Chapter 17 — The Mask Isn't Real

At nine o'clock on Saturday morning, Vietnam time - exactly ten o'clock in the morning Singapore time, the time the "Masters of Southeast Asian Folk Craft" auction officially started livestreaming - Nhat Vu pressed the publish button on the news site where he worked, an article more than five thousand words long titled "Unreal Masks: Inside the Line of Counterfeiting Vietnamese Craft Village Heritage".

The whole group sat around in the Moon Drawing studio, eyes glued to two screens - a laptop opening the livestream of the auction, a phone monitoring the number of shares of the article increasing every minute.

Tuyen was also present, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, her hands clasped tightly together on her knees. He hadn't said much since early morning, only occasionally glancing at the screen and then looking down again, as if he didn't dare let his emotions show too clearly to others. Boi Tran arrived a little later, carrying a bag of pastries that she had hastily bought at the shop in the village, placing them on the table without anyone bothering to touch them. All attention was focused on the two small screens emitting cold blue light in the middle of the brightly lit workshop.

Uyen Nhi sat in the middle, one hand holding the phone, the other hand on her thigh, trembling slightly uncontrollably. She had imagined this moment dozens of times in her head over the past few sleepless nights, but no amount of preparation was enough to make her heart stop pounding as the actual moment approached.

"Three, two, one." Nhat Vu counted down, then clicked send the article link directly to the mailbox of Indochine's leadership, and at the same time posted to social networking platforms specializing in art and antiques, tagging directly on the auction house's official account.

On the livestream screen, the auction host — an elegantly dressed woman with a professional voice — was introducing the first lot, a set of antique ceramics. Uyen Nhi held her breath and watched, her heart pounding, waiting for the shipment "attributed to Dang Ba Tuyen" to appear.

Twenty minutes passed. Thirty minutes. There was no sign that Indochine had received the information, the auction still took place normally, lots were put up for sale one after another, prices were finalized, and the hammer was tapped.

"Maybe they haven't seen the email." Nha Uyen said, her voice worried. "Or perhaps they watched but chose to ignore it, just like the first time."

Right when the twelfth batch was announced - which was the pair of masks of Uncle Cuoi and Ms Hang, the first batch Uyen Nhi discovered nearly a month ago - the livestream screen suddenly froze. The host stopped mid-sentence, a hand came from outside the frame, passing her a small piece of paper. She skimmed through it, her face suddenly changed color for a split second before regaining her professional look.

"Sorry, we need to pause the auction momentarily to deal with a technical issue." She said, her voice still trying to remain calm but a little awkward that she couldn't hide.

The whole group in the Moon Painting workshop shouted in unison, a collective sigh of relief after many stressful days. "They have received the information!" Nhat Vu shouted, punching the table hard. "The article is going viral, enough to force them to react right in the middle of the live auction!"

Fifteen minutes later, the auction continued, but lot number twelve disappeared from the catalog, going straight to lot thirteen without any explanation from the host. Uyen Nhi checked the official website again and saw that all eight shipments related to her teacher, along with five other shipments on Nhat Vu's verification list, had been marked "temporarily suspended - under verification" in less than half an hour.

"They acted faster than I thought." Nhat Vu said, his eyes still glued to the screen watching the number of shares of the article skyrocket, surpassing ten thousand after less than an hour of posting. "Perhaps because the article was spreading so quickly among international collectors, they had no choice but to react immediately to avoid a larger media crisis."

By noon, an official statement from Indochine Heritage Auctions was posted on their website, cautiously worded but undeniable: "We have temporarily suspended all consignments related to the recent allegations and are conducting a comprehensive, independent investigation. We are committed to announcing the results and taking appropriate remedial measures as soon as possible."

No name Ho Bao Ky is mentioned directly. There was no clear apology. But it was an initial victory, enough for the whole group in the Moon Painting workshop to breathe a sigh of relief, although everyone understood that the real war was probably not over yet.

Tuyen was the first person to break the heavy silence that covered the room after reading the announcement. "Thirteen shipments." He muttered, his voice both relieved and sad. "Thirteen lots of goods bearing the names of people who have devoted their entire lives to the profession have just been taken down, after tricking so many trusting buyers into spending money."

"But at least from now on there won't be any more." Boi Tran placed her hand on his shoulder, her voice reassuring. "That's the most important thing right now."

Nha Uyen, just hanging up after the call with the lawyer, returned to announce to the group, her voice much steadier than in the morning. "The lawyer said, with the current evidence, there is a high possibility that Indochine will have to make an official public apology within the next week, to avoid the risk of being sued by collectors who have purchased fake goods. This is real legal pressure, not just public pressure."

The group nodded, but no one was too happy too soon. They have come a long way, but as Nhat Vu often reminds, the hardest part — ensuring justice is served fairly for everyone involved — is still ahead.

In the afternoon, Uyen Nhi's phone continuously vibrated with calls and messages from unknown numbers - a few domestic reporters asking for an interview after seeing Nhat Vu's article quoted by many international sites, a few collectors expressing their indignation and thanking her for speaking up, and a short, cold message from a phone number whose name she didn't save, but whose name she knew exactly: "You won this game. But it's not over yet."

Uyen Nhi read that text message, her hands trembled a little, but this time, instead of fear, she felt a strange calm spread in her heart. She put the phone down on the table, looked around the workshop - Nhat Vu was still watching the public reaction, Nha Uyen was calling a lawyer she knew to prepare the next steps - and she realized, no matter how much Ho Bao Ky continued to threaten, he could no longer decide the fate of this story alone. The truth has been revealed and cannot be taken back.

"What's next?" She asked Nhat Vu, her voice regained certainty.

"Next," Nhat Vu looked up, his eyes bright even though he had been awake for nearly two straight nights preparing for today, "I'm waiting to see where their internal investigation goes. If they don't handle it satisfactorily, I still have the next article, and backup evidence that hasn't been published yet. But I think, with this great public pressure, they won't dare to handle it lightly."

Outside the workshop door, the sunset began to fall on Yen Lieu village, but no one in the Moon Painting workshop was paying attention to that familiar scene. They are all watching their phone screens, waiting for the next turning point in a story that no longer belongs only to them.

Late that night, when everyone had left, only Nhat Vu remained at the workshop as promised. Uyen Nhi sat alone at the table, re-reading all the comments under Nhat Vu's article. Most of them were supportive and angry on her behalf, but there were also some skeptical comments, saying that she was just "doing too much" or "jealous of other people's success". She read those lines, feeling a little bitter, but then reminded herself that the truth doesn't need to be believed by everyone immediately, it just needs enough people with authority to listen and act.

"Are you okay?" Nhat Vu asked, placing a cup of hot ginger tea in front of her, something he knew she often made when she was stressed.

"I'm fine." Uyen Nhi smiled tiredly, took the cup of tea, the warmth spreading through her palm. "It's just... I didn't expect things to go this far, since one evening I happened to see an auction on my phone."

"Sometimes the biggest changes start from the smallest serendipitous moments." Nhat Vu sat down opposite, his eyes gentle. "You have done something that not everyone dares to do, Uyen Nhi. Whatever happens next, it cannot be denied."