Chapter 13 — Summer Rescuer

On a rare day off that coincided with both of their schedules, Thao Nhi and Bach Duong drove to the provincial city, nearly two hours from Duong Xanh, to go to the Provincial Library - a place that stores old newspapers in the form of microfilm and bound prints by year. Bach Duong contacted an old acquaintance working at the Provincial Department of Planning and Investment in advance, who promised to help him informally look up Cat Bien Phu Vinh's business registration documents, but needed a few more days. In the meantime, they decided to search the newspaper archives themselves, hoping to find an article from eight years ago that mentioned this company.

The library's microfilm reading room was deserted, except for the creaking sound of the ceiling fan and the distinctive smell of old paper wafting throughout the space. The library staff member, after listening to them explain the purpose of their search, brought out a box of microfilm rolls with the year and month corresponding to the time of Thao Nhi's father's death.

"Thank you," Thao Nhi said, her hands shaking slightly as she picked up the box of film reels, well aware that inside it might contain the final pieces of a story she had been waiting eight years to understand.

On the drive to the city early that morning, the two of them talked more than ever before, not about the flow or technical reports, but about normal things that both of them had never had time to share - Bach Duong talked about the business trips he had gone through throughout the Central region, the beautiful seas he had seen but never had anyone to watch with him; Thao Nhi talked about her childhood summers before her father passed away, when the whole family often went on picnics together on the sand dunes near the town. There were silences in the middle of the story, but they were no longer awkward silences like the first days they met, but the comfortable silence of two people who had begun to understand each other deeply enough to not need to fill every moment with words.

They sat next to each other in front of an old microfilm reader, scrolling through newspaper pages that had yellowed over time. Most of the content was regular news — conferences, festivals, market prices — but the two still patiently read every line, not missing any small details.

Nearly an hour passed when Bach Duong suddenly stopped filming. “There it is,” he said, his voice tense.

On the screen appeared a small article, modestly located in the bottom corner of page four, with the title: "Phu Vinh Sea Sand Company completes project to dredge channel in Mui Sa Den area". The article, just a few short paragraphs long, praised the project as "contributing to improving waterway transportation for local fishermen," accompanied by a black-and-white photo of the inauguration ceremony, which showed several district officials standing next to a group of people wearing suits.

Thao Nhi leaned close to the screen, her heart pounding as she tried to identify the faces in the photo, which was blurry due to poor microfilm quality. "Can you enlarge the photo caption?"

Bach Duong adjusted the magnification, and the caption gradually appeared clearer: "From left: Mr. Kha Vinh Toan - representative of the District Economic Department, Mr. Cung Nghia Phat - Deputy Managing Director of Phu Vinh Sea Sand Company, and delegates attending the inauguration ceremony."

The two were silent for a long time, staring at that line of text - black and white, clear, undeniable evidence, confirming the connection that Thao Nhi had suspected for weeks.

"Here it is," Thao Nhi whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Finally, there's real evidence."

"This article was published just two weeks before my father passed away," Bach Duong said, his voice also shaking because of this important discovery. "That means right when the project is in the completion stage, it is also the time when the flow changes the most."

They continued searching, and discovered two more articles from the following weeks — one briefly reporting on an "unfortunate incident" that left a rescue worker dead, with no mention of the cause being related to the dredging work; and another article, posted two months later, briefly announced that Cat Bien Phu Vinh had "completed its mission and dissolved in accordance with regulations", without any explanation about the coincidence between the time of dissolution and the accident.

Thao Nhi took screenshots of each page with her phone, her hands shaking because of an intense emotion that was hard to name - both the old pain being reopened and the feeling of relief of someone who had finally found the light at the end of the dark tunnel she had been walking through for eight years.

"I need to sit for a while," she said, her voice shaking, and Bach Duong immediately put his hand on her shoulder, leading her out of the reading room to a stone bench in the library yard, where there was shade from the trees.

They sat there for a long time, not saying anything, only Bach Duong gently held her hand, giving her time to digest her emotions. Finally, Thao Nhi spoke, her voice was calmer but still heavy.

"Eight years, I've been waiting for this moment," she said. "But now that it's here, I feel... not completely relieved. There is evidence, but my father still can't come back to life. This truth cannot change the eight years my mother and I lived in pain and doubt."

"I understand," Bach Duong said softly, squeezing her hand tighter. "But this truth can prevent that tragedy from repeating itself to others. It's not a perfect compensation, but it's meaningful, Thao Nhi. It means a lot."

She nodded, quickly wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "We need to get this evidence to someone who can make it public. Collecting documents alone is not enough, we need a voice strong enough to force them to face public opinion."

"I have someone in mind," Bach Duong said, a new ray of hope appearing in his voice. "A few days ago, when I posted an anonymous article on a forum about marine construction safety, briefly telling about the situation here, a female provincial newspaper reporter contacted me, wanting to learn more. Her name is Duong Viet Ha, she writes for the social investigation column. Maybe it's time for us to meet her."

Thao Nhi nodded, feeling a new ray of hope arise in her heart, mixed with worry about what lay ahead as this story began to move beyond her private sphere and become a public battle. But she knew it was time to hesitate no longer.

Before leaving the library, they stopped by the librarian's counter again, asked for official copies of the three pages of the newspaper they had just found, and stamped the library's confirmation stamp to ensure the document's legality. The library staff member, after briefly hearing the reason, looked at them with a questioning look and then quietly completed the procedure without asking any more questions, as if she was used to the occasional person coming here looking for truths that someone once wanted to bury.

"This document, once stamped with the library's confirmation stamp, will be difficult to deny as a forgery," Bach Duong explained as they walked out of the building, the afternoon sunlight dyeing the small street yellow. "This will be one of the most important foundational evidence when we present it to reporter Viet Ha, or if necessary, to the investigation agency."

They stopped at a small roadside shop before getting back in the car and ordered two glasses of cool sugarcane juice. Thao Nhi held a glass of water in her hand but did not drink it right away, looking far away at the high-rise buildings of the provincial city, which was far away from Duong Xanh in both geographical distance and power.

"Do you think," she asked, her voice thoughtful, "that sometimes the truth comes too late to change anything?"

Bach Duong thought for a moment before answering. "I think the truth never comes too late to prevent further damage, though it may come too late to heal the damage that has already been done. You can't bring your father back, but you can ensure that his death was not in vain — that it ultimately led to something better for those who remained."

Thao Nhi looked at him, and in her eyes, a deep gratitude mixed with growing affection that she no longer wanted to deny.

On the drive back to Duong Xanh when it was late afternoon, Thao Nhi leaned her head against the car window, watching the distant mountains pass by in the sunset. She thought about her father, about the black-and-white photo that was blurry but clear enough to change everything, and about the man driving beside her, who had not hesitated to step into a fight that was not his, just because he believed it was the right thing to do.

"Thank you," she said softly, without turning around, just letting her voice drift with the wind blowing through the slightly opened car door. "For not giving up, even when things became more complicated than you thought."

Bach Duong glanced at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. "I don't think I could give up, even if I wanted to. Not when I knew what was at stake, and not when I met you."