Chapter 8 — The Lantern That Never Goes Out

Since that afternoon by the river, Thien Vu spent more and more time at the Van Nguyet workshop, not only because of his work recording documents for the festival, but also because he really wanted to relearn the lamp-making techniques that he had only been exposed to in a secret and sneaky way in his childhood. Mr. Khoan, although initially keeping his distance, gradually began to teach him the most basic things, from how to safely hold a knife to split bamboo, to how to recognize the moisture content of silk before stretching the frame.

"You're holding the knife the wrong way," Mr. Khoan said, when he saw Thien Vu struggling with the bamboo splitting knife in the first lesson, his fingers shaking for fear of cutting his hand. "You don't have to use the strength of your wrist, but you have to use the force of your arm to push the knife in a straight line, so that the bamboo splits evenly without warping."

Thien Vu followed the instructions, although the first strokes were still clumsy, the slats split unevenly, some thick and some thin. But he was not discouraged, patiently tried again and again, sweat beading on his forehead even though the air in the workshop was not hot at all. Uyen Chi sat watching from afar, doing her work, and couldn't help but notice Thien Vu's attentiveness and intense concentration every time he tried to perfect a new skill.

"You have talent," she commented after seeing Thien Vu gradually split the bars relatively evenly. "Many people have studied for a month and still can't get used to that kind of hand strength."

"Maybe because I still have something left in me from my grandfather's professional blood," Thien Vu smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Even though he passed away before I was born, sometimes I wonder if some things are still passed down through generations, even if I'm not taught them directly."

That sentence made Mr. Khoan pause for a moment, his eyes flashed with something complicated that Uyen Chi could not read completely clearly. But he said nothing more, just continued to guide Thien Vu with undiminished devotion.

In the following days, Thien Vu gradually learned more about the process of weaving the frame, about how to arrange the bamboo slats in the desired shape, and about the technique of fixing with rattan rope so that it is both sturdy and does not damage the fragile outer bamboo shell. He also began to learn how to mix colors and how to use a brush to draw basic strokes, although his drawing skills were far from reaching the sophistication of Uyen Chi or Mr. Khoan.

One afternoon, while the two were sitting next to each other at the drawing table, Thien Vu accidentally spilled a little watercolor on his sleeve, making them both laugh. Uyen Chi gave him a cloth to wipe. Meanwhile, her eyes accidentally stopped on the colorful streaks on his fingers, no different from the familiar streaks of color on her own hands every day.

"Your hands now look like those of a real lampmaker," she teased, causing Thien Vu to look down at his hands with interest.

“I like this feeling,” he said, his voice sincere. "The feeling of creating something with my own hands, little by little, slowly but surely. My previous job as an event organizer was always rushed, rushing, finishing one event and immediately rushing into another, without having time to stop and enjoy the process."

Uyen Chi nodded, understanding the feeling he was talking about. For her, making lamps is not only a way to make a living, but also a way for her to connect with the memory of her grandmother, so that every day she feels like she is continuing a long story that has never ended.

"Have you ever thought about not returning to your father's company, but pursuing this path entirely?" she asked, the question coming out naturally before she could even consider whether to ask or not.

Thien Vu pondered for a moment, then put down his brush. "I don't know anymore. Since I was little, I was always expected to follow in my father's footsteps and take over Han Phat company. But the older I get, the more I feel like I don't belong there, I don't belong in the mass production lines, the meetings discussing profits and market share." He looked around the workshop, his eyes glancing at the lamps hanging everywhere, each with a unique look. "Here, I feel like I've found a part that was long forgotten."

Uyen Chi was silent, not knowing how to respond to that sincerity. She looked at Thien Vu and saw in his eyes a real tension between family responsibility and the calling of her own heart. She understands that feeling, because she herself has spent nights worrying about whether she is living in her grandmother's large shadow, whether she can truly find her own voice in the lamp making profession or is she just repeating what her predecessors did.

"Maybe," she said after a long silence, "the answer doesn't have to be obvious right now. Sometimes, you just need to go step by step, do what feels right in the moment, and the path will present itself."

Thien Vu looked at her, a smile gradually appeared on his lips, warm and somewhat relieved. "You're right. Maybe I was thinking too much about the distant future, forgetting that the present is what I can grasp."

That afternoon ended with the two completing a small lamp, combining the traditional frame weaving technique of Van Nguyet workshop and a few modern touches proposed by Thien Vu, inspired by motifs he had seen in previous design projects. The result is a lamp with a look that is both familiar and new, making even Mr. Khoan nod in praise when he saw it.

"Not bad," he said, picking up the lamp to examine it in the late afternoon light. "It's a little different from what my workshop usually does, but still retains the soul inside. The two of you cooperate quite well."

Uyen Chi and Thien Vu looked at each other, both could not hide their smiles at that compliment. In that moment, even though the dark clouds of the threat from the Han Phat company were still hovering over the horizon, even though the secret of the old enmity between the two families had not yet been completely deciphered, right here, in the small workshop filled with the smell of bamboo and silk, something good and new was gradually being cultivated, slowly but surely, like the way people build a complete lamp from the original fragmented slats.

That night, after Thien Vu left, Uyen Chi sat alone at the drawing table, looking at the lamp they had just completed under the light of an oil lamp. She gently rotated the lamp, observing the way the light shined through the thin layer of silk, creating streaks of light on the wall following the pattern that Thien Vu had drawn. There was something in that combination that made her feel both strange and familiar, as if this lamp was telling a new story, not quite the story of Van Nguyet workshop alone, nor quite the story of Han Phat company, but something in between, something that had never existed before.

She remembered what Mr. Khoan said that afternoon, about the two of them "cooperating quite well", and wondered if her father had noticed something changing in her heart. From the day Thien Vu appeared, the afternoons in the factory were no longer just hours of quiet, hard work alone as before, but became more bustling, with laughter, stories being told, and even moments of silence that still felt strangely warm.

She stood up, brought the newly completed lamp and hung it in a small corner near the window, where the moonlight could shine through on clear nights. Looking at the lamp swaying gently in the night breeze flowing through the door, Uyen Chi suddenly thought of her grandmother, of the unfinished story between her and Mr. Han Ba Vinh that she was still trying to piece together. If grandmother were still alive, what would she think when she saw her granddaughter gradually developing feelings for the grandson of the man who once made her so heartbroken? That question made her heart sink a bit, but then she thought to herself, perhaps this relationship is the way for old wounds to be healed, instead of continuing forever in silence.

She turned off the oil lamp and prepared to go upstairs to rest, but before leaving the workshop, she lingered a while longer, looking at the long row of lamps hanging on the wall in the dim darkness, each one like a silent witness to the changes taking place in her life. Outside, the chirping sounds of insects mixed with the gently lapping sound of river water created a soft lullaby, putting her to sleep in a rare state of both restlessness and peace.

The next morning, when Uyen Chi woke up, she saw her father already sitting in the yard, holding the lamp that she and Thien Vu made together last night, his eyes looking at it with an indescribable pensive expression. "You put this lamp in the corner of the window?" he asked when he saw her coming out. "I went out to the yard early and saw the first sunlight shining through it. It was so strangely beautiful that I couldn't stop looking at it."

"What do you think, father?" Uyen Chi asked, sitting down next to her, picking up the cup of tea her father had just poured.

"I think," Mr. Khoan said slowly, "perhaps it's time for our workshop to need a breath of fresh air, not to replace what your grandmother left behind, but to continue it in a different way, more suitable for the current times. You and Mr. Vu, you two work together, I see something very compatible, not only in terms of workmanship." He glanced at his daughter, his eyes were both searching and affectionate, causing Uyen Chi to blush, quickly bowing her head to drink tea to hide her confusion, even though in her heart, she knew her father had seen through what she had not yet dared to admit to herself.