Chapter 30 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

Three years later, on a clear autumn morning no different from the fateful day of opening the furnace, Doi Sanh village took on a completely different look - busier, fresher, but still retaining the rustic, honest soul of a traditional riverside craft village. The road leading into the village is now paved smoothly, on both sides of the road there are small shops selling handmade ceramics, tea shops nestled in the shade of ancient sycamore trees, and a display area - a mini museum introducing the history of Doi Sanh pottery has just been inaugurated with the support of both the local government and Tan Tho company.

Vong Nguyet Kiln, now more spaciously renovated but still retaining the ancient nine-compartment structure, stands tall in the middle of a lush green garden, surrounded by dozens of young students from all over the country who have come to learn traditional wood-based pottery according to the artisan training program that Van Khe has worked hard to build over the past few years, officially recognized and funded after Doi Sanh village's wood-based pottery was officially recognized as a national intangible cultural heritage. joined last year.

Van Khe, now the mother of a two-year-old daughter, stood in front of the furnace, holding her child in her hand, watching as Khang guided a group of young students how to identify the color of fire through a small observation hole on the wall of the furnace - a job that she herself had taught him to do from the first days of their meeting, and he was now as proficient as a truly skilled craftsman.

— Mom, the fire is so beautiful, — little Thach Nguyet Nhi, daughter of Van Khe and Khang, named after the legendary yeast line that connected the two families, pointed towards the blazing fire in the furnace, her big round eyes shining with the innocent excitement of a child.

— That's right, child — Van Khe smiled, bending down to kiss her daughter's soft hair. — This is the most special fire in the world, you know? It has connected our whole family, healing wounds that seemed to never be able to heal.

*

Mr. Vong, whose hair has turned completely white but whose health is still stable thanks to the attentive care of his children, now spends most of his time telling stories to his grandchildren, telling young students about the history of Vong Nguyet furnace, about the legendary grandfather Thach Van Tuyen, and about the resolved feud, as a way to preserve family memories for future generations.

Mr. Chiem Vinh Truong passed away two years ago, passing away peacefully in the arms of his children and grandchildren, a satisfied smile on his lips - the smile of a person who has found complete liberation before closing his eyes. At his funeral, Van Khe personally fired a small batch of ceramics with Nguyet Bach glaze to place on the altar, as a final farewell and gratitude to the person who made an important contribution to revealing the truth and healing the two families.

Mr. Chiem Dac Nguyen, has now become a close friend, almost a second father to Van Khe, often visiting, bringing small gifts for his grandchild Nguyet Nhi, and many times rolling up his sleeves to help watch the fire whenever the cooperative organizes large batches of firing.

Khac Ben, after many years of attachment, finally found his own happiness with a girl in the village — the daughter of Mr. Hua Dinh Toai — and continued to take on the role of technical manager for the entire Doi Sanh wood ceramic cooperative, which has now expanded to fifteen participating households.

*

That afternoon, when the young students' kiln had completed the first stage of lighting the fire, Van Khe and Khang walked together along the banks of the Boi Giang River, carrying their little daughter who was chirping and telling school stories in a lovely, innocent childish language.

— Do you remember, — Khang said, holding his wife's hand tightly, his eyes looking out at the sparkling river in the sunset, — the first day I stood in front of your gate, not knowing what was waiting for me ahead?

— Do you remember? — Van Khe smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. — At that time, I was still very wary of you, thinking you were a spy for Tan Tho company.

They both laughed at that ancient memory, which is now just a sweet memory in the long challenging yet happy journey they went through together.

In the distance, behind the bamboo grove, thin white smoke is still rising from the Vong Nguyet gourd furnace tree, blending with the orange sunset that dyes the sky, creating a scene that is both familiar and sacred - an image that has been repeated for many generations, from the time of my great-grandfather, to my grandfather, to my father, and now, to Van Khe and Khang themselves, who are continuing to write a new chapter in the story of Vong Nguyet furnace.

That fire, despite going through many ups and downs - from glorious days, to years that almost died due to the pressure of modernization, family tragedy, natural disasters and human hearts - in the end still stubbornly burned brightly, not thanks to any miracle, but thanks to the hands, hearts, and perseverance of people who chose to believe in the value of tradition, truth, and love.

And like the layer of Nguyet Bach enamel sparkling with moonlight in the afternoon sun, the story of the Vong Nguyet kiln, of the two families Thach and Chiem, of Van Khe and Khang, will be told forever in every puff of smoke rising from the nine ancient kiln chambers, in every magical streak of glaze on every ceramic product fired by wood fire, and in the hearts of everyone who has ever witnessed it, that as long as people still maintain their sincerity and steadfast will, then the fire of love and truth will never, ever go out.

*

That night, after putting Nguyet Nhi to bed, Van Khe returned to her grandfather's old house, which she now preserves as a small souvenir corner, displaying his worn leather diary and a few precious memorabilia. She sat down at the old wooden table, took out the diary, and turned to the last pages that she had read over and over again over the years.

She took the pen and wrote in the remaining blank space at the end of the notebook, continuing her grandfather's unfinished words from thirty-five years ago.

"Grandpa, I am Van Khe. I have fulfilled your wish. Men Nguyet Bach was born, not to prove who is right and who is wrong, but to remind all future generations that friendship, kinship, and truth are always worth persevering in pursuing, no matter how long it takes. I got married with Khang, Mr. Truong's grandson, and we have a little daughter, I named her Nguyet Nhi, to remind grandchildren, and future generations, about the story of him and Mr. Truong, about the Vong Nguyet furnace, about a fire that has never, and will never go out."

She closed the notebook, held it in her arms for a moment, then placed it back in its solemn position on the bookshelf, next to an old photo of her grandfather and Mr. Truong when they were young, two young men standing next to each other in front of the oven, smiling brightly and full of youthful ambition.

Stepping out into the yard, Van Khe looked up at the night sky sparkling with starlight, where the full moon was shining gently on the Vong Nguyet gourd tree, covering it with a layer of silver light like the legendary glaze that her family had been searching for decades. Khang walked out, put his arm around his wife's shoulders, and they both stood quietly in the moonlight, in front of the small fire still burning in the fireplace, an eternal symbol of a story about forgiveness, love, and a traditional profession that has been saved from the brink of oblivion, to continue to burn brightly, brilliantly and persistently, for generations to come.

— I think, when Nguyet Nhi grows up tomorrow, will she want to continue her career? — Khang asked softly, his voice full of affection when talking about his daughter.

— I don't know, — Van Khe replied, smiling and looking towards the small window where her daughter was sleeping. — But I think, no matter what path she chooses in the future, as long as she grows up with love, with an understanding of her roots, that is the most precious thing. Pottery, or any other profession, is just a means for people to express their love and perseverance.

Khang nodded, squeezed his wife's hand tighter, and both silently watched the small fire burning in the night, the fire that had accompanied them through many rainy and sunny seasons, through many difficult challenges, and in the end, became an eternal symbol of a love, a family, and a community that had overcome everything together, not by miracles, but by the hands, hearts, and unwavering faith of the simple people in the countryside along the Boi Giang River.