Chapter 43 — Summer After the Rain

Linh found the contract her father signed with the bank many years ago, hidden carefully in a drawer behind the electrical cabinet that she almost missed. The clause at the bottom of the page clearly states: if the theater is recognized as an official community cultural space, the debt can be converted into a long-term conservation fund instead of having to be paid off immediately. Her father had quietly prepared this escape route many years ago, although no one knew whether he believed that Linh would return to find it or not.

He not only left a heavy debt to his daughter. He also left a careful escape route, a small ray of hope carefully hidden, waiting for the right person and the right time to open it.

Linh told Minh that she really wanted to keep this theater long term, it was no longer a temporary decision. Minh asked her if he needed him to sign a contract to be the official manager. She told him he would be paid properly starting next month.

“Is there insurance?”

"Have."

“Is there a lover allowance?”

Linh threw a whole stack of papers at him. He quickly caught it, grinning smugly.

They submit an official loan conversion application to the bank. People in the town together contribute enough necessary counterpart funds. The old house sale note, instead of being torn up, was carefully placed in the theater's general storage box. Linh wanted to keep it as a reminder that she had intended to leave, to never forget the feeling of those first days.

The theater conversion application is required to include an official commitment from the owner. Linh is the only legal heir, but the bank still retains control over the projector, which was previously mortgaged. She faced two options: take out a new loan to buy the equipment outright, or sell a portion of her shares to an outside investor.

Her mother said there was no need to rush into a decision right away. If they have to spend more time, they will temporarily use rented projectors to maintain operations. Minh said he could repair an old machine borrowed from a nearby school. Tan commented that the machine was only capable of running a ten-minute movie continuously. Hau immediately proposed dividing a movie into nine small screenings, so audiences would be forced to return to the theater more times.

Finally, Linh decided to sell the small apartment she bought in the city many years ago. This was completely her own decision, without any pressure from anyone else. She keeps an amount just enough to cover basic living expenses, and publicly contributes the entire remaining amount to the general fund. Mai carefully checked the house sale contract three times in a row. Her mother didn't ask her daughter if she had any regrets, just quietly cooked the soup that Linh had always loved since childhood.

Minh asked her if she was afraid that she was repeating her father's exact path, silently sacrificing without telling anyone clearly. Linh replied that her father had chosen to hide it from everyone in the past; and she is choosing to tell everyone frankly about her decision. He said that was the fundamental difference between father and son.

The day the bank officially handed over the projector, the whole group together carried it to the yard for a final check. Hau accidentally dropped a small rubber gasket, forcing the whole neighborhood to bend down and search everywhere. Finally, the theater cat grabbed the pad and ran away without a trace. Minh joked that they had just found a capable new warehouse employee.

Linh signed the official contract to buy back all the equipment in the presence of Mai and her mother. She read each clause carefully, asking clearly about interest rates and long-term use rights. No one urged her to sign hastily to get it over with. When she put down her pen to the last line, she felt relieved not because she had paid off all her debt, but because this time, her decision was no longer hidden behind anyone's back.

The last remaining debt was not too large in value, but caused the whole group to lose sleep for many nights because of worry. Banks require specific collateral, while the theater itself cannot be used as collateral until all conversion procedures are completed. There were times when Linh thought everything was back to its original starting point. Mai proposed finding a cultural preservation fund to sponsor the project, but the application required an official letter of introduction from the local community.

The group split up and went door to door in town, not forcing anyone to sign blindly. Linh patiently explained clearly the amount of money needed to be mobilized, the repayment deadline and the possible risks if the plan failed. Some people refused to participate, some people could only contribute a simple meal for the whole campaigning group. An old man handed out a handwritten note: “I don't have any money, but I'll watch your door every Tuesday.” Linh still respectfully puts his name on the list of people who have contributed to the theater.

After ten days of campaigning everywhere, they had all the necessary letters of recommendation and a small amount of money. None of them became richer after this, but everyone felt like they had put a part of their lives into the collective decision of the whole community. The Cultural Preservation Fund finally agreed to provide a conditional guarantee. Linh read the acceptance letter three times in a row, then immediately called Minh to tell him the news. He didn't scream with joy, just calmly said that he would buy a big bag of popcorn tonight to celebrate. She told him to remember to keep the receipt, because emotions cannot be accounted for in books, but popcorn is completely possible.

That evening, while checking the expense spreadsheet, Linh discovered a small fee that had been entered incorrectly. No one intentionally makes this mistake, but if left uncorrected, the balance at the end of the month will be slightly off. Hau suggested quietly fixing it and pretending that nothing had ever happened. Linh firmly shook her head, called the whole group back to the meeting and marked the mistake clearly in red ink.

Mai said that sometimes publicly admitting a small mistake is much more difficult than announcing a big victory. Linh apologized to the group for reviewing the spreadsheet too hastily earlier. Hau revised the data, Minh checked and compared each related invoice, and her mother personally signed the final confirmation. In the end, the difference in money was not worth much, but everyone clearly understood that from now on, no one would have to hide a small mistake just to preserve the collective image.

Before going to bed, Linh wrote in her notebook: "A sustainable place is not a place that never makes mistakes. It is a place where even if people are wrong, they still have enough faith to tell the truth." She sent that sentence to Minh via text message. He responded with a photo of a screw lying around outside the tool tray, accompanied by a short caption: "I already reported it."

The next morning, a representative of the cultural preservation fund personally came to the theater to complete the final procedures. The person in charge, a stern but friendly middle-aged woman, spent most of the morning reviewing each page of documents with Mai. She asked very carefully about the transparent way the fund operates, about who has the right to approve large expenditures, and about contingency plans if revenue declines in the future. Linh answered each question clearly, sometimes having to turn back to her notebook to cite specific data.

At noon, when all the procedures were completed, the woman stayed to eat with the group. She said she has appraised countless cultural preservation projects throughout her career, but rarely has she seen a place where young people understand every operational detail so well, instead of just relying on empty enthusiasm. Linh thanked the compliment, but also honestly said that this clarity did not come naturally, it was built from countless mistakes and having to correct them over the past few months.

That afternoon, after seeing the distinguished guest leave, Linh stood alone in the projection room, looking at the official guarantee decision that had just been signed. She called her mother to tell her the news, her voice shaking with emotions pent up for weeks. After listening, Mom was silent for a moment and then just said a short sentence: "Your dad must be smiling somewhere." Linh hung up the phone, sat down in seat number 13, and let the last tears of a long journey fall in silence.