Chapter 9 — The Chorus of Those Out of Rhythm

Viet Long's second article was published on a Monday morning, this time focusing on the journey of preparing for the Urban Singing Festival, accompanied by a call for readers to pay attention to the upcoming qualifying session. The article quickly spread, not only within the neighborhood but also to many other places, when a few famous people on social networks shared it with emotional comments.

But at the same time, another development is also silently happening on the other side of the story. In the office of Kim Phat Group, on the top floor of a modern building overlooking the entire city, Trinh Bao Quoc sat in front of the computer screen, rereading the article his assistant had just sent with a brief note: "You should see this before meeting with the project board this afternoon."

He read each line slowly, his eyes lingering longer on the description of "twenty-three people between the ages of sixty and eighty-five" who still regularly come to practice every week. There was something in those words that made his chest tighten, a vague feeling that he couldn't name right away, until his eyes slid to the name of the place: Phuong Vu Cultural House.

He put the phone on the table, leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. It's been a long time since he thought about that name. Memories of an afternoon from his childhood suddenly rushed back - the image of his mother, Trinh Thi Hoai, standing in an old room, singing with a few friends, her face shining in a rare way compared to her usual tired look due to the burden of making a living raising her children alone. He was only seven or eight years old at that time, sitting in the corner of the room playing with an old toy car, listening to his mother's singing echoing among his old friends, who now, when thinking back, he realizes were probably the first predecessors of the current choir.

He shook his head, trying to dispel that memory, telling himself it was just a coincidence, that there were hundreds of similar old cultural houses across the city, and that his mother had passed away ten years ago, no longer having anything to do with the business decision he was having to make today. But that feeling of insecurity still refused to go away, lingering in his mind all morning.

***

That afternoon, the meeting with the project board was more tense than usual. The head of the legal department presented the increasing public pressure after the article, suggesting that the company should have an official response to avoid affecting the brand image before the project officially starts.

"We cannot let an emotional article slow down the progress of a project worth hundreds of billions of dong," a board member spoke up, his voice filled with frustration. "We request Mr. Quoc to make an official statement, affirming that the company complies with the law, and the clearance progress remains as planned."

Bao Quoc sat still, his fingers lightly tapping on the table, a habit he has when he needs to think carefully before making a decision. "Give me a few more days to consider," he said finally, his voice calm but there was something unusual about it that the other members of the meeting room didn't notice.

"A few days? England, public opinion is boiling, the longer it takes, the more disadvantageous it will be for the company." The council member objected.

"I understand that," Bao Quoc replied, his voice firmer. "But I want to learn more about this place myself before making any official statements. This is my decision, I take responsibility."

The meeting ended with quiet dissatisfaction from a few board members, but no one dared to object to the company head's decision. When everyone had left, Bao Quoc sat alone, opened his desk drawer, and took out a small wooden box he had kept for many years - inside were a few mementos of his mother, including a yellowed black and white photo of a group of people standing in front of a two-story building, his mother standing in the front row, holding a music book in her hand.

He turned the photo the back, where the handwritten words had faded over time: "Phuong Vu singing group, spring of that year." He looked at the photo for a long time, then opened his phone, typed in the exact address of Phuong Vu Cultural House, and compared it with the image in his mind.

That's the place. No doubt about it.

He sat quietly for a long time in the empty office, the city lights began to come on as it was dusk outside the large glass window. He recalled other fragmented memories of his mother - how she always told him to study hard so that he wouldn't have to work hard like her in the future, how she hid her fatigue after a day of work by spending rare evenings singing with friends, how she, in the last years of her life when she was weak, often mentioned "the old school hall" with regretful eyes because she no longer had the strength to return.

He never really understood why his mother cherished that place so much, until now, when he was about to become the person who directly decided to destroy the very place that once brought her rare moments of happiness in a very difficult life. He put the photo in his wallet, an impulsive action that he could not explain, then left the office, did not return home immediately, but let the driver take him to the neighborhood where Phuong Vu Cultural House was located, just to stand from afar and observe, not daring to enter, like a stranger trying to find a part of a long-lost memory.

From inside the car, through the lighted window of the second floor hall, he could see the silhouettes of people standing in rows, a figure standing on a small platform waving his arms in a certain rhythm. The singing echoed very softly, not clear enough for him to recognize the melody, but enough to evoke in him a feeling of warmth and pain that he had not experienced since the day his mother passed away. He sat in the car for nearly half an hour, saying nothing, until the driver quietly asked if he wanted to go home, then he came to his senses and ordered the car to turn around, his heart still heavy with unanswered questions.

***

At the same time, in the hall of the cultural house, the evening practice session went much more smoothly than the previous stressful days. With a more reasonable training schedule, the team's morale gradually improved again. Ha Uyen arrived earlier than usual, sat next to her grandmother, and helped her practice the difficult parts of the song.

"Madam, is there any news about the clearance today?" Ha Uyen asked, when she saw Mrs. Chin Thoa attentively reading something on the phone.

"Mr. Long's article went viral," Ms. Chin Thoa replied, her eyes still not leaving the screen. "But I heard that the company still hasn't had any official response. I don't know what they're planning."

Ha Uyen nodded, a vague worry rising in her heart that she did not want to share with anyone - a worry related to the fact that she still did not dare to directly ask her father, Trinh Bao Quoc, about his real role in this project. Over the past few weeks, she had deliberately avoided mentioning this topic every time she called him, fearing that the truth would further rift the already estranged relationship between father and son.

But she knew that sooner or later, she would have to face that question — especially when she became more and more deeply attached to the people in this place, the people her father's company was planning to push them out of the common home they had been with for twenty years.

Viet Long arrived later than usual that day, still holding his laptop because he had just edited the third draft of his article on the way. He sat down next to Ha Uyen, noticing the unusual pensive look on her face.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly, so as not to disturb the ongoing training session.

"Nothing," Ha Uyen replied, trying to smile, but Viet Long, with the sensitivity of someone accustomed to observing human expressions in journalism, immediately realized that it was not a genuine smile.

"If there's anything, you can tell me," he said, his voice gentle but sincere. "You don't always know how to help, but at least you can listen."

Ha Uyen looked at him, her heart was torn between keeping the secret about her father and wanting to share the burden that was on her shoulders. In the end, she just shook her head, not ready to tell the truth that could change everything between her and her new friends here. "Some other time, okay? Right now I just want to focus on practice."

Viet Long nodded, without asking further questions, but in his heart there was also a hunch that there was something Ha Uyen was hiding, something that could change the whole story he was pursuing.