Chapter 5 — The Journey of the Missing Bronze Drum

Hang Nau Market is unlike any other market Diem has ever visited on official work. Located between two rows of old streets, the entrance is only wide enough for two people to avoid each other. The market sells everything from rotten wooden furniture, rusty coins, chipped ceramic statues, to items that the sellers claim are "royal goods", although most connoisseurs know that nine out of ten items are just skillfully restored goods.

But the remaining tenth is, sometimes, the real thing.

Diem had visited this market twice in her life as a museum appraiser, both times in a public capacity, accompanying the appraisal team to confirm some items suspected to be lost antiques, and both times she left with a mixed feeling of contempt and sympathy. The sellers here are not all scammers. There are old men who are just trying to sell a few family heirlooms to cover hospital bills, and there are middle-aged women importing restored goods from craft villages to sell to curious tourists, with nothing to do with any smuggling ring. Only a small corner, deep inside, where the stalls do not display anything noteworthy on the table, is really where the "big" items are mentioned by signals, by roundabout sentences that only people in the profession can understand the true meaning.

Diem wore the simplest outfit in her closet, removed everything that could reveal her identity as an investigator, and carried a faded canvas bag like amateur collectors often carry. Hai walked a few steps away from her, playing the role of an accompanying friend, occasionally stopping to look at a few stalls to keep a natural distance.

They carefully discussed their strategy before entering the market: did not ask directly about the bronze drums, did not mention Go Lang Uyen, just created an excuse to chat, revealing themselves as people who "know the goods", enough for the underground traders to consider them as potential customers, not a threat.

At the fourth stall in the row, a woman in her sixties sat behind a stack of old ceramic plates, her name was Mrs. Mien - the name Diem had heard Hai mention before, one of the few longtime news contacts that the economic police team occasionally exchanged information with, informally, without paperwork, based only on the trusting relationship built over many years.

"What are you looking for?" Mrs. Mien asked, her eyes scanning Diem from head to toe, making a quick assessment the way a long-time salesperson can immediately see who is a regular customer and who is a visiting customer.

"I'm looking for bronze items from the Dong Son period," Diem replied, her voice calm, holding up an antique porcelain plate and rotating it in her hand as if she was actually looking at the goods. "I heard there's been a new batch of beautiful goods arriving recently."

Mrs. Mien's eyes paused for a moment, short enough for the unobservant to miss, long enough for Diem - who is used to reading microscopic details on antique patterns - to immediately recognize.

"Real Dong Son items are very rare now, miss," she said, her voice monotonous, "most of them are now in museums or in the hands of a few big collectors, not coming to this market."

"I heard someone mentioned a special item, large size, rare pattern." Diem put down the plate and lowered her voice a bit. "I'm willing to pay a good price, don't bargain too much."

Mrs. Mien was silent, her hand still quickly wiping dust from the other plate, but her eyes quickly glanced to the sides, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to the conversation. "Who are you that I've never met before?"

"Introduction from an acquaintance," Diem said, a name she and Hai had prepared before entering the market - the name of a real small collector who had bought a few items at this market, who Hai confirmed had no connection to the ring being investigated, safe enough to borrow his name in an idle statement.

Mrs. Mien nodded, seemingly confident, but still kept a careful distance. "I'm not familiar with those big things. But if you really want to find them, I advise you to stop by Hoai Co Duong, on the main street. The owner there plays nice things, knows how to keep valuable customers, and also knows how to keep his mouth shut. Big, rare items often pass through his hands before reaching the final buyer, like a safe shipping station."

"Nostalgia Tang?" Diem asked again, trying to keep her voice as if hearing this name for the first time.

"Yes. It's Mr. Ta, the gallery owner. I heard he often donates items to the state museum. He's very reputable, not a petty smuggler like the rest of us in this market." Mrs. Mien smiled, a smile that was half sincere and half ironic about her own situation. "Just go there, say it was an acquaintance who introduced you, maybe he'll show you the way."

Diem bought the antique porcelain plate at a cheap price, as a gesture to maintain relations, then left the stall and walked a few more rounds of the market before leaving the area, following the script discussed with Hai to avoid attracting attention.

*

Before leaving the market, Diem stopped by another stall in a hidden corner, displaying a few pieces of antique imitation bronze drums that were so skillfully made that if you didn't touch them, it would be difficult to distinguish them from the real thing. The seller, an old man wearing thick glasses, saw her stop and immediately introduced the "three-generation heirloom bronze drum", so confident that Diem had to suppress a smile. She turned the drum over, her fingers ran across the chemically dyed layer of fake rust, feeling the unusual color uniformity - real copper rust never spread evenly like that, it must have dark and light streaks over time of uneven contact with soil and water. She put down the drum, thanked the old man, did not buy, but that detail reminded her of something Master Trac once taught: the best counterfeiter was not the one who was good at creating shapes, but the one who was good at creating reasonable imperfections - because nature itself, when acting on an object for thousands of years, had never worked neatly and regularly.

They met again in a cafe three streets away from the market.

"I heard something useful from two other stalls," Hai said, flipping through his notebook. "An antique painting seller mentioned that recently a 'big customer' asked to buy a certificate of origin for a 'large' item, paying three times the normal price for a full set of origin documents, without any further questions about authenticity. The painting seller refused because he was not capable of making that kind of sophisticated paperwork, saying that this could only be done by 'big places with extensive connections'."

"I just heard a similar name, from a different direction," Diem said, paraphrasing Mrs. Mien.

The two looked at each other, without needing to say anything else, they understood the same thing: two independent news sources, unknown to each other, accidentally pointed to the same address.

"Ta Bach Son," Hai said, lightly tapping his fingers on the table. "I've heard this guy's name before. In the collector world, his reputation is quite clean. He's been in the news a few times for donating antiques to museums, and was invited to speak at a heritage conservation conference last year. If he's involved, this will be a big shock to the entire research community, not just to our investigation team."

"Maybe he wasn't involved at all," Diem said, cautiously. "Antique markets are often rumored, sometimes just because he is famous, has money, and prestige, so any big item passing through this area people immediately think of him as the most convenient explanation."

"That's right. But whether it's a baseless rumor or the truth, we need to meet him to know. The best way, in my opinion, is not to investigate secretly from the beginning." Hai closed his notebook and looked at her. "It was a direct meeting, in the most legal name possible: asking him to examine a specimen related to the Go Lang Uyen case. He is famous, has real expertise, it is not unusual for the Department of Heritage to seek out a reputable collector to seek expert advice in a case that is attracting attention."

Diem nodded, even though she had a vague, uncomfortable feeling in her heart, the feeling of someone about to enter someone's living room with two faces in mind - one that needed to be polite and social, the other that silently observed every smallest detail.

"I'll call ahead and ask for an appointment," she said. "But I want to bring along the piece of copper rust collected in Go Lang Uyen, something that has not been announced to the press, something that only the investigation team and excavation team know. If he gives any details about it that he should not know..."

Hai looked at her and immediately understood what she was about to say without needing to finish the sentence.

"Then we will have the first answer," he continued, "as to whether Mr. Ta Bach Son is a kind expert, or a link in the ring trying to be nice."

Diem looked out the door of the shop, where people were still bustling back and forth on the street, none of them knew that just a few steps away, in the stalls selling fake antiques, there were real stories being exchanged in sign language. She thought of Mrs. Mien, of her quick, wary glance, and wondered if that woman knew she had just pushed the two strangers closer to a truth much greater than she had imagined.

"I'll call this afternoon," she said, standing up. "The longer we wait, the greater the risk of the cock being moved before we can get close."