Chapter 13 — The Day My Father Remarried

I no longer want to remain just an ordinary order tracking clerk.

I want to learn from you, uncle.

I want to learn management.

I want to learn how to operate the entire factory.

Tuong Ve Quoc turned his head to look at me, his expression full of profound surprise.

You studied medicine.

Yet you suddenly want to learn how to run a manufacturing plant?

I offered a faint, bitter smile.

Studying medicine...

Was simply to fulfill my mother's dying wish.

She always dreamed of seeing me become a doctor.

But now...

I truly feel that...

If I can help you manage this factory well.

And help my mother save her beloved house.

Then every bit of it is completely worth it.

Inside the car, a heavy silence lingered for several agonizing seconds. My uncle said nothing, but I watched his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as if he were desperately trying to suppress an overwhelming surge of emotion. After a very long while, he finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse and rough.

Very well.

Once you have thoroughly mastered the order tracking work.

I will teach you everything else.

The car turned into the gates of the residential complex where I rented a modest apartment. I unbuckled my seatbelt, preparing to step out into the crisp night air, when my uncle called out to me once more.

Van Van.

Yes?

If your mother knew...

How much you have grown into a capable adult today.

She...

Would undoubtedly be filled with endless joy.

A sudden, sharp sting pierced the bridge of my nose. I hastily pushed the car door open, stepping out beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp, and turned to wave goodbye to him.

Uncle.

Please drive safely on your way back.

He pressed the horn lightly in response, and the car slowly navigated around the street corner. The two red tail lights gradually faded and vanished into the enveloping darkness. I stood quietly before the apartment gates, watching the empty road for a long time. A poignant ache welled up inside my chest, as if an invisible hand were tightly squeezing the most fragile part of my heart. The day my mother passed away, I was only eighteen years old. Back then, I foolishly believed that my entire world had completely collapsed. Later, when my father remarried, I convinced myself that I no longer had a true home. But standing here tonight, I finally understood a profound truth. There are certain people who, even after they have left this world forever, continue to stay right by your side in entirely different ways. Just like my uncle. Just like the parting words my mother whispered before closing her eyes for the last time. That night, lying awake in bed, my mind kept echoing my uncle's exact words:

If your mother knew how much you have grown into a capable adult today, she would undoubtedly be filled with endless joy.

The thing my mother worried about the most was also the thing that gave her the greatest peace of mind, and that person was simply me. When she left us, I had just passed the university entrance examinations. I knew nothing about earning a living, nor did I know how to shoulder the heavy burdens of life independently. Perhaps even she never anticipated that in the years to come, I would manage my own tuition and living expenses entirely on my own, successfully completing four years of higher education. That at the age of twenty-two, I would begin planning to help my father pay off the heavy mortgage on our house. I unlocked my phone screen and gazed for a long time at a photograph of my mother. In the picture, she wore a short-sleeved floral blouse, standing quietly on the balcony of our old home while watering her blooming plants. The soft glow of the afternoon sunset draped over her gentle face in a warm, golden hue, and her smile was radiantly tender. I whispered softly to the image on the screen.

Mother.

You can finally rest in peace.

Your daughter will definitely...

Find a way to save our home.

Before the screen faded to black, I caught the faint reflection of my own face mirrored on the glass. My eyes were red and swollen, yet the corners of my lips curved upward in a genuine smile. A cool, early autumn breeze drifted gently through the crack in the windowpane. I placed my phone down beside my pillow, turned over, and slowly closed my eyes. There was a time when I thought life was relentlessly cruel and burdensome. But now, I realized a profound truth. As long as there remains a single person in this world who cares for me in place of my mother, I possess the strength to conquer any hardship that comes my way.

It was a weekend near the end of October. Tong Van had come to the provincial capital on a business trip and conveniently arranged to meet me for a casual meal. We met at a small hotpot restaurant near the university district, the very place we used to frequent during our student days. The soup in the hotpot bubbled vigorously as she dropped a plate of sliced beef brisket directly into the broth, stirring the meat while casually asking:

How have things been going?

Is working at your uncle's factory treating you well?

It is going very well.

I have already grown quite accustomed to the environment.

I poured her a glass of sweet plum juice.

What about you?

Has your hospital internship been exhausting?

Exhaustive is an understatement.

How could it possibly not be?

She widened her eyes in dramatic exasperation.

Just last week.

I had to work three consecutive night shifts.

I practically dropped dead in the duty room.

Even so...

This is the path I chose for myself.

No matter how hard it gets, I have to grit my teeth and walk it to the end.

We clinked our glasses together in a silent toast, and as she chewed thoughtfully on a piece of beef, she looked across the table and asked: