Chapter 28 — The Man Behind the Rain in Old Street

One year has passed since Minh Nguyet was born, Yen Lang Old Town entered its annual festival season, a new cultural event organized by the city for the first time since the street was officially recognized as an urban heritage area. The festival, called "Old Town Night," recreates the traditional living atmosphere of the street over the decades, with craft stalls, folk art performances, and especially, a special exhibition at the Ton family mansion museum, displaying the entire journey to find the truth about Nhat Lan.

Bao Ngoc, now a veteran writer followed by many young colleagues, was invited to be the main speaker at the opening seminar of the festival, sharing his journey from a reportage about folk legends to breaking a thirty-year-old secret.

"Sometimes, stories that seem to be just legends, just folk tales, contain profound truths that we have never dared to imagine," she said to the large crowd gathered in the small square in front of the mansion. "The job of a journalist, sometimes, is not just to report news, but also to listen to the things that history deliberately wants us to forget."

Minh Nguyet, now able to take her first steps, was carried by Nhat Quang in her arms, standing in the front row, her eyes wide and bewildered, looking at her mother who was speaking on the small stage. Occasionally, the girl would clap her hands along with the applause of the crowd, making many people around her laugh affectionately.

After the discussion, the small family walked around the festival's stalls together, stopping by the stall of Mrs. Bay Lieu, who this year was invited to demonstrate how to make the street's traditional tea for visitors. "I've been brewing this tea forty years," she said to a group of young tourists who were watching curiously, her hand quickly pouring boiling water into an old terracotta pot. "The secret lies in the water temperature and incubation time, you can't rush it."

Mr. Tuan, now officially fully retired after many years working in the police force, volunteered to be a guide for the exhibition about the street's history, retelling each story with a passion rarely seen at his age. When Bao Ngoc and his family stopped by, he was passionately telling a group of students about the investigation process of that year's case.

"This is the person who helped turn the entire case over after thirty years," he said, pointing towards Bao Ngoc when he recognized her appearance, causing the whole group of students to turn to look at her with admiring eyes.

"Miss, are you afraid to investigate such a dangerous case?" a student asked, his voice full of curiosity.

Bao Ngoc smiled and sat down at eye level with the boy. "Are you scared?" she replied honestly. "But I think, sometimes, the truth is more important than your own fear. If everyone is afraid and stays silent, wrongs will never be righted."

Leaving the exhibition area, the family stopped by the small booth that Nhat Quang and the Late Night bookstore set up right in the middle of the festival, displaying and selling books about the history and culture of Yen Lang Old Town, in addition to Bao Ngoc's own publications. Many tourists stopped and curiously flipped through the pages of the book. Many realized the author was standing right in front of them and asked for an autograph.

"I didn't expect the booth to be so crowded," Nhat Quang said, taking the opportunity to wipe away his sweat while waiting for the next batch of customers. "Perhaps this festival has brought a new wave of interest to the history of our street."

"That's the best thing," Bao Ngoc replied, helping her husband rearrange the newly added stack of books. "Not only is it a nostalgia for the past, but also a way for the younger generation to understand and appreciate the values that this street has preserved through many ups and downs."

In the midst of the busyness, an older woman walked up to the booth, her hands trembling as she picked up a book by Bao Ngoc, her eyes filled with emotion. “I am a distant cousin of the Vuong family,” she said, her voice choked up. "For many years, my family has always wondered what happened to Nhat Lan. Thank you for helping us find the answer, even if it was late."

Bao Ngoc held the woman's hand, equally moved. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said. "That's why I believe my work is always meaningful, even though sometimes the path to finding the truth is very difficult."

The woman bought a book, asked Bao Ngoc to sign it, then quietly left amidst the bustling crowd of the festival, leaving Bao Ngoc with a feeling of warmth and heavy thoughts about the weight of the stories she had written, about how they touched the lives of so many people she had never met.

***

In the evening, when the festival lights up, the whole Yen Lang street takes on a shimmering, magical beauty under the light of colorful lanterns hanging along both sides of the street. Bao Ngoc's family sat together in a corner of a small restaurant, enjoying the festive atmosphere while Minh Nguyet fell asleep in her mother's arms.

"I still remember, exactly one year ago, on a rainy night like this, she was born," Bao Ngoc said softly, looking down at the peaceful face of her sleeping daughter. "Time passes so quickly."

"And in that one year, so many things have changed," Nhat Quang replied, putting his arm around his wife and children's shoulders. "From a quiet little bookstore, it has now become part of a living heritage site, where people come to learn about history, about truth, and perhaps, even about hope."

From afar, the sounds of folk music mixed with the bustling laughter of the crowd, creating a warm atmosphere covering the entire ancient street. Bao Ngoc looked up at the night sky, where rare sparkling stars appeared among the city lights, her heart was filled with a deep sense of gratitude for everything life had given her.

"I think, if that day I had not accepted the assignment to write about the legend of the white shadow, my life would have been very different," she said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. "I wouldn't have met you, without Minh Nguyet, without all these meaningful things."

"But I accepted that mission," Nhat Quang replied, squeezing his wife's hand. "And I believe, it was not a coincidence, but part of something bigger, an invisible connecting thread that led all of us to the right place we needed to be, right when we needed to be there, to write together a story that none of us could have written alone."

They sat quietly together, amidst the music and lantern lights of the festival, in the middle of a street that had gone through many ups and downs to find themselves, feeling a complete peace that they both knew would continue to accompany them throughout the years ahead, as they together raised and taught their daughter to grow up amidst the most beautiful values they had learned from their own journeys — truth, courage, and a love that never wavers.

As the festival gradually ended late at night, Mrs. Bay Lieu and Mr. Tuan stopped by the family table. They were both tired after a long and busy day but still could not hide the joy on their faces. "An unexpectedly successful festival," Mr. Tuan said, sitting down to rest and sipping the hot tea that Ms. Bay Lieu had just poured for him. "I never thought that one day I would live to see this street revive so brilliantly."

"It's thanks to everyone, not just you and Mr. Quang," Bao Ngoc replied, smiling and looking around at the familiar faces that have become an indispensable part of her life. "A community can only be revived when each person in it contributes a part, no matter how small."

Mrs. Bay Lieu reached out and gently touched the sleeping Minh Nguyet's cheek. Her eyes were filled with the affection of a grandmother who was not related by blood but was closely related by flesh and blood. "She grew up on a street like this, surrounded by so much love, and will definitely become a good person," she said softly, her voice filled with confidence.

"I believe so too," Nhat Quang replied, looking down at his daughter with proud eyes. "And I hope that no matter where I grow up in the future, I will always remember this place and the people who have loved me since the first days of my life."

The last folk music of the festival gradually subsided, giving way to the familiar silence of the old street at night, leaving only the sporadic footsteps of the last guests leaving, and the lantern light still quietly shining, like a promise for the festivals, springs, and the next generations that are still waiting ahead.