Chapter 27 — Secret Explosive Burning of Cow Dung

He took off his coat and put it on my shoulders. The bandage on his right arm was bleeding again. The bridge of my nose is stinging.

“Can you take care of yourself first?”

He replied: "It's not my turn yet." I was about to scold him again, but the phone rang again. Still that strange number. This time it was a video call. The police officer signaled for me to wait and listen, then quickly connected the recording device. I click receive. The screen shook a few times. Under the yellow light, Lam Van Thu was tied to an old wooden chair. The corner of her mouth was torn, her forehead was bleeding, but she still opened her eyes wide. As soon as she saw me, she exclaimed: "Duong An, don't come." My heart felt like it was beating so hard. Outside the frame, the sound of a man's snicker could be heard.

“Sacred motherhood, please forgive me.”

“Van Duong, bring the film here.”

Luc Van Da stepped up and stood next to me.

“The film has been sealed by the police, you can't get it.”

The man's voice lowered.

“Then tell the police to prepare to pick up her body.”

I looked at Lam Van Thu on the screen. She shook her head vigorously, tears falling down her cheeks. She was clearly scared and trembling, but still begged me not to come with her eyes. I suddenly remembered what she said, she used to cover the entire theater when I first played the role of female supporting number 3. She sat in the last row, watching me shine under the stage lights. At that time, unbeknownst to me, there was someone in a dark corner, watching the daughter who had been lost for more than twenty years come to life again. I said straight into the camera: "I'm leaving." Luc Van Da frowned. I held his hand back.

“But I have to confirm she is alive.”

The man turned the camera around. Lam Van Thu was forced to raise her face. She spoke very softly.

“Don't exchange your child's life for your mother's life.”

I replied: "When I was a child, I blew up the wall of the village chief's house and never knew what fear was."

“Not afraid this time either.”

She cried and smiled at the same time.

“You're stubborn just like your father.”

My heart jumped. The man immediately pointed the camera into a dark corner.

“Stop babbling.”

“In half an hour, the theater is abandoned in the south of the city.”

“Only you and Luc Van Da can enter.”

The video turns off. The room fell silent for a few seconds. The police officer immediately began deploying force. There was a quiet voice: "We will arrange people, but the subjects are familiar with the terrain of the old theater, and cannot be beaten too early." Luc Van Da looked at me.

“You stay in the car.”

I looked at him.

“Say that again?”

He closed his eyes.

“Van Duong, this is not filming a reality show.”

“I know.”

“So I can't hide.”

Luc Van Da's eyes darkened. I reserve the right to speak first.

“That's my mother.”

This time, he didn't stop me anymore. Tham Kieu hurriedly ran from downstairs, her face pale, and handed a sealed bag to the police.

“Original film roll here.”

“The program team has backed up all videos.”

“Bach Nhiem's livestream has also been recorded.”

I asked: "Where is Bach Nhiem?" Tham Kieu shook her head.

“She turned off the livestream and disappeared.”

My heart suddenly felt cold. Luc Van Da said softly: "She won't be willing." Sure enough, ten minutes later, Tieu Hoa called. The girl's voice trembled.

"Sister Duong, Bach Nhiem just posted a new status."

“She said, in the past, it was my biological mother who killed my biological father.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. Beside Below the post is a photo of an old newspaper. The title is faint, but a few words can still be read. *Young photographer died in a traffic accident on a rainy night.* I stared at those words, suddenly only the sound of my own breathing remained in my ears. Luc Van Da took out his phone and glanced at it. His face also changed. I asked: “Is this my father?” He didn't answer. But silence was the answer. Half an hour later, we arrived at the abandoned southern theater.