Chapter 2 — The Man Behind the Rain in Old Street

The next morning, Bao Ngoc arrived at the editorial office earlier than usual, sat in front of the computer, and typed into the search box of the newspaper's digitized archive: "missing Yen Lang Old Town." The editorial archive has only fully indexed articles from the past twenty years, which means that if the disappearance really happened thirty years ago as Ms. Hoa suggests, she will need to find the microfilm archive in the basement, where old issues that have not yet been digitized are kept.

"What are you looking for?" Bui Thanh Son, photojournalist and close friend of Bao Ngoc, asked as he passed by her desk, holding a hot cup of coffee in his hand.

"I think the legend of the white shadow in Yen Lang Old Town is not just a simple folk tale," Bao Ngoc replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "There could be a real disappearance behind it, from about thirty years ago."

Thanh Son raised his eyebrows, pulled out a chair and sat down next to her, curiosity clearly visible on his face. "That sounds a lot more interesting than a typical ghost article. Do you need any help?"

"I need to go down to the microfilm archive in the basement," Bao Ngoc said. "Can you come with me? I think it'll take us all morning to search."

The microfilm archive is located deep in the building's basement, a damp room rarely visited, filled with boxes of roll film arranged by year on high iron shelves. Bao Ngoc and Thanh Son spent nearly three hours, in turn looking up each roll of film from the years they estimated could match the disappearance.

Near noon, when both of them began to feel tired and discouraged, Thanh Son suddenly shouted. "Found it!" He pointed to the microfilm reader screen, where a short news item, just a few lines, appeared modestly on the inside page of an issue from thirty years ago.

Bao Ngoc leaned forward and skimmed the content, her heart beating faster. The news post reads: "Ms. Vuong Thi Nhat Lan, 19 years old, residing in Yen Lang Old Town, was reported missing on the night of the 15th day of the 7th lunar month. Her family and authorities are conducting a search. Anyone with information please contact..." The news post has no other details, no photos, and no follow-up posts.

"Vuong Thi Nhat Lan," Bao Ngoc repeated the name, feeling a strange coincidence. "Vuong... is that Nhat Quang's last name?"

"The bookstore owner you met yesterday?" Thanh Son asked, piecing together the details. "Do you think they're related?"

"I'm not sure, but I will find out," Bao Ngoc replied, her voice filled with determination, taking a screenshot of the message with her phone to store as evidence. "The night of the 15th day of the 7th lunar month — the full moon of the 7th month, exactly as the legend describes. This cannot be a coincidence."

***

In the afternoon, Bao Ngoc returned to Yen Lang Old Town, this time with a much clearer purpose than the first trip. She walked straight to the Late Night Light bookstore and found Nhat Quang rearranging a stack of newly imported books.

"Mr. Quang," she called, her voice trying to remain calm even though she was tense inside. "I have a question, I hope you answer honestly."

Nhat Quang stopped, turned back to look at her, his eyes were slightly alert. "What do you want to ask?"

"Are you Vuong Thi Nhat Lan's younger brother?"

That question was like a direct blow, making Nhat Quang's face turn visibly pale. He stood still for a long moment, his hands clasped tightly around the stack of books he was holding, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"How did you find it?" he asked, his voice lowered, no longer the avoidance like before, but instead a fatigue that had been weighing him down for a long time.

"I found an old piece of news in the editorial archives," Bao Ngoc replied, her voice softer, realizing she was touching a deep wound. "I'm sorry if this question hurts your feelings, but I believe there is something more than a folk legend behind this story, and I want to find out the truth."

Nhat Quang invited her to sit down on an old wooden chair next to the bookshelf. He himself sat down opposite, his eyes looking far away as if lost in a painful memory that had been buried for many years. "Nhat Lan is my older sister," he said, his voice slow, each word heavy. "She went missing when I was seven years old. I still remember that night, it was raining heavily, she said she would go out for a while and then return, but she never came back again."

"How did your family search for her?" Bao Ngoc asked, her voice full of empathy.

"My parents searched for many years, reported it to the police, posted notices everywhere, but there were no clues," Nhat Quang said, his voice choking. "Gradually, the police concluded that she may have left on her own accord, perhaps because of a love affair that was not accepted by her family, or because of life pressures. But my parents never believed that. My sister is a very responsible person, there is no way she would leave without saying goodbye, especially to me."

"What about the legend of the white shadow?" Bao Ngoc asked softly, gauging his reaction.

Nhat Quang smiled bitterly, a smile containing a lot of bitterness. "That legend started emerging just a few months after she disappeared," he said. "At first, I hated that story, because I felt it turned my family's real pain into a cheap entertainment story for people to talk about and gossip about. But later, I began to wonder if someone had intentionally created that legend, to hide something."

Bao Ngoc felt an electric current run down his spine at that hypothesis. "Who do you think could have done it? And why?"

Nhat Quang was silent for a long time, his eyes looked out the window, towards the distant iron gate of the Ton family mansion. "I don't have any proof," he said finally, his voice cautious. "But my sister, before she disappeared, was working in that mansion, learning tailoring from the workers in the house. And after she disappeared, the Ton family never once came to ask, never contributed a word of comfort, even though she worked for them for nearly a year."

That suspicious silence from the most powerful family on the street made Bao Ngoc feel her heart beat faster. She realizes that the investigation that seemed to be just a light cultural report has now become a complicated journey to find the truth, possibly related to one of the most powerful families in the city.

"Do you still keep any souvenirs of Ms. Nhat Lan?" Bao Ngoc asked, trying to get more information as delicately as possible.

Nhat Quang nodded, stood up and walked into the inner room, returning a moment later with a small old wooden box, covered with the dust of time. "Here's what's left," he said, placing the box on the table and carefully opening the lid. Inside were a few simple pieces of jewelry, a worn leather notebook, and a few yellowed black and white photos.

Bao Ngoc picked up a photo, which showed a young girl with a delicate face and a radiant smile, standing in front of the house that is now the Late Night Light bookstore. "She's so beautiful," she said softly, feeling a deep sadness rising in her heart even though she had never met the person in the photo.

"My sister has always been an optimistic person who loves life," Nhat Quang said, his voice filled with a lot of nostalgia. "She dreams of opening her own tailor shop after finishing her vocational training. She often tells me about the ao dai designs she is learning to make, and about the good workers in the mansion who taught her."

"What is this notebook?" Bao Ngoc asked, pointing to the leather-covered notebook.

"That's my diary," Nhat Quang replied, his voice low. "I've read it over and over again countless times over the past twenty years, looking for any clues that might explain what happened. But the last pages, right before the night she disappeared, were torn out."

"Torn?" Bao Ngoc asked, her voice full of attention. "Do you think someone ripped those pages out on purpose?"

"I don't know," Nhat Quang admitted, his voice filled with helplessness. "Maybe she tore herself for some reason, or maybe someone else did it. That's what's tormented me all these years — I don't have enough clues to know anything for sure."

Bao Ngoc carefully flipped through the diary, skimming the last few remaining pages. The neatly handwritten lines talk about learning to sew, about friends in the mansion, but there are also a few vague, anxious passages, mentioning "a secret I accidentally learned" and "I'm afraid if I tell it, it will cause big trouble." Those words did not clearly mention what the secret was, but were enough to arouse a serious doubt in Bao Ngoc's heart.

"Would you allow me to borrow this diary to study it further?" she asked, her voice cautious, understanding the great emotional value of this keepsake to Nhat Quang.

Nhat Quang hesitated for a moment, his eyes filled with conflict between the fear of losing his sister's last memento and the faint hope that the truth could finally be found. "Okay," he said finally, his voice determined. "But please take good care of it. This is all that's left of my sister."

"I promise to cherish it," Bao Ngoc replied, taking the diary with both hands, clearly feeling the weight of responsibility placed on her shoulders. She looked at Nhat Quang, her eyes filled with new determination. "I will find out the truth about what happened to your sister, I promise you that."