Chapter 26 — The Lantern That Never Goes Out

In the days after the official decision of the Management Board, Nguyet Giang ancient town entered the most exciting preparation period of the year for the official Mid-Autumn Festival, with only two weeks left until the full moon night. The atmosphere now was completely different from the previous anxious weeks — no more reticence, no more fear of being oppressed, but instead an excitement and pride spreading throughout every small alley.

Van Nguyet Workshop became one of the main coordination points for preparations. Uyen Chi, now considered by many other craft households as a natural leader, spends most of her time helping smaller workshops perfect their products, sharing experience in silk stretching and color mixing techniques that she previously only kept within the family.

"Aren't you afraid that people will learn all your secrets and compete with your factory?" One afternoon, Ms. Nham jokingly asked when she saw Uyen Chi enthusiastically instructing a family who had just started learning the craft of making lamps.

Uyen Chi smiled and shook her head. "Don't be afraid to share this profession, miss. The more people know, the more people love, the more chance the new profession has to live long. My grandmother once said, keeping secrets to yourself will only make the profession die with you. Sharing it is the only way for the profession to survive."

Han Phat Company, as committed, has begun implementing a material support program for craft households, providing a portion of silk, bamboo, and lamp painting materials for free through a newly established support fund, named "Anh Dang Nguyet Giang Fund", proposed and initially funded by Mr. Vuong himself. Thien Vu was assigned to be directly in charge of this fund, regularly present at craft workshops to grasp actual needs, and ensure support sources reach the right places where they are needed.

"I'm still not used to seeing the name Han Phat company appear in such a friendly form," Bao Chau joked during a visit to the factory, looking at the small sign with information about the support fund solemnly hung in the corner of the yard. "It's only been a few weeks and so much has changed."

"Sometimes, if only one person dares to change first, an entire system can change as well," Uyen Chi replied, her eyes looking into the distance, where Thien Vu was busy recording material needs for a nearby mat-weaving household.

One morning, Mr. Khoan, although his health was still limited, decided to personally visit each workshop in the city, something he had not been able to do for many years because his hands were no longer steady and also because he was shy in front of pitying eyes. But this time, he walked with a completely different posture, his head held high, a bright smile on his lips as he chatted with his old colleagues.

"It's been a long time since I've seen him visiting the streets like that," Mr. Bay Tuyen said when meeting Mr. Khoan in his yard, the two old friends sat down to drink tea and review old stories. "You look much better."

"I feel like I'm alive again," Mr. Khoan replied, his voice filled with vitality. "For many years, I thought I was just a burden to my daughter and couldn't help much. But now looking back, I realize that sometimes, just passing on the fire of passion to the next generation is already a big contribution."

In the afternoon, when Uyen Chi and Thien Vu went to check the progress of preparations at the river wharf area, where the official festival would take place, both could not help but be overwhelmed by the much larger scale than the previous night of the parade of lights. The Management Board has mobilized additional manpower to build a large stage and install a professional sound system, while still maintaining the spirit of honoring craftsmanship as the focus.

"Only two weeks left," Thien Vu said, looking around at the construction site that was gradually taking shape, his voice was both excited and a little worried. "I hope everything will be completed on schedule."

"There will be time," Uyen Chi replied, holding his hand with confidence that had been forged through many challenges she had just gone through. "After all we have overcome, I believe, there is no difficulty that this community cannot solve together."

They stood there, looking at the scene of the riverbank being gradually decorated, imagining the official festival night that would take place in the next two weeks, a festival night where now, no one in Nguyet Giang ancient town had to fear that it would lose its identity, but only eagerly waited for the moment when all the efforts and sacrifices would be rewarded with the most brilliant night ever.

On the way back, they stopped by the area being set up as an exhibition space for the history of lamp craft that Thien Vu had proposed. Several large panels have been framed, waiting to be filled with images and documents. A group of culture students from the city, at the invitation of Thien Vu, are diligently interviewing elderly artisans, recording each story and each traditional technique before they are in danger of being forgotten over time.

"Miss Uyen Chi," a young student waved when he saw her passing by, "we are taking notes about the Cuu Lien lamp, can you tell us more about the meaning of each layer of lotus petals?"

Uyen Chi smiled, sat down next to the group of students, and recounted in detail the meaning of the nine layers of lotus petals, about the colors gradually changing from light to dark symbolizing a person's journey to adulthood, and about the hand-painting technique that requires absolute patience that her grandmother had diligently researched for many years. The group of students attentively took notes, occasionally marveling at details they had never known.

Thien Vu stood watching from afar, a deep happiness rose in his heart when witnessing that scene. He realized that the exhibition project he initiated was not simply a decoration item for the festival, but was actually becoming a bridge, helping to preserve and transmit precious cultural values to the young generation, who will continue to write the story of Nguyet Giang ancient town in the future.

"Thank you," Uyen Chi said as they continued walking after the conversation with the group of students, "for coming up with this idea. I never thought that telling the story of my profession could touch so many people."

"I just gave an idea," Thien Vu replied, modestly. "It's you and the other artists who really make that story come alive, worth listening to."

That evening, when Uyen Chi returned to the factory, she received an unexpected call from an unfamiliar phone number. On the other end of the line was a representative of a provincial cultural heritage conservation organization, who offered to survey Van Nguyet workshop and a number of other craft households in the city, to consider the possibility of recognizing Nguyet Giang's handmade lantern making profession as an intangible cultural heritage that needs to be protected.

"We have followed your story through the media," the representative said over the phone, his voice full of respect. "We believe that this is a typical case of the community standing up to protect its heritage, which is worthy of recognition and support at a higher level."

Uyen Chi hung up the phone and stood silently for a long time, unable to believe what she had just heard. She quickly ran upstairs to tell her father the news and found him reading her grandmother's diary under the light of a small table lamp.

"Dad, there's great news!" she said, her voice unable to hide her excitement. When he heard his daughter tell the whole story, Mr. Khoan was silent for a moment, then burst into laughter, a hearty laugh that has rarely appeared in recent years.

"If this comes true," he said, his voice shaking with emotion, "this will be the greatest gift I can give to my grandmother, to all the artisans who have silently preserved this craft for generations. Not just saving a season, but protecting a legacy for generations to come."

Uyen Chi sat down next to her father. They both flipped through Tuyet Nga's diary, re-reading the notes about technique, about failures before success, and about the love she devoted to each lamp. "I think," she said, her voice deep and thoughtful, "if the conservation organization really comes to survey, I should propose to officially name the double helix frame technique 'Tuyet Nga - Ba Vinh technique', to recognize the merits of both people, just like what they created together in the beginning."

Mr. Khoan looked at his daughter, his eyes filled with approval and a pride that was hard to describe in words. "That's a beautiful idea, my child. If my mother and father were still alive, she would definitely agree with you. She has never been a person who holds resentment, she just needs time, needs a next generation to be brave enough to do what she could not accomplish on her own while she was alive."

That night, father and son sat together for a long time, planning the upcoming survey, reviewing every memory of Mrs. Tuyet Nga, feeling a deeper connection than ever between the three generations of the family. Even though the deceased is no longer present, the spirit and legacy she left behind continue to light the way for those who remain.