Chapter 3 — The Lantern That Never Goes Out

Rumors about Han Phat company spread quickly throughout Nguyet Giang ancient town like a small fire caught in the wind, and in just three days it became a topic of discussion in every corner - from Bao Chau's lotus tea shop, where ladies and gentlemen gathered in the morning, to the riverside fish market, where traders exchanged news faster than the media. It is said that this company has provided decorative lights for dozens of large and small festivals across the country, has an industrial-scale factory, can deliver large quantities in just a few weeks, and the price is less than a third of that of handmade silk lights.

Uyen Chi sat in Bao Chau's tea shop one morning and clearly heard the conversation of two women sitting at the next corner.

"I heard that their lights are very beautiful, full of colors, and can even flicker, unlike our silk lights that only have yellow candlelight," one person said.

"Yes, it's cheaper. Buying a dozen plastic lamps is cheaper than one handmade silk lamp. Nowadays, who cares about details, as long as it's beautiful and cheap," the other person replied.

Uyen Chi lowered her eyes and tightened her grip on the teacup handle. Bao Chau, standing behind the counter, glanced at your friend's expression and walked over, placing another plate of banh it on the table, trying to sound gentle.

"Don't pay attention to what people say. You know your people. Every time you hear something new, there's a stir. After a few days, you forget." But even Bao Chau, when he said that sentence, couldn't hide a bit of awkwardness in his voice.

"I don't care about what people say," Uyen Chi replied, "I'm worried about the Management Board actually believing it." She looked out the window, where the flow of people was still as busy as usual, street vendors, bicycles loaded with fruit, and tourists sporadically taking photos next to the ancient tiled roof. "If our silk lamps are only recognized by their price, then the generations of effort our grandparents and parents have put into them will be considered zero."

Bao Chau sat down opposite you, holding your hand. "Then we have to do something to prove it's more than just the price, right? You're the best among the remaining lamp workers on this street, you have to believe it first."

Bao Chau's words were like a ray of warm sunshine amid gloomy days, making Uyen Chi smile slightly, even though her heart was still filled with hundreds of worries. She returned to the factory at noon and saw her father sitting and chatting with two other lamp makers in the street - Uncle Sau Dong, who has been making military lanterns for three generations, and Ms. Nham, the owner of a small factory specializing in making zodiac-shaped lamps for children. The atmosphere in the yard was heavier than usual.

"If the Management Board really signs a contract with Han Phat, we will lose this year's festival," Uncle Sau Dong said, his voice frustrated. "For many years, festive lights have been the main source of income for our whole village. Without this, how will we survive for the rest of the year?"

"It's not certain they signed," Mr. Khoan said, trying to keep his voice calm even though everyone could clearly see the worry in his eyes. "Mr. Minh just said he was considering it."

"Looking at it, last week I saw several large trucks stop by the Management Board headquarters, carrying several boxes of sample goods, with the word Han Phat printed in large letters on the side of the truck," Ms. Nham said, her voice filled with frustration. "Considering why they brought samples, they must have negotiated in advance. Maybe the contract is almost finished."

Hearing that, Uyen Chi felt like there was a heavy rock pressing on her chest. She entered the yard and contributed. "So we can't sit still and wait. We have to do something, at least we have to speak up, we have to show the Management Board that handmade silk lamps cannot be replaced that easily."

"How to speak up?" Uncle Sau Dong asked, his voice still skeptical. "We are just a few small businesses, we don't have any say in such big things."

Uyen Chi was silent for a moment, her mind racing to find an answer, but she really didn't have any specific plan. She only knew one thing for sure — waiting silently was not an option. "I don't know exactly what to do yet," she said honestly, "but I know if I don't do anything, everything will definitely be lost. At least try."

That afternoon, after the guests left, Uyen Chi sat alone at the drawing table, trying to concentrate on her work, but her mind was filled with confused thoughts. She looked around the workshop, looked at the lamps hanging on the walls, each bearing the unique mark of a human hand - here a brush stroke was slightly askew because the hand was shaking when painting, there a slat line was slightly curved because the bamboo had not been processed perfectly. Those small defects, instead of reducing value, are what make each lamp unique, no two are alike, different from the absolute uniformity of industrial products.

She remembered a sentence her grandmother once said, recorded in a notebook: "Plastic lamps can shine evenly and never go out, but silk lamps have soul, because in each silk lamp there is the breathing of the person who made it." Uyen Chi suddenly had a thought. If people cannot see the difference between silk lamps and plastic lamps through words, perhaps they need to see with their own eyes and touch the process of creating a lamp, to understand that behind each product is a story, a passion that cannot be measured in money.

That night, Uyen Chi discussed this idea with her father. "I think, instead of just waiting for the Management Board to decide, we should proactively do something to let people see the true value of silk lamps. We can organize a lamp-making demonstration right on the street, allowing tourists and people in the street to see firsthand the process, from splitting spokes to finishing painting."

Mr. Khoan pondered for a long time, then nodded. "That's a good idea, son. But to do it, we need the consensus of the whole village. Our workshop alone is not enough to create a big reputation. Besides, we need space, we need time to prepare, and time is running out."

"I know," Uyen Chi said, her eyes determined. "But if I don't start now, it will be more difficult later on. I will go talk to Uncle Sau, Miss Nham, and other households to see if anyone agrees to do it together."

That night, after everything in the factory was finished, Uyen Chi did not go to bed immediately but sat by the riverbank, where she often went when she needed to think clearly. The moonlight at the beginning of the month was still half gone, reflecting shimmeringly on the gently rippling water surface. She looked towards the ancient rooftops close together, imagining the street lit up with lanterns every festival, the scene of children holding star lanterns running around the alleys, the scene of tourists admiring the ancient beauty mixed with warmth of a street that still retains its ancient soul.

If those images were replaced by lifeless flashing LED lights, no matter how brilliant, would Nguyet Giang ancient town still be itself? Uyen Chi asked herself, then answered with the determination growing in her heart. Are not. Definitely don't let that happen.

She stood up, brushed off her shirt, and walked back to the workshop with a new determination. On the way home, she passed by a few other factories whose lights were still on even though it was late at night—a pottery factory, a mat weaving factory, all of which were in a similar state of anxiety as her lamp factory. She stopped in front of the pottery workshop, where an old craftsman was diligently shaping small vases, the oil lamplight casting his long shadow on the ground.

"Are you still awake working at this hour?" she asked, stopping by to say hello.

The old worker looked up, recognized her, and nodded back. "Yes, let's try to finish a few orders. I'm afraid that in the near future no one will order handmade ceramics anymore. We have to take advantage while there are still customers."

That sentence was like a knife cutting into Uyen Chi's heart. Not only the lamp industry, but also other handicrafts in the old town are facing similar risks, facing the wave of "modernization" that is waiting to swallow traditional values cultivated over many generations. She is even more determined that this fight is not just for the Van Nguyet workshop, but for a whole community of craftsmen trying to keep the soul of the old town.

Returning home, Uyen Chi saw his father still awake, sitting at the table with his grandmother's notebook open in front of him, the oil lamplight illuminating his face with deep wrinkles of worry and nostalgia.

"Are you reading grandma's notebook?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

Mr. Khoan nodded, his voice hoarse. "I want to learn more about what my mother went through. Maybe, maybe there's something in her past that can help me deal with what's happening now." He pointed to a page where there was a short paragraph about the "twisted frame technique" that his grandmother had tried, but did not specify the results. "Do you see this part? It sounds like she once had an invention about weaving frames, but somehow gave up."

Uyen Chi bent down to read the passage her father had pointed out, a feeling of curiosity and nervousness rising in her heart. Perhaps, the answer for the present lies right in the past that her family has never really understood. And she knew she would have to find out that truth, not just out of curiosity, but because her intuition told her that it was closely related to what was happening right now.