Chapter 30 — The Bookmobile Through the Mountains

One year later, on an early summer morning when the mountain dew still hung lightly on the tops of Van Thac hills, Khuong Bao Nghi woke up very early, preparing for the first trip of the day. But unlike a year ago, now she's no longer the only one setting out every morning — the "Sunshine Mobile Library" program now has two cars, two routes, and a team of four people, all sharing the same beliefs that her father planted seventeen years ago.

Nghi walked out to the yard, where the new truck was ready, the book box had been neatly filled since last night. She looked back at the corner of the small yard, where the old car - her father's original Anh Duong - was now solemnly placed under a simple roof, decommissioned but still carefully preserved, a small sign attached to the side of the car clearly stating: "Where every journey begins - Khuong Vinh Trac, founder, 2008."

Mrs. Dung, now accustomed to the new rhythm of life, came out to see her daughter off with a cup of hot coffee like every other day, but her eyes were no longer anxious and worried like before, but filled with peace of mind and pride. "Are you going to Nam Cay today?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes, I have to stop by there before going to my new home," Nghi smiled, her voice shining with radiant happiness. Because, her "new home" is now the small house she and Nam built together right near Nam Cay School, after a simple but cozy wedding held in the spring of that year, with the witness of both families and many people from the villages on the route.

Nghi now lives a divided but complete life — on weekdays, she still takes on the role of general coordinator for both routes, occasionally driving directly to the villages as before, while Nam continues his teaching career at Nam Cay, now promoted to principal after the old principal retired. In the evening, when work is finished, they return to their cozy little house, sometimes reading books together under the lamp, sometimes discussing plans to expand the program in the future.

On the way to Nam Cay that day, the car passed Seo Lu village first, where Sung A Dinh, now eleven years old and much taller, ran out to meet the bus with a new book about wildlife in his hand, boasting that he had just been selected to participate in a summer camp on forest protection organized by an environmental organization, thanks to the knowledge he had accumulated through many years of reading books on the bus. "Miss Nghi, when I grow up I will definitely be a forest ranger, I have decided!" the boy shouted loudly, his eyes shining with determination.

Vang Thi My, now thirteen years old, also ran out, no longer as timid as before, showing off to Nghi a new sketchbook, much thicker than the old one, with increasingly delicate and vivid pictures. The girl said that, thanks to the money from selling the painting last year, her family set aside a sum to buy more professional paints and drawing paper, and her mother, who once opposed her daughter pursuing painting, now fully supports it, even proudly showing off her daughter's paintings to the neighbors.

In Khuoi Tra, little Ban Van Senh, now three years old, healthy and plump, trotted along with his older sister Kia to pick up the bookmobile, with absolutely no trace of the critical night of the previous year. Ms. Ban Thi Nai, who has now become one of the most active advocates for the program in the entire region, often accompanies Nghi to other villages to share her family's story, convincing hesitant families to believe in the value of literacy.

In Dong Soi, Truong Minh Khoi, now thirteen years old, successfully built a mini generator model from recycled materials and was chosen to represent his school in the provincial science and technology competition for middle school students. His father, Truong Van Nhiem, now proudly talks about his son to anyone who stops by the car repair shop, no longer feeling guilty about his career like before.

And Lo Van Pao, now in his second year at the district boarding high school for ethnic minorities, has excellent academic achievements and has become an inspirational example for many other children in the village. Every summer vacation, he volunteers to help Nghi organize reading sessions for children, fulfilling his promise from the previous year - continuing what the program gave him, to pass on to the next generations.

When the car arrived at Nam Cay, Nam was waiting at the school gate as usual, a familiar warm smile on his lips. He helped Nghi unload the books, and together with her rearranged the reading corner named after her father, which has now become the most fully equipped miniature library among the original four stops, with neat tables and chairs, adequate lighting, and a large bookshelf that is constantly being added.

"You know," Nam said as they both took a break in the middle of the session, sitting side by side watching the children passionately reading books, "Mrs. Ngan just reported that the district is considering a proposal to expand its mobile bookmobile model to two more neighboring districts, based on experience and proven effectiveness in Van Thac."

Nghi smiled, her eyes shining with immense pride. "I certainly would have never imagined that a simple motorbike from the past could now inspire such a replicable model."

That afternoon, after finishing his work in Nam Cay, Nghi drove away from school, not to go back town like before, but to his and Nam's small house, located not far away. On the way, she stopped the car for a moment at the top of a familiar hill, where Nam had proposed to her more than a year ago, watching the sunset, dyeing the entire Van Thac valley in a brilliant yellow-orange color.

She took out her notebook - now her third notebook, after the first two were filled with words - and wrote one last line for today: "One year after the day the program was almost closed. Now, we have two cars, two routes, and a long future ahead. Dad, I think, this is what you always wanted - not just to keep something intact forever, but to let it continue to live, continue to grow, in its own way. it."

Before leaving the top of the hill, Nghi's phone vibrated, a text message from Yen: "The editorial office just received a national journalism award for a series of articles about your program! Congratulations, although this award is mine, it actually belongs to you, your father, and all the children in Van Thac." Nghi read the message, smiled, typed a few lines of sincere thanks, and felt deep gratitude for all the people who had accompanied her through this challenging but also meaningful journey.

She also received a call from Thang, giving a quick report about the new route he had just completed for the first time this week, telling about a remote village that had never had any educational support programs visit before, about the surprised and happy eyes of the children when they held colorful books in their hands for the first time. Nghi listened and clearly felt the circle of meaning continuing to expand, from her father's humble motorbike seventeen years ago, to two modern trucks today, and perhaps, in the near future, there will be many more vehicles, bringing words to more distant lands.

Sitting quietly on the top of the hill for a while longer, Nghi looked down at the panoramic view of the Van Thac valley stretching out below, the stilted roofs of houses hidden among the immense green of the mountains and forests, the terraced fields winding along the hillside, and in the distance, the familiar red dirt road meandered like a soft silk strip through the villages. This is where she was born, raised, and now, has found the full meaning of her life. She thought about her father, about the seventeen-year journey full of hardships but also full of love that he had initiated, about all the people who had accompanied her through the most difficult times, and about a future that continued to open up ahead, as vast and full of hope as the brilliant sunset sky stretching before her eyes right now.

Closing the notebook, Nghi started the car and continued the journey home. And the next morning, as if it had become a familiar rhythm for nearly twenty years, when the sun had not yet dispelled the layer of fog on the tops of Van Thac mountain, the sound of the bookmobile's engine rang out again, rolling down the winding mountain road, carrying pages of books, dreams, and a legacy of love that was being continuously continued, heading straight towards the distant mountain peaks, where dawn was rising.