?" Mr. Le asked in a hoarse voice typical of someone who has smoked water pipes all his life.

Mien Thu did not answer immediately, but carefully and with the driver carried the box into the main office and placed it on a specialized rack that had been prepared in advance. When the box was opened, the factory lights shone on the surface of the painting, and all three were silent for a moment.

"Oh my god." Mr. Le exclaimed softly, coming closer, his old eyes narrowed, observing every detail. "Isn't this... Mr. Tu's painting?"

Mien Thu turned to look at him, surprised. "Do you know the famous painter Tu Binh Son?"

Mr. Le nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly becoming distant, as if he were lost in some very old memory. "I know. When I first entered the workshop, Mr. Bach Nien often mentioned his name. He said... he was the first teacher and also the most important teacher in his life." He paused, as if considering something, then shook his head slightly. "It's an old story, don't worry about it. Now the important thing is how to restore this painting well."

Mien Thu nodded, but in her heart, Mr. Le's careless words planted a small seed of curiosity. Grandfather and Tu Binh Son — she had never heard her grandfather mention that name directly, although she vaguely remembered seeing it appear somewhere in old books on the shelf.

That night, after Thuy Chi and Mr. Le left, Mien Thu stayed alone in the workshop, standing in front of the painting "Vong Nguyet" under the only light of the table lamp. She took a handheld magnifying glass, leaned close to the painting's surface, and began to meticulously observe every centimeter as professional habits require before embarking on any restoration process.

The moonlight in the painting, under the yellow light of the workshop, also seemed to be looking back at her - quietly, melancholy, as if holding something in its heart that had never been said.

She did not know that, right under that layer of yellow varnish, there was a secret that had been sleeping for more than sixty years, and was only waiting for her hands - the hands that carried in them the blood of the person who contributed to burying it - to be awakened.