Chapter 1 — The Light Keeper at the Sea Gate

The ballasted pickup truck bumped through the last stretch of dirt road leading to Cua Vong Cape, leaving behind a trail of red dust that faded in the afternoon sunlight. Vu Hoai An sat in the passenger seat, clutching a briefcase in his hand, his eyes not taking his eyes off the scene unfolding before him - a tall white lighthouse standing tall on a cliff protruding into the sea, below was a small fishing village with undulating roofs nestled on the sandy shore.

"We're there," the driver, a local fisherman hired to take her from town, said as he stopped in front of a small slope leading up to the lighthouse. "From here you have to walk up, the car can't get up there."

Hoai An thanked him, got out of the car, dragging a small suitcase containing personal belongings and a bag full of measuring equipment, a tablet, and a stack of technical records of the entire lighthouse system along the Central Coast. The sea breeze blew strongly, carrying a familiar salty taste, making her tied hair flutter in the air.

She stood still for a moment, looking at the lighthouse from afar. This is the first time she has undertaken an independent survey mission for the project of automating the entire lighthouse system - a major project of the Maritime Administration to replace lightkeepers with modern sensors, significantly cutting operating costs along the country's coast. Cua Vong was the first station on the list of twenty-three lighthouses she needed to survey in the next six months.

"What are you doing standing there in a daze?" A voice rang out behind him, causing Hoai An to turn around in surprise. It was a middle-aged woman, with a small but sturdy figure, carrying a pair of baskets full of freshly caught fish on her shoulders.

"Yes, I... I'm looking at the lighthouse," Hoai An replied, a bit confused. "I'm Hoai An, an engineer from the Maritime Administration, sent here to survey."

The woman, whose name Hoai An later learned was Mrs. Tu Nhan, squinted at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. "Ah, are you the one from the province who came down to measure that automation thing? The whole village heard the news last week. Khoi probably won't be happy."

"Koi?" Hoai An asked again, not understanding clearly.

"That lightkeeper on the lighthouse," Ms. Tu Nhan pointed up to the white tower. "Be careful, he's not easy to approach, especially with someone who brings automation."

After saying that, she continued to carry the fish towards the village, leaving Hoai An standing there with a vague feeling of anxiety creeping into her heart. She looked back at the slope leading up to the lighthouse, took a deep breath, then started walking, dragging her luggage with her.

The road to the lighthouse was steep and rough, on both sides were wild bushes growing between rocks, and occasionally there were a few wild goats grazing in bewilderment, watching her pass by. After nearly twenty minutes of climbing, sweat soaked the back of his shirt, Hoai An finally reached the foot of the lighthouse.

Up close, the structure was even more impressive than she expected — a white-painted cylindrical tower, about thirty meters high, with red lines running around near the top, where the main lights were located. Next to the tower is a small house built of stone with a mossy tile roof, clearly having existed for many decades.

Hoai An knocked on the door of the house, but there was no answer. She knocked again, then looked around and discovered a figure standing at the top of the tower, leaning on the iron railing, looking out to sea. From a distance, she could only recognize that he was a tall man with a solid appearance and slightly long hair covering his forehead.

"Hello!" she called out, raising her hand to wave. "I'm Vu Hoai An, from the Maritime Department!"

The man at the top of the tower did not respond immediately, just stood still for a long time looking down at her, then slowly turned around and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, footsteps sounded on the spiral staircase inside the tower, and the heavy wooden door of the stone house opened.

The person standing in front of her had an angular face, tanned skin typical of someone who had lived by the sea for a long time, and dark eyes with an indescribable distance and reserve. He wore a faded shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the calluses on his arms.

"What did you come for?" he asked, his voice not at all friendly, his eyes scanning her suitcase and equipment bag with a questioning look.

"I'm Vu Hoai An," she repeated, trying to keep her voice professional even though she was somewhat confused by that cold attitude. "I was sent by the Maritime Administration to survey the technical condition of Cua Vong lighthouse, serving the project to modernize the lighthouse system. I contacted the control station in advance, surely you have received the notification?"

"I got it," the man replied curtly. He stood blocking the door, not intending to invite her in. "But I don't think there's anything that needs to be investigated here. The lighthouse is still working well, the lights are still on every night."

"This is a mandatory process for all lighthouse stations nationwide," Hoai An explained, trying to be patient. "Not because there is any problem with your station, but as part of the overall modernization plan. I need about one to two weeks to complete the measurements, test the equipment, and record the data."

"One to two weeks," he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes filled with a wariness that she didn't understand the reason for. "Okay. You can stay in the living room in the station house, at the foot of the tower. But I'll say it first, I don't have much time to help you. My job as a lightkeeper doesn't allow me to be negligent."

"I understand," Hoai An replied, feeling somewhat relieved that he at least agreed to let her stay. "I will try not to disturb your work."

He nodded curtly, turned and walked inside, leaving the door open for her to follow. Hoai An entered the stone house, the space inside was simple but surprisingly neat - an old wooden table, a few chairs, a bookshelf filled with maritime notebooks, and on the wall hung a few marine maps that had yellowed over time.

“The living room is in the back,” he said, pointing to a small door. "The bathroom and kitchen are shared. My name is Khoi, if you need to know."

"Thank you, Mr. Khoi," Hoai An replied, trying to give a friendly smile even though the other person did not respond with the same attitude. "I hope we can cooperate well during my time here."

Khoi didn't answer, just looked at her for a moment with unpredictable eyes, then turned and walked out, perhaps to return to his daily work. Hoai An stood in the small room, watching his figure disappear behind the door. Her heart was filled with a feeling of both curiosity and a little insecurity before this strange, closed man - the one that Mrs. Tu Nhan had warned her about from the first minute.

She put down her suitcase, stepped out onto the porch, looking out at the vast ocean stretching out before her eyes, the waves crashing against the rocks at the foot of the lighthouse. In the distance, the sunset began to dye the sky orange, and she wondered what made a young man like Khoi choose to live a lonely life like this, between the sea and the lamp, completely separated from the outside world.

That evening, when night fell, Hoai An sat in the small living room arranged for him, opened his laptop to begin drafting a detailed survey plan for the coming days. Through the small window, she could see the strong beam of light from the lighthouse sweeping steadily across the dark sea, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heart beating in the middle of the sea.

She recalled the task assignment meeting at the Maritime Administration before leaving, where Ho Trong Nghia, head of the project department, emphasized the importance of completing on schedule. "This is a pilot project," he said, looking sternly at her across the conference table. "If Cua Vong is successful, we will expand it to all twenty-three remaining stations. The budget is constantly being cut, do you understand, Hoai An? We cannot maintain this model of having guards at each station forever."

At that time, Hoai An only saw this as a purely technical task, a problem of operational efficiency, cost, and technology. But now, sitting amidst the sound of the waves and the light of the lighthouse sweeping back and forth outside, she began to sense something much more complicated than the numbers in the report.

She stood up, walked out onto the porch, looked up at the top of the tower where the lights were still shining steadily. In the distance, she glimpsed Khoi's silhouette standing there, alone in the middle of the night, as if he was guarding something greater than the daily work of a lightkeeper.

"I don't know how long I'll last here," she muttered to herself, pulling her coat tighter against the cold sea breeze blowing at night, then turned back inside, preparing for a strange first night on this lonely cape.