Chapter 22 — The Mask Isn't Real

"Miss, I heard that our factory received the largest order ever, is that true?"

Tuyen's son, who is now so familiar with the factory atmosphere that he naturally calls Uyen Nhi "aunty", stood at the door looking inside, where the whole factory was busy at full capacity preparing for the approaching Mid-Autumn Festival in just two weeks.

"That's right, child." Uyen Nhi looked up, her hands were still quickly mixing a batch of red from ripe gac, the sweet aroma spread throughout the workshop. "A school in Hanoi ordered two hundred small masks as gifts for students on the occasion of Mid-Autumn Festival, saying they wanted their children to hold real traditional toys in their hands, instead of Chinese plastic ones."

The largest order in the history of Paint Moon workshop since Mr. Tuyen passed away, coming right at the time when the whole workshop is in the busiest period of the year. Uyen Nhi, Tuyen, and Boi Tran - who, even though she had a new job, still took advantage of the weekend to help - worked almost non-stop for two weeks straight, each person in charge of a step according to their strengths.

Uyen Nhi is in charge of the overall coordination, ensuring that each batch of cardboard is dried for enough time in the shade before moving on to the next step, avoiding hastily shortening the process as the valuable lesson from twenty-two years ago is still imprinted in her mind. She posted a large calendar on the wall, marking each stage of each batch of twenty, so that no one in the factory would be pressured to do anything carelessly because of the deadline, no matter how urgent the order.

"No one is allowed to add anything to the sticky rice paste to shorten the drying time, not even once." She repeated this rule to the whole group from the first day of receiving applications, with a rare serious tone. "Our factory would rather deliver a little late than repeat old mistakes."

Tuyen nodded, understanding better than anyone else the meaning behind that reminder, and it was he who most strictly supervised the mixing process throughout the entire production batch, as a way to personally ensure that history would never repeat itself in the same tragic way as it did.

"Do you want to try drawing?" Tuyen asked his son, giving him a small brush and a mask that Mr. Dia had completed for the most part, only missing a few final embellishments that did not require high technology. The boy nodded eagerly, sat down next to his father, carefully making each brushstroke according to the instructions, his tongue sticking out to one side in intense concentration.

Uyen Nhi looked at that scene, a gentle smile appeared on her lips. She remembered herself when she was sixteen years old, the first time she entered this workshop, with the same excitement, her tongue sticking out to one side as she tried to get the first stroke of her life right under the patient guidance of Mr. Tuyen, who at that time was still in good health, with a bright voice when instructing his students.

In the afternoon, when the sunlight began to cool down, Nhat Vu stopped by, carrying a bag of freshly baked moon cakes. The aroma of baked cakes spread throughout the small workshop. "I brought a gift to encourage this army that is running on a deadline." He smiled, placing the bag of cookies on the table.

"You came at the right time." Uyen Nhi wiped her hands on a cloth, sat down to rest for a moment, and accepted the piece of cake Nhat Vu gave her. "We haven't had time to eat anything decent all day."

They sat around the table, eating cake and chatting. The cozy atmosphere was completely different from the tense meetings a few months ago when they had to discuss strategies to deal with Ho Bao Ky. Nhat Vu talks about the latest article he was working on, a series of articles about six families of artisans who were taken advantage of, and were now gradually returning to stability after the incident. Some of them had even begun to cooperate with each other, sharing experiences on how to protect their works in the age of e-commerce.

"The potter in Bat Trang even asked me to connect with you." Nhat Vu turned to Uyen Nhi, his voice cheerful. "He wanted to learn how his workshop makes authenticity marks, to apply it to his own ceramic craft. I think this could be the start of a network of artisans sharing anti-counterfeit experiences with each other."

"That's a good idea." Uyen Nhi nodded, her eyes shining with new excitement. "If each craft village has its own way to authenticate its works, and speaks up together when detecting violations, it will certainly be difficult for anyone to dare to take advantage like Ho Bao Ky did."

"I heard that Ho Bao Ky pleaded guilty in court last week." Nha Uyen said, just entering the workshop with a basket of fruits newly picked from her garden. "My lawyer said the sentence is expected to be quite heavy, because of the organized nature and large amount of fraud."

"Do you feel relieved?" Uyen Nhi asked, looking at Nha Uyen with truly concerned eyes. The relationship between the two, after months of tension, has gradually healed, although not completely like before, but sincere enough for both of them to move on.

"You feel lighter, yes." Nha Uyen put down the fruit basket and sat down next to everyone. "But I think, what makes me truly at peace is not the fact that Ho Bao Ky was punished, but seeing Tuyen standing here, today, working under the light, with her son by her side. That's the most important thing."

Tuyen, hearing that sentence, looked up from her unfinished mask and nodded slightly towards Nha Uyen, a small gesture that contained complete forgiveness without needing any additional words.

Before leaving, Nha Uyen lingered for a while, helping Uyen Nhi rearrange the pile of completed masks on the shelf neatly. She picked up a small Sister Hang mask and looked at it carefully, her fingers lightly running over each drawing. "More beautiful than anything I've seen in recent years." She commented, her voice filled with undisguised pride. "You and Tuyen have really created a unique style, still retaining the soul of the old profession but also having something new."

"I think it's because we learned from two different teachers, then combined." Uyen Nhi smiled and neatly put the last mask on the shelf. "Maybe that's also a good way for the profession to continue to develop, instead of just repeating the same pattern forever."

When it was completely dark, everyone left one by one, only Uyen Nhi remained in the workshop to clean up the tools at the end of the day. She stood in the middle of the workshop, looking at hundreds of completed masks neatly stacked on shelves, waiting to be packaged and delivered to the school on the weekend - each one bearing the crescent moon mark, whether it was the old style carved by Tuyen or the new style made by her own hands, they were all real marks, without any ambiguity.

She picked up her phone and was about to text Nhat Vu to wish good night, when another message appeared first - from an unknown number, accompanied by a brief introduction from a mutual acquaintance in the craft industry: "Hello Uyen Nhi, my name is Thao Linh, sixteen years old, I really like making paper mache masks and would like to apply for an apprenticeship at your workshop. Can I come to see you next week?"

Uyen Nhi read the message, a warm feeling spread throughout her chest. It's been two years since the teacher passed away, this was the first time someone, a complete stranger, voluntarily came to ask for vocational training, not because of acquaintance, not because of persuasion, but simply because of interest. She read the message again, smiling at the thought that the story about the Moon Painting workshop, about the investigation over the past few months, must have spread far enough to touch the heart of a young girl she had never known.

She typed back the reply message, her fingers shaking slightly because of an emotion that was hard to name: "Okay. I look forward to meeting you."

She put down the phone, looked around the workshop one last time before turning off the lights and leaving. The moonlight at the beginning of the eighth lunar month shines through the window, shining a streak of silver light on the stack of wooden molds still neatly arranged on the shelf, the faces of Uncle Cuoi, Ms. Hang, and Mr. Dia seem to be smiling in the dim darkness. She thought of a little girl named Thao Linh, whom she had never met, somewhere out there, also nurturing a love for this profession just like her eight years ago.

On the way home that night, cycling slowly through a familiar village road, Uyen Nhi looked up at the night sky, where the first moon of the month was still half-waxed, hanging between thin clouds. She smiled to herself, thinking that in just half a month, when the full moon falls on the full moon of Mid-Autumn Festival, the two hundred masks from the workshop will go to two hundred children in Hanoi, each one carrying a true mark, a true story, without any falsehood creeping in between.