Chapter 21 — The Cable Splicer Beneath the Sea

The Signal Light Comes On Again

The saturation chamber door opened for the last time in mid-afternoon, after Chu Tuệ Lam confirmed that all three people's vital signs had completely stabilized at normal atmospheric pressure. Sơn stepped out first, his legs wobbling slightly for a few seconds, a strange feeling after many days of living in a continuously high-pressure environment.

"How does it feel?" Lam asked, still holding the blood pressure monitor at the ready.

"Relieved," Sơn replied, taking a deep breath, feeling normal air fill his lungs in a completely different way than what he was used to over the past few days. "It was as if something heavier than water pressure had been released."

Bách and Thư followed, both sharing the same feeling of lightheadedness as they were free to move around for the first time in many days without being limited by the strict rules of the saturated environment. Thư walked out onto the deck and looked up at the now completely clear sky. The storm clouds had completely disappeared, revealing a rare patch of pale blue after many days of being covered.

"So beautiful," she spoke softly, not with an empty exclamation, but with genuine surprise at an ordinary sky whose value she had never before noticed.

Vạn Lý began his journey back to Vũng Rạng port, sailing through a sea that was now much calmer, although there were still echoes of the big waves left behind from the stormy night. In the cockpit, Hòa stood next to the steering wheel, his eyes much softer than those of the past stressful days.

Bằng still maintains cable monitoring, although the work now takes on a much more relaxed rhythm. "The network operations center has just sent a summary report," he announced, reading it out loud for the whole cockpit to hear. "During the twenty-four hours of the storm, the LH-CN1 line maintained continuous, uninterrupted connectivity, serving more than three thousand emergency calls, tens of thousands of text messages, and four remote medical consultations."

"Four consultations," Trung repeated, his voice unable to hide his emotion. "Not just the first night of obstetrics."

"That's right." By confirmation. "The island medical station reported three more cases, one case of an accident while fortifying houses before the storm, one case of mild stroke in an elderly person, and one case of severe asthma in a child."

Sơn, who had just entered the cockpit after changing into dry clothes, heard that information and paused for a moment before continuing. The child's asthma case reminded him of the story Thư told one night on the deck, about his younger brother who almost didn't make it to the hospital in time because the connection was lost.

"Is that child okay?" He asked, his voice carrying a much more specific concern than a simple social question.

"Fine." By responding, check the report again. "Thanks to timely consultation, the family knew how to handle it right at home, without having to risk going to the hospital in the middle of a raging storm."

Thư stood nearby, hearing the whole story. Her eyes shone with a complex emotion, a mixture of joy and gentle nostalgia about her own family's story many years ago. She didn't say anything, just stood still for a moment, letting that emotion subside in her own way.

After that, she quietly left the cockpit, found a quiet corner on the deck, took out her personal phone, and turned on the communication signal for the first time since boarding the ship. She sent a long text message to her parents, telling everything that had happened, not hiding the dangerous part like she had planned to do, because she remembered her own promise the night before: to tell everything, including the parts that made her parents worried.

A few minutes later, her phone vibrated, a video call from her parents, and in the corner of the small screen, she saw her younger brother, now a grown man, smiling and giving her a thumbs up. That short conversation made Thư burst into tears. The tears of a long day contained more emotions than any other day in her life, but this time they were tears of relief, not fear.

Late in the afternoon, when the ship was still about two hours away from Vũng Rạng port, another video call appeared on the main communication system, this time from the Cồn Nga landing station itself, where the technician in charge of the station wanted to thank the repair team directly.

"We just rechecked the entire system after the storm." The young technician spoke through the screen, behind him was a small control panel with a row of steady blue signal lights. "The cable status indicator light has completely stabilized, there are no longer any unusual signs since you completed the reinforcement."

He turned his phone camera so that the whole team on the ship could see directly that row of green lights, a simple image but with a greater meaning than any flowery words of thanks could express: living proof that the connection between that small island and the rest of the world had truly been restored, strong and stable.

"Thank you very much, brothers and sisters." The technician said, his voice sincere. "The whole island knows what you guys did. Some even said this was the first storm in many years where they didn't feel completely left alone."

Sơn stood silently looking at the image of the green lights on the screen, a warm feeling spreading in his chest, different from the heavy feeling he had carried along the whole journey here. He thought of Duy, of Duy's mother, of everything that had led him to this moment, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to fully feel a joy that was not ruined by an old obsession.

"Thank you for trusting us," he spoke to the technician on the screen, his voice equally sincere. "Keep that light on, that's your job from now on."

The call ended, leaving a peace that spread throughout the cockpit. Bằng saved the video recording of that series of green lights into the official reporting system, marking it as evidence that closed the entire incident record, a simple administrative procedure but to him, it carried a much greater meaning than a regular note.

Sơn left the cockpit and walked out to the aft deck, where Bách was sitting with his back against the spare cable reel, exactly where Thư had sat the first night on the ship. He sat down next to Bách, both of them were silent for a while, listening to the sound of the waves, which had now returned to their familiar gentle rhythm.

"Do you remember when I first joined the team?" Bách asked, breaking the silence. "I used to think you were being too cautious because you lost your confidence. Now I realize I got it completely wrong."

"It's OK," Sơn replied, his voice gentle. "At that time, I didn't know how to explain it to anyone, even to myself. There are lessons that are only truly absorbed when people experience them themselves, not through the words of others."

"So now do you think you're really over it?" Bách asked, the question was straightforward but not ungainly, stemming from the sincere concern of a teammate who had gone through life and death moments with him.

Sơn thought for a moment before answering, wanting to give an honest answer instead of a complete statement. "I don't think I'll ever completely stop obsessing about it," he said. "But I think now I know how to live with it, instead of letting it dictate my every decision. That's probably the closest thing to getting over it that I can get, and I think that's enough." Bách nodded, didn't need any further comments, just patted Sơn's shoulder before both of them silently looked at the horizon ahead, where the first lights of Vũng Rạng port began to appear behind the faint outline of the coast, still far away but getting closer every minute.

Thư walked out to the back deck, found both of them, sat down next to Bách, her eyes were still a little red but the smile on her lips was brighter than at any time since she set foot on the ship. "I just called my family," she said, her voice relieved. "Everyone is very happy."

"Welcome to officially join the club of those who survived the most memorable trip of their career," Bách said, his voice was joking but his eyes contained true respect for the young technician who had proven her bravery in the most difficult moments.

All three laughed together, laughter of relief blending with the steady sound of waves lapping on the side of the ship, while in front, the lights of Vũng Rạng port became clearer and clearer, marking the end of a journey that all three would recall for the rest of their professional lives.