Chapter 8 — Potters and the Last Fire Season

Son sent an official proposal with a thick file. The corporation doesn't just pay the debt. They also promised to improve the road to the village, open an online store and bring Bach Tho products to large chain stores.

The file is bound in a navy blue cardboard cover, with the company logo embossed in the upper corner, completely different from the yellowed handwritten papers Linh has been familiar with all these days. She flipped through the pages, seeing photos illustrating the modern store concept, charts of projected sales growth, all presented professionally to the point of near perfection.

In return, the brand will belong to the company for ten years. Yeast formula must be submitted to the research department. All new designs need to be approved by the marketing department before being released to the market.

Linh read the last thing and then put the file down. Ha said the number in the proposal was enough for the whole village to change their roof. Mr. Phuc asked how long it would take them to repay the debt if they didn't sell it. No one answered immediately.

"This number," Ha said, pointing to the total value of the contract, her voice somewhat cautious, "is really huge. Enough to pay off all the debt, enough to repair the entire facilities, and still have a not insignificant amount left over."

“But in exchange for ten years of no longer having a say,” Linh said, tapping her finger on the clause about the right to decide on the design. “Ten years is a long enough time for a name to lose all of its original meaning.”

Minh pointed out a small addendum: the group has the right to stop the contract if sales do not meet the target. At that time, they still retained the right to use the name Bach Tho for the remaining term. A name may continue to appear on the shelf, even though the oven is turned off.

He read the clause aloud to the group, his voice slow and clear as if he were reading a verdict. “This means that, if they decide to stop production at their furnace and switch to industrial production elsewhere, they still have the right to put the Bach Tho name on products made somewhere else, until the end of ten years.”

“So the village name can be used to sell things that have nothing to do with the village anymore,” Linh said, her voice cold.

“That's right,” Minh confirmed. "This is a common clause in brand purchase contracts, to protect the buyer's investment. But it also means that the seller loses control over the meaning of the name they once built."

Mr. Phuc sat quietly, rubbing his chin, his eyes glued to the paper as if trying to find some flaw that could make things less scary. But the more he read, the more he realized that the file was too carefully drafted to be able to find loopholes easily.

Son met Linh privately at the village's water shop. He said he didn't want to force her. He just wants to save the place that raised him. Linh asked why he didn't suggest a loan instead of buying ownership.

The small shop is located under an old tamarind tree, where the village's elders still sit and play chess in the afternoon. Son chose a table in the corner, ordered two glasses of iced tea, looking more comfortable than previous official meetings at the factory.

“I grew up in this village,” he said, looking out at the familiar dirt road. "My family moved when I was twelve years old, but I still remember the smell of the furnace ash and the sound of the turntable. I'm not a bad guy who came here to steal something, Linh."

“I'm not saying you're a bad guy,” Linh replied. "But good intentions don't mean the results will be good. Have you thought about the fact that instead of buying outright, the group could lend the factory a loan at interest?" preferential rate for self-recovery?

Son was silent for a moment, turning the iced tea cup in his hand. “I proposed that option to the board of directors,” he said finally, sounding somewhat bored. “They refused. Lending does not give brand control, but brand control is what they really want.”

“So you know that, but you still come here to persuade me to sign?”

“I came here because if it wasn't me, they would have sent someone else,” Son replied, looking straight at Linh. “Someone who doesn't care what she will lose, only cares about the contract being signed on time. At least for me, you have someone to listen to your concerns, even though I can't change the terms.”

Son looked out onto the dirt road. “Because the lender wants the money back. New buyers believe they can fix everything.”

Linh looked at Son, trying to find a sign of deception in his eyes, but only saw a sincere tiredness, like a person standing between two uncomfortable choices - loyalty to the company that pays her salary, or loyalty to the memory of the place where she grew up.

“Did you know,” Linh said, deciding to try a different direction, “that your great-grandfather once contributed land and bricks to build the furnace you are trying to buy?”

Son stopped, the iced tea stopped midway on its way to his mouth. “What did you say?”

“The factory's furnace doesn't just belong to my family. It was built jointly by three families nearly fifty years ago — mine, Mr. Bay Correct's, and yours."

Son put the glass down on the table, was silent for a long time, something changed in his eyes, as if he was trying to rearrange a piece of the puzzle that had never been in the picture he thought he understood clearly.

“I don't know about that,” he said, his voice quiet. “My father never told me.”

“Maybe he doesn't know either,” Linh said. “This happened during my great-grandfather's lifetime. But if that clause is still valid, then legally, any decision to sell the furnace needs the consensus of all three families, including your family."

Linh brought the documents back to the factory. She did not tear it, nor did she sign it. She placed it next to the design of two product lines, so everyone could see a future that was priced but not free.

Before leaving the cafe, Son looked at Linh for a long time, then asked, his voice sounded rare sincerity. “If that's true, what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should ask yourself,” Linh replied, standing up, “who you are representing when you sit at this negotiating table — the corporation that pays your salary, or a part of your own family's memories that you never know about.”

She left the shop, leaving Son sitting alone under the shade of a tamarind tree, his iced tea slowly melting in the afternoon heat, and a question he knew he wouldn't be able to answer easily overnight.

Returning to the factory, Linh recounted the entire conversation to everyone. Mr. Phuc sat and listened, his face not showing much emotion, but his hand tightened on the edge of the table when he heard the part where Linh revealed the terms of co-ownership to Son.

“You told him so early?” he asked, sounding a little worried. “If it reports back to the corporation, they may find a way to invalidate that provision before we can use it.”

“I've thought about it carefully,” Linh replied. “If Son really still has some attachment to the village as he says, knowing this truth will make him reconsider his role. If he only cares about the contract, then whatever hidden, they will find out sooner or later when doing legal appraisal before signing.”

Minh nodded in agreement. “In the long run, transparency is often better than secrecy. At least now, if Son still has a conscience, he will have to decide for himself which side to take."

Ha is most worried. "But if the corporation knows about it, they can put pressure on Mr. Bay Correct, or find a way to prove that the clause has expired."

“That's why I need to complete the legal documents as soon as possible,” Linh said. "Not only relying on Mr. Bay Correct's story, but also needing to find other evidence - old village meeting minutes, cadastral books of that period, anything that can strengthen it."

In the afternoon, Linh and Ha went to the commune committee office to look up cadastral records stored since the seventies. The officer in charge, after listening to the explanation, led them down to an old archive in the basement, where stacks of dusty books were as thick as a hand.

They searched for two hours, their hands covered in paper dust, their eyes stinging from the weak light of the old light bulbs. Finally, Ha exclaimed when she found a notebook of the old cooperative, including a page listing the list of households contributing to building the ceramic production facility, exactly in the year one thousand nine hundred and seventy-eight, with three names that exactly matched what Mr. Phuc had told.

“Here it is,” Ha whispered, her hand trembling as she held the notebook as if afraid of tearing the fragile page. “Second evidence, independent of Uncle Phuc's documents.”

They asked to photocopy the notebook pages, carefully package the original notebook and return it to the correct location in the archive. On the way home, Linh felt a new confidence, different from the feeling of helplessness in the first days when she only had a yellowed set of papers as support.

“With two independent sources of evidence,” she told Ha in the car, “I have enough basis to require anyone who wants to buy the furnace to negotiate with all three families, not just my family.”