Chapter 16 — The Hand That Carves Sin

"Yes, it is all over now." He let out a sigh of relief, as if a great burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders. "You... are you living well now?"

"I am living very well," I replied. "Both An An and I are doing very well."

"That is good, that is very good," he murmured.

After hanging up the phone, I stood before the window for a long time. The evening light washed over me, casting long shadows. I splayed out my left hand. It no longer required a protective brace. Although I could not perform delicate, intricate movements, basic functions like holding a cup or writing had fully returned. The zigzagging scar, resembling a centipede, stood out clearly in the sunlight. It looked like a medal, recording the pain I had endured while also bearing witness to my rebirth.

Life in this new city was as calm as a slow-moving river. I gradually became proficient in my work at the rehabilitation center. I led a small team to develop a new assessment system, one that combined virtual reality technology with electromyographic signal analysis. This allowed us to assess the functional disorders of patients with nerve damage with far greater precision, enabling the creation of personalized rehabilitation plans. This system achieved excellent clinical results. Many patients previously deemed incapable of recovery experienced a significant improvement in their quality of life thanks to our efforts. Because of this, I began to build a reputation in this specialized field. I was no longer the brilliant surgeon To Hoan who performed miracles, but rather, the rehabilitation expert, Dr. To. I liked this new identity. It made me feel grounded and helped me find a new way to realize my own value.

An An had entered elementary school. She had grown into a cheerful, laughter-filled girl. Her grades were excellent, and she was even elected as the class arts officer. She could draw and play the piano. Her small hands were both agile and strong. Sometimes, watching her use those hands to strike beautiful melodies on the keys, I felt an indescribable happiness and fulfillment. I had protected her well. I blocked all the suffering, keeping it in places where she could never see.

I once believed that the lives of Tran Da and mine would never intersect again. Until that day. It was a weekend afternoon, and I had taken An An to the Xinhua Bookstore in the city center to read. An An was browsing picture books in the children’s section, while I was reading the latest medical journals in the reference area. As I was deeply absorbed in my reading, I felt someone watching me. The gaze was hauntingly familiar, carrying a complex emotion that made me feel profoundly uncomfortable. Instinctively, I looked up, tracking the direction of that gaze. At the far end of the bookshelf stood a man. He was wearing an old coat that had faded from too many washes, his hair was long, and his beard was unkempt. His entire appearance was one of decline and poverty. He, too, held a book in his hand, but he was not reading. He was simply staring at me.

It was Tran Da. My heart tightened abruptly. Why was he here? How had he found me? He had grown so thin, almost entirely unrecognizable. If not for those eyes, I might never have known it was him. In his gaze, there was no longer the violence and gloom of the past, nor the weakness and desperation he had shown at the hospital. It was a look that I could not put into words—as if he were standing across a vast chasm, gazing at something precious that had long been lost. I immediately closed my book, my first reaction being to find An An. I could not let him see her. I hurried toward the children’s section and grabbed An An’s hand.

"Mom, what’s wrong?" An An asked, bewildered.

"We are going home," I said, my voice tight and strained.

I pulled An An along, keeping my head down, and walked quickly toward the bookstore exit. I could feel his gaze trailing behind us like a physical weight. I dared not turn back. I just wanted to leave this place as fast as I could. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. I tugged at An An, almost running toward the parking lot.

"Mom, please slow down," An An called out from behind.

I stopped, glancing back for a split second. Tran Da was standing before the entrance of the bookstore. He did not chase us. He simply stood from afar like a silent shadow. The sunlight did not reach him; he was entirely cloaked in darkness. His right hand was shoved deep into his coat pocket, and I could not tell what state he was in. Our eyes locked for a fleeting moment, and then, I pulled An An away, refusing to look back again.

Once home, I immediately bolted the door. My heart was still hammering against my ribs. Why had he come? What did he want? Fear surged through me like a rising tide. I was terrified that the peaceful life I had fought so hard to build would be shattered by him. I feared he would hurt me and An An once more. That night, I could not sleep. I checked every door and window in the house and even tucked a fruit knife under my pillow. I lay with my eyes wide open until dawn.

But as the days followed, nothing happened. Tran Da was like a phantom; he appeared once and then vanished. He did not come to find me again, nor did he appear near my home. I slowly began to feel at ease. Perhaps it had truly been nothing more than a chance encounter. Perhaps he had just been passing through. I tried to push the memory completely out of my mind.