Chapter 1 — The Secret Pension

My father’s pension, for a lifetime engineer, amounted to a mere 951 yuan? A single sentence from the social security office left me rooted to the spot, entirely paralyzed. My father had devoted thirty-eight years of his life to the machinery plant, holding the title of its most senior chief engineer. Yet upon retirement, his monthly stipend was restricted to this paltry sum. He lived with agonizing frugality, hesitating for a long time even before purchasing a single bottle of water. When my mother was hospitalized and required an emergency operation costing eighty thousand yuan, our family could not scrape together the funds. In a blaze of fury, I stormed into the social security office, slamming my hand against the counter to demand an explanation. The clerk pulled up the digital records, and his complexion shifted instantly. “Comrade, your father was granted the title of senior engineer twelve years ago. He has been entitled to a special monthly allowance of 14,850 yuan, and not a single penny of it has ever been withheld.” I stood rigid, my mind ringing with a dull, deafening roar. Where had all that money gone?

01

On the day my father, Han Duc Xuong, retired from the plant, not a single colleague came to bid him farewell. The security guard simply handed him a cardboard box. Inside lay a chipped enamel mug, a few yellowed blueprints, half a red ink pen, and a factory badge with the enamel entirely peeled off. He clutched the box and stood outside the main gates, his shoulders slightly hunched. My mother, Lieu Mai, asked him, “Old Han, has the pension been approved?” My father folded and unfolded a piece of paper repeatedly before tucking it deep into his pocket.

“Approved.”

“How much is it?”

He remained silent. That evening, standing outside the kitchen door, I overheard my mother weeping. Her voice was hushed. “Thirty-eight years, and this is all they give us?” My father replied, “That is the policy.” My mother persisted, “Aren’t you a senior engineer of the plant?” My father set his bowl down on the table.

“Do not speak of it again.”

From that day onward, he made a trip to the bank once a month. Upon his return, his pocket would contain nine one-hundred-yuan bills, one fifty-yuan note, and a single one-yuan coin. Nine hundred and fifty-one yuan. He divided the sum meticulously into three portions. One part went toward utilities. Another covered groceries. The meager remainder was tucked carefully beneath his medicine box. My mother suffered from severe hypertension and frequent chest pains, but he always urged her to endure it. He himself was racked by a deep, hacking cough, yet he could never bring himself to cough up the money for cough syrup. The corner grocery store sold bottled water for two yuan; he would stand before the refrigerator for a long time, staring at the bottles, before finally walking away with a cup of tap water. Watching his trembling hands, my heart felt as though it were being pierced by needles. At that time, I was working as an office clerk in a distant province, earning a modest salary. Every month I sent two thousand yuan back home. Without fail, my father would remit fifteen hundred of it right back to me, accompanied by a brief message: Keep it for your own expenses. This routine continued until my mother collapsed in the kitchen. A pot of porridge spilled and pooled across the floor. She clutched her abdomen, her face drained to an alarming, ghastly white. Following a thorough examination, the hospital declared that surgery was urgently required. The deposit alone would cost eighty thousand yuan. The attending physician handed me the bill.

“The family must settle the fees immediately; her condition brooks no delay.”

My father stood in the sterile hallway, his fingers gripping the paper so tightly that it crumpled into a ragged ball. He asked the doctor in a trembling voice, “Would it be possible to leave a deposit of just two thousand for now?” The doctor glanced at him, uttering no harsh words, yet that silent gaze cut far deeper than any reprimand could have. I began desperately seeking loans. I called every relative I knew. One claimed their finances were currently too tight. Another stated their children needed tuition for extra classes. A third simply refused to answer my calls. Finally, my father’s younger brother, Han Duc Hai, arrived. He wore polished leather shoes, accompanied by his wife, Ma Xao Van, and their son, Han Viet. The three of them stood outside the hospital room like inspectors sizing up a property. Han Duc Hai looked at my mother first.

“My sister-in-law’s illness must be quite expensive to treat, I suppose?”

I answered, “The deposit is eighty thousand.” Ma Xao Van immediately furrowed her brows.

“Such a staggering sum—where on earth do you expect your family to find that?”

My father kept his head bowed.

“Duc Hai, lend me a portion first. I will pay you back gradually over time.”

Han Duc Hai let out a dry, dismissive laugh.

“Brother, it is not that I am unwilling to help you.”

“Your monthly pension is only a little over nine hundred yuan. With what would you repay me?”

My father’s face flushed a deep, humiliated red. I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms.

“I will pay it back.”

Han Viet leaned against the wall, tapping lazily on his smartphone.

“Sister, how much do you actually earn in a month?”

Ma Xao Van chimed in smoothly.

“If you ask me, there is no use in stubbornly dragging this out.”

“Besides, your old house has no male heir to inherit it anyway.”

“Transfer the title to Han Viet, and my family will put forward fifty thousand.”

I snapped my head up.

“What did you just say?”

Ma Xao Van spoke as if she had been anticipating this exact reaction.

“You are a daughter; sooner or later, you will marry into another family.”

“Rather than letting the property fall into the hands of outsiders, it is far better to keep it within the Han lineage.”

My father’s face turned instantly ashen.

“That house is where your sister-in-law and I are living.”

Han Duc Hai sighed heavily.

“Brother, things have reached this point. Why cling so stubbornly to a dilapidated house?”

“A person’s life is far more important.”

I stared at them. So they had not come to offer assistance. They had come to loot a burning house. On the bed, tears welled from the corners of my mother’s eyes. My father reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside were the savings he had accumulated over the past few months. Bill by crumpled bill, all of them old and worn, he handed them to the billing clerk. The nurse finished counting and spoke in a soft, apologetic tone.

“A total of 3,627 yuan.”

“This is still far short of the required amount.”

My father stood frozen, as though every bone in his body had been instantly dissolved. Han Duc Hai stepped forward, placing a pre-printed legal agreement squarely in front of me.

“Sign it.”

“Once you sign, the funds will be transferred immediately.”

I lowered my gaze and read the final line of the agreement: *Voluntarily gifting the residential property to Han Viet.* I picked up the paper. Han Viet chuckled softly.

“Sister, stop pretending to be strong.”

“Your parents are getting on in years. In the end, who else will they have to rely on if not a male heir of the Han family like myself?”

I tore the agreement straight down the middle. The shredded pieces fluttered to the floor. The hospital corridor fell instantly silent. I looked straight at Han Duc Hai.

“My father is still breathing, yet you dare to carve up his home.”

“If he truly possessed a substantial retirement stipend, would you have demanded his bank card as well?”

Han Duc Hai’s expression shifted uncomfortably. At that exact moment, my father raised his head abruptly, a flash of pure panic crossing his features. I fixed my eyes upon him.

“Father.”

“Whose hands is your pension card actually in?”

02

My father did not answer. Han Duc Hai quickly stepped in to field the question.

“What kind of tone is that for a young girl to use?”

“Your father’s health has never been robust. Back then, I was the one who ran around handling all the bureaucratic procedures for him.”

“Keeping the card in my possession was simply to prevent him from losing it.”

I stared straight at him.

“Then why did you only give him nine hundred and fifty-one yuan each month?”

Ma Xao Van immediately jumped into the conversation.

“What else did you expect?”

“Your father retired early, and his unit’s economic performance was never stellar.”

“He should be grateful to receive anything at all.”

My father sat by the bedside, his shoulders caving inward.

|“Thanh Thanh, do not ask any more.”

My name is Han Thanh. Throughout my childhood and youth, my father rarely addressed me by my full name; he would only use it with such gentle softness when he was afraid I might cause trouble. But this time, I had no intention of backing down. I walked right up to Han Duc Hai.

“Hand over the card.”

Han Duc Hai’s expression darkened menacingly.

“On what grounds do you presume to give orders to your elders?”

I replied coldly, “On the grounds that it is my father’s money.” Han Viet let out a scoff.

“Sister, stop making a scene.”

“Our family wouldn’t even deign to look twice at that paltry sum of your father’s.”

I turned my head to glare at him.

“If you wouldn't deign to look at it, why have you been holding onto it?”

Han Viet’s smirk froze instantly. Passersby in the hallway began to turn their heads, watching the commotion. Han Duc Hai lowered his voice, injecting a threat into his tone.

“Your mother is still waiting for her surgery.”

“If you start a scene with me now, who do you think will ultimately suffer the consequences?”

He stooped, picked up the torn pieces of the agreement, and dusted them off.

“Sign the property transfer, and I will hand over fifty thousand immediately.”

“As for the remaining thirty thousand, you can figure out a way to raise it yourselves.”

My father suddenly rose from his chair.

“Do not sign.”

His voice was not loud, but it carried an unyielding firmness. Han Duc Hai stared at him in utter disbelief.

“Brother, what did you just say?”

My father braced his hands against the back of the chair, the veins on the back of his hands bulging taut.

“Do not sign the house away.”

Ma Xao Van’s face curdled with malice.

“Old Han, do not be ungrateful.”

“If not for our help in collecting the money all these years, you would have lost that card long ago.”

I pounced instantly on her slip of the tongue.

“Collecting the money?”

Ma Xao Van snapped her mouth shut. I pinned her with a hard stare.

“Didn't you just say the card was merely being kept for safekeeping?”

“Why would you be the ones collecting the funds?”

Han Duc Hai shot a furious glare at his wife. She hastily tried to amend her statement.

“I only meant we helped look after the logistics.”

I pulled out my phone and dialed the customer service hotline for the bank. Han Duc Hai reached out instinctively to snatch the device from my hand. I stepped back smoothly.

“What are you panicking for?”

Everyone in the hospital room turned to watch. Even the nurse lingered by the doorway. The call connected, and I recited my father’s name and identification number. The representative on the line stated that confirmation from the account holder was mandatory. I handed the phone to my father. His hand shook violently. Han Duc Hai’s voice dropped to an icy whisper.

“Brother, think this through carefully.” Once these matters are dragged into the open, it will do no one any good.”

My father closed his eyes in defeat. Then, slowly, he took the phone.

“I am Han Duc Xuong.”

“I wish to check the status of my pension account.”

The representative asked a series of verification questions. My father answered in a slow, halting voice. Finally, the representative spoke: “The card registered in your name ends in 3762. Over the past year, a fixed sum has been deposited into this account every single month.” I pressed urgently, “How much per month?” The representative explained that such detailed statements fell under personal privacy policies and required the account holder to print them out at a physical branch. Han Duc Hai instantly let out a long breath of relief.

“Did you hear that?”

“You cannot verify these things clearly over the phone.”

“Do not make a spectacle of yourself here at the hospital.”

I fixed my eyes steadily upon him.

“Then we shall go to the bank.”

Han Duc Hai’s expression drained of all color. Yet my father reached out, catching my sleeve.

“Thanh Thanh, save your mother first.”

My heart wrenched violently. On the bed, my mother gazed at me with parched, cracked lips, and I knew she could not afford to wait. I lowered my phone.

“Very well.”

Believing I had finally capitulated, Han Duc Hai let out a cold, triumphant laugh.

“That is more sensible.”

He produced yet another pristine, unsigned copy of the agreement.

“Sign it.”

I ignored him entirely and dialed the number for my bank’s personal loan division. My credit limit was only thirty thousand, but I applied for the maximum amount instantly. Afterward, I pawned the sole gold necklace I possessed. Together, the funds totaled forty-six thousand. My close friend, Duong Vy, rushed to the hospital without a moment’s hesitation and transferred twenty thousand to my account. She cast a scathing look at Han Duc Hai’s family.

“An uncle comes here to bully his own blood, while an outsider like me ends up acting like true family.”

Ma Xao Van’s face flushed alternating shades of red and white. I paid the initial deposit without delay, and the surgery was promptly scheduled. My father sat alone on the bench in the corridor, looking as though a single night had aged him by a decade. I squatted down in front of him.

“Father, tomorrow we are going to the bank.”

He shook his head slowly.

“No, we will not go.”

“Your mother’s surgery is far more important.”

I looked deeply into his eyes.

“Father, what on earth are you so afraid of?”

He kept his gaze lowered. After a long silence, he whispered, “Your second uncle said that the past events at the plant must never be brought to light.”

“If we dig it all up, I might lose even these meager nine hundred yuan.”

My head felt as though it had been struck by a thunderclap.

“He said that to you?”

My father nodded heavily. I stood up, turned on my heel, and walked away. Duong Vy hurried after me.

“Where are you going?”

I said, “To the machinery plant first.” The old industrial complex had long since changed its sign, but the guard booth remained unchanged. An elderly guard with white hair sat by the doorway. The moment he heard the name Han Duc Xuong, his eyes lit up with sudden recognition.

“Engineer Han?”

“He was the one man who could bear the heaviest burdens in our entire plant.”

I recounted the situation regarding the pension. The old guard’s expression shifted instantly from warmth to profound shock.

|“Nine hundred and fifty-one?”

“Absurd.”

“Back then, he was officially evaluated and promoted to senior engineer; the factory newspaper even published a feature about him.”

He rummaged through a dusty drawer and pulled out a yellowed, crumbling newspaper clipping. On it was a photograph of my father, a red flower pinned proudly to his chest, accompanied by a bold, prominent headline.