Chapter 9 — The Bookmobile Through the Mountains

On weekend mornings, when Nghi is not on the road, she often stops by the District Committee headquarters to complete administrative procedures related to the program - asking for confirmation of free book transportation on inter-commune routes, submitting periodic activity reports, or simply meeting a few acquaintances to maintain relationships necessary for work. The mobile bookmobile program, although operated largely by Nghi's family through donations, still receives a small amount of annual support from the district's cultural budget — enough to cover gasoline and part of the vehicle's maintenance costs, support that her father spent many years campaigning to obtain.

Today, Nghi stopped by the district Culture - Sports - Tourism department to submit a quarterly report, as usual. As soon as she entered the hallway, she heard loud chatter from the meeting room next door. The door was ajar, revealing a gap large enough for voices to echo out.

"...the digital library project will save a lot compared to maintaining those old mobile vehicles. By simply installing a tablet kiosk in the center of each commune, students can access thousands of electronic books, unlimited in number like paper books, and save on transportation and maintenance costs..." A middle-aged male voice rang out, full of confidence, as if giving a presentation.

Nghi stopped, his heart beat faster. She recognized a few clues directly related to her program, even though she hadn't heard the whole story clearly. She lingered near the door, trying to listen more, even though she knew it wasn't exactly polite.

"But Mr. Vinh, remote villages like Seo Lu and Khuoi Tra don't have stable electricity, let alone wifi signals to use digital kiosks," another voice, seemingly younger, spoke up in protest.

"There will be a plan to install solar batteries, the equipment supplier has already committed to full support. In the long term, this is a direction of modernization, consistent with the digital transformation trend that the province is promoting. As for maintaining a mobile bookmobile, I do not deny its value, but in terms of investment efficiency per beneficiary, the cost of operating a vehicle that runs in remote villages all year round is much higher than a fixed kiosk that serves a large number of people. more people," the voice of the man named Vinh continued, full of calculation.

Nghi felt a cold current run down his spine. She stood still, her hands clasped tightly around the report file she was holding, not daring to breathe loudly, for fear of being discovered eavesdropping. The meeting inside continued to discuss for a few more minutes, mainly revolving around budget numbers, allocation rates, and dry yet powerful administrative terms that could decide the fate of an entire program that had existed for sixteen years.

When the meeting showed signs of ending, Nghi quickly stepped back, pretended to have just arrived, and stood to the side of the hallway. The door to the meeting room opened, several people walked out, including a middle-aged man wearing a white shirt, gold-rimmed glasses, neat and confident appearance - the person Nghi guessed was "Mr. Vinh" in the conversation he just overheard.

"You are...?" The man saw Nghi standing there, his eyes questioning.

"Yes, I am Khuong Bao Nghi, in charge of the Anh Duong mobile bookmobile program. I have come to submit your quarterly report," Nghi replied, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was confused.

The man's eyes flashed with surprise, then turned to something unpredictable — not exactly hostile, but not very warm either. "Ah, Ms. Nghi. I am Than Quoc Vinh, Deputy Head of the District Culture - Sports - Tourism Department. I heard that you have just taken over your father's program for a while now."

"Yes," Nghi nodded, trying to observe his attitude, looking for more clues.

"Your program also has many notable contributions," Vinh said, his tone more social than sincere, "but our district is also having to balance many expenditures, to optimize the efficiency of public investment. Just submit your report normally, the department will notify you later."

That vague statement made Nghi feel even more uneasy. She wanted to ask directly about the digital library project she had just overheard, but held back, afraid that revealing that she had overheard the meeting would make the situation more complicated. She just nodded, submitted the report to the clerical staff, and then left the District Committee headquarters with a heavy heart.

On the way home, Nghi stopped by her mother's tea shop and told everything she had heard. Mrs. Dung sat silently, her hands trembling as she placed the cup of tea on the table.

"I've heard about this library project a few times, from regular customers who stopped by the shop to drink tea," Mrs. Dung said, her voice worried. "I heard there is a private company in the province offering equipment, promising everything to the district, including some 'technical support'. I don't know the details, I just heard people talking that there is about to be a big change in the way the district's cultural budget is allocated."

"If they cut the budget for fuel and car maintenance support, I will face great difficulties, mother," Nghi said, her voice low. "Even though that amount is not much, if we don't have it, we have to rely entirely on donations, and donations sometimes don't work, and it's not stable."

Mrs. Dung was silent for a moment, then placed her hand on her daughter's hand, her eyes both worried and encouraging. "Don't panic yet, maybe it's just a proposal in the discussion stage, it may not come true. But if that really happens, I believe you will find a way, just like your father in the past, every time he encountered difficulties he never gave up right away, but always found a way around it."

Nghi nodded, but still couldn't completely get rid of the feeling of insecurity. That night, she lay awake unable to sleep, her mind reeling from the numbers and administrative terms she had just heard, and the images of children in Seo Lu, Khuoi Tra, Dong Soi, Nam Cay - faces eagerly waiting for the bookmobile every time she stopped by - kept appearing in her mind, making her even more determined to find out clearly, to do something before things went too far.

The next morning, the first thing Nghi did was call Nam to report the news and tell him everything he heard at the District Committee headquarters. On the other end of the line, Nam was silent for a long time, then spoke, his voice completely lowered.

"If that's true, this will be a huge blow, not only to your program, but to the kids here," he said. "A digital kiosk in a place with no electricity or signal like Nam Cay is no different than a useless piece of iron placed in the middle of the school yard. I will inquire further through a few contacts in the Education Department to see if there is any further information."

"Thank you," Nghi said, feeling somewhat comforted knowing he was not alone in facing this risk. "I'll try to find out more from the district. Anyway, we have to prepare ourselves for the worst."

The call ended, Nghi put down the phone, looked out the window, where the morning sunlight was filtering through the trees, shining down on the bookmobile parked silently in the yard. She suddenly realized that the road ahead was no longer just bumpy mountain roads, but now there was another, equally difficult journey - the struggle to retain what her father had worked so hard to build over the past sixteen years.

That afternoon, Nghi called Ngo Bao Yen, his close friend from college, who is currently working as a reporter for a provincial electronic newspaper. The two of them were in the same first-year general journalism class, although Nghi later changed majors, while Yen pursued her writing career until the end. Even though they don't meet often because each of them has a busy job, the two still keep in touch by phone, occasionally sharing life and career stories.

"What's going on that makes your voice sound so tense?" Yen asked as soon as she picked up the phone, as if she was used to reading her friend's mood through her voice.

Nghi recounted the entire story he had just heard at the District Committee headquarters, his voice still shaking a little with anxiety. Yen listened silently, occasionally saying "yes" to show that she was still paying attention, then when Nghi finished speaking, she spoke up, her voice changing to the serious mode of a journalist sniffing out an interesting topic.

"It sounds like this is not a small thing, Nghi. I've written a few articles about these types of digital transformation projects in highland areas. Many places have installed the equipment but have no maintenance people, no stable electricity, and in the end it's just gathering dust. But because on the report, 'technology investment' figures look much better than maintaining a manual program like your bookmobile, so the leaders like to follow that direction to make it easier to report achievements."

"So what should I do now?" Nghi asked, his voice a bit helpless.

"For now, stay calm, don't do anything hastily without official information," Yen advised. "But if there are any clearer movements in the future, just let me know immediately. If needed, I can help write articles, bringing your story to more people. Sometimes, the power of public opinion can create change, especially when there is concrete evidence, there are real human stories behind the dry numbers on paper."

Yen's advice, although it did not immediately resolve the anxiety weighing heavily on Nghi's heart, partly helped her feel more relieved, as if she had just found another potential ally on the upcoming journey, a journey that she had a hunch would be longer and more arduous than any mountain road she had ever been on.