Chapter 7 — Old Painting Restoration Workshop

Nguyen Vu came to Bach Nien factory on a Saturday morning, when the early sunlight was still gentle and not yet too harsh. He stood in front of the old wooden door for a moment, looked up at the sign that had faded over time, and then entered. Mien Thu welcomed him with a canvas apron already on, her hands still covered in dry varnish dust.

"The workshop is beautiful." He said, looking around the room — long wooden tables, specialized picture racks, dozens of bottles of solvents neatly arranged in order, and a black-and-white photo of Mr. Bach Nien hanging solemnly on the wall. "I have been to many large restoration workshops with full modern equipment, but few places can maintain this atmosphere."

"My grandfather always said, a restoration workshop doesn't need to be modern, it just needs to be honest." Mien Thu smiled and led him to the area where the painting "Vong Nguyet" was placed. "This is the picture I told you about the other day."

Nguyen Vu stood in front of the work for a long time, silently observing, his eyes moving slowly from one corner to another, as if reading a book in a language only he understood. Mien Thu stood next to him, observing his reaction with undisguised curiosity.

"This technique of handling light," he said finally, his voice admiring even though he was trying to keep it professional, "is truly Tu Binh Son's unmistakable style. The way he used thin layers of glaze on top of each other to create the clarity of moonlight, not many painters of his time could do that." He stopped and leaned closer to look closely at the woman's face in the painting. "But there's something about the facial features that feel a little different to me than the other works of his I've studied. A little stiffer, less fluid."

"What do you mean?"

"Tu Binh Son has a very unique way of drawing facial contours - he often uses thin, almost hidden brush strokes, creating the feeling that the face is melting into the surrounding light. In this painting, the facial contour is clearer, somewhat firmer." He looked at her. "That doesn't necessarily mean the painting isn't his — every artist has stylistic changes over time, especially towards the end of his life when his health is failing. But it could also be a sign of another hand."

He took out a specialized camera from his pocket that was more compact than the one Mien Thu had, and came with a few different filters. "I borrowed this device from a friend who works at a research institute. The resolution is much higher than what you were able to capture before. Let's try the signature part again, shall we?"

They spent the entire morning working together, turning off all the factory lights, leaving only the light from his specialized equipment. Mien Thu maintained the shooting angle while Nguyen Vu adjusted the parameters, taking photos over and over again at different wavelengths of light. The atmosphere between them, initially a bit distant professionally, gradually became more natural as they both focused on a common goal.

"Here it is." Nguyen Vu exclaimed softly when the image on the laptop screen appeared much clearer than what Mien Thu had ever seen. The number hidden under the main signature now appears much more clearly — no longer a vague "196...", but an almost completely readable series of numbers.

"1965." Mien Thu whispered, her voice trembling. "It was 1965."

Nguyen Vu sat quietly, eyes still glued to the screen. "Two years after Tu Binh Son passed away." He spoke slowly. "If this number is correct, and if this original signature was indeed overdrawn by Tu Binh Son's later signature, then we are talking about a painting completed, or at least signed, two years after the official author's death."

"So that means..." Mien Thu hesitated, not daring to finish her thought.

"It means someone else completed this painting, and someone — maybe the same person, maybe someone else — signed Tu Binh Son's name on it later." Nguyen Vu said, his voice was a bit more tense than usual. "The most important question now is: who did it, and why?"

Mien Thu did not respond immediately. She looked at the number "1965" on the screen, then looked at the painting resting on the stand, feeling like the entire foundation she had once trusted was shaking under her feet.

"Do you think," she asked quietly, "that the person who completed this painting could have been one of his students? Someone talented enough to imitate his teacher's style almost perfectly?"

Nguyen Vu looked at her, his eyes softened, as if he had guessed what was tormenting her heart. "There is that possibility. In the history of painting, it is not uncommon for students to complete a teacher's unfinished work after the teacher's death, especially when the teacher's family faces financial difficulties and needs the money from a pre-ordered painting." He stopped for a moment. "That, ethically, is completely different from counterfeiting a painting for personal gain. But legally and academically, the consequences could still be very serious if discovered, especially for a work that has been valued and displayed as an original masterpiece for decades."

They sat in silence for a moment, both understanding that what had just been confirmed had pushed the investigation into a new phase, much more serious than initial suspicions.

"I will send the analysis sample to the lab next week." Nguyen Vu said, closing the laptop. "But before we do that, we need to get consent — whether tacit or formal — from the museum, otherwise sampling could violate the preservation contract."

"I'll talk to Mrs. Kim." Mien Thu nodded. "She seems to be someone who values truth more than just pursuing exhibition fame. I believe she will understand."

"Be careful how you present yourself." Nguyen Vu reminded. "Tinh Hoa Auction House is the main sponsor of the retrospective. If news of this suspicion reaches their ears before we have enough solid evidence, they will find every way to nip it in the bud."

Mien Thu nodded, feeling the weight of the warning. She looked at Nguyen Vu, the man sitting across from her in the middle of the old factory, his eyes were both sharp and somewhat tired because the burden of the past had not yet subsided. She realized, in that moment, that she was no longer alone on this journey.

"Thank you." She said, her voice sincere. "For trusting me, even though we've only met for the second time."

He looked at her, the corner of his mouth curled up into a thin but warm smile. "I don't trust you because you convince me with words, Ms. Mien Thu. I trust you because of the way you work - meticulous, cautious, not hasty to draw conclusions. That is a rare quality in this tempting profession."

At noon, Mr. Doan Van Le stopped by the factory as usual, carrying a bag of hot rolls he bought at the alley. Seeing the two people still busy with the pile of photography equipment, he curiously asked. Mien Thu introduced Nguyen Vu as "a friend helping the workshop with further appraisal", not daring to say more clearly, but Mr. Le's eyes looking at the painting "Vong Nguyet" still had an uneasy look, as if he still remembered the unfinished story he accidentally mentioned the day before.

"Mr. Le," Mien Thu asked, deliberately speaking softly like a small talk, "the other day you reminded my grandfather about a teacher named Tu Binh Son. Do you remember what your grandfather told me?"

Mr. Le stopped chewing, put down his chopsticks, his eyes flickered with hesitation. "He didn't tell much. It's just that when he was drinking alone, he often muttered that name, then fell silent and didn't say anything more. One time I asked him directly, he just smiled sadly, saying 'it's a story about the deceased, why repeating it makes it more burdensome'. I didn't dare to ask more, even though I was still wondering." He looked at Mien Thu, then looked at Nguyen Vu, seemingly sensing the tension in the air. "Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"I'm just curious." Mien Thu replied, trying to keep her voice calm. "Because this painting is related to him."

Mr. Le nodded and did not ask any more questions, but his eyes when looking at the painting again were more thoughtful than before, as if in his mind there were pieces of old memories starting to piece together that he himself did not dare to believe.

After Mr. Le returned home for lunch, Nguyen Vu packed up his equipment and prepared to leave. He stopped at the door, turned to look at Mien Thu. "The factory master seems to know more than he says."

"I think so, too." Mien Thu nodded. "But he is a very trustworthy person with my grandfather. If my grandfather ever told him to keep something secret, I'm afraid that no matter how he asked, he wouldn't say it, at least not yet."

"Then we need to find evidence from another source first, solid enough that when needed, he is willing to confirm instead of being the first to reveal it." Nguyen Vu said, slinging his laptop bag on his shoulder. "I will contact the laboratory in the next few days, and look up old press records. Please keep in touch with me, if there is anything new, I will report immediately."

"Okay." She walked him out to the factory door, standing and watching his shadow disappear behind the curve of Hang But alley.

That afternoon, after Nguyen Vu left, Mien Thu stood alone in front of "Vong Nguyet" for a long time, her heart filled with emotions. She looked at the number 1965 still displayed on the laptop screen, then looked at the photo of her grandfather on the wall. In his serious eyes in the old photo, she seemed to see a glimpse of a certain feeling that she had never noticed before - a feeling of someone carrying a secret too heavy to share with anyone.

She remembered Mr. Le's words — "The story of the deceased, repeating it doesn't make it any more burdensome" — and wondered how many people had carried that secret with her grandfather for so many years, silent like a common oath that none of them had ever broken, until all, or almost all, had left this world one by one, leaving only yellowed pages and a silent picture to speak for them.

"What have you done, grandpa?" She whispered, her voice choked. "And why did you never tell me?"