Chapter 17 — The Secret Pension

How many people do you think you can protect?

I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white. Right at that moment, the voice of Duong Vy echoed from outside.

Han Thanh!

The expression on Han Viet's face shifted dramatically. Lu Kien Quoc turned around, intending to slip away, but the entrance of the shop was already completely surrounded. La Minh led two officers forward, followed closely by the neighborhood patrol staff. Duong Vy stood at the very front, her face flushed with lingering anger.

I knew right away these people had bad intentions.

Han Viet still tried to put up a facade of innocence.

We merely came to retrieve our family belongings.

Stepping out from the dark room, I held up the genuine roll of film. Upon seeing that the film was still intact, Vien Tue lost all strength in her legs, collapsing against the counter as loud sobs broke from her throat. La Minh slipped on a pair of gloves and accepted the small canister.

Are these truly the photographs taken inside the hospital room all those years ago?

Vien Tue nodded vigorously.

Yes.

I agree to write a formal statement.

I was present back then, and I witnessed them forcefully seizing Liao Mai's hand to press her thumb onto the ink pad.

Han Duc Xuong was not inside the hospital room at all.

Lu Kien Quoc's face turned completely ashen. Without warning, Han Viet lunged forward, attempting to snatch the film away. Duong Vy grabbed my arm tightly, pulling me out of harm's way, while the neighborhood patrol officers intercepted Han Viet. He crashed heavily into the counter, baring his teeth in pain. La Minh said with an icy tone: This evidence will be sealed immediately.

Anyone who dares to touch it from this moment on will be charged with destroying evidence at the scene.

Han Viet panted heavily, his eyes burning with resentment and refusal to accept defeat.

Even if you have the photographs, what of it?

Can you actually prove that the piece of paper is a special allowance management confirmation document?

Vien Tue raised her head, her gaze steady.

I can.

She walked beneath the old counter, prying open a loose wooden panel. Tucked deep inside was a yellowed kraft paper bag, its outer layer stained with age. She handed the package directly to me.

I developed an extra copy of the photograph back then.

The date written on the back was penned at the instruction of my mother.

Because that specific day happened to be her birthday.

I carefully unsealed the paper bag. In the photograph, my mother lay pale upon the hospital bed, her left hand tightly gripped by Ma Xao Van. Han Duc Ha stood nearby, his head lowered as he reviewed a document. Although the title of the form was partially obscured, several words remained chillingly legible: Special Allowance Management Transfer Confirmation. A heavy tremor shook my entire body, and even La Minh expression shifted dramatically. Just as everyone was captivated by the photograph, my cell phone rang shrilly. It was the hospital calling. The nurse's voice trembled with urgency.

Miss Han, you must return immediately.

A moment ago, your father noticed a paper tucked at the head of your mother's bed, and he suddenly suffered a severe chest pain.

That piece of paper states that your mother agrees to cease pursuing Han Duc Ha.

When I rushed frantically back to the hospital, my father was lying on a transfer gurney right outside the emergency room. The doctor attached a heart monitor to his chest, while nurses hurried back and forth with medication carts. Inside the observation room, my mother was weeping so intensely she could no longer speak. Duong Vy steadied me, lowering her voice. Calm down first. But remaining calm was entirely impossible. I spotted the offending paper resting upon the nurse's station. It stated clearly that Liao Mai voluntarily forgave the entire household of Han Duc Ha, dropping all disputes regarding the management transfer of the special allowance. There was no signature at the bottom, only a single, vivid red thumbprint—identical to the confirmation document from twelve years ago. A single glance sent a surge of boiling blood rushing straight to my head.

Who placed this at the head of the bed?

The nurse's face was drained of color.

During the recent bandage change, the paper was definitely not there.

Later, Ma Xao Van stated she brought a thermos of broth, and we only permitted her to stand at the threshold.

Immediately after she departed, Mr. Han discovered the paper.

I picked up the document. The thumbprint was still remarkably fresh, the red ink not yet completely dry. I whirled around and strode directly down the corridor. The security guard had already intercepted Ma Xao Van near the elevator doors. She carried a thermal flask in her hands, her face plastered with a pretense of panicked innocence.

I merely came to visit my sister-in-law.

I thrust the paper directly before her eyes.

What is this?

Her gaze flickered nervously.

I have no idea.

I unscrewed her thermal flask. There was no broth inside. Instead, the container held a small box of red ink, half a pack of wet wipes, and several blank sheets of paper. The entire hallway plunged into absolute silence. The remaining color drained completely from Ma Xao Van's face. Still, she attempted to deny it.

That does not belong to me.

Duong Vy let out a cold, bitter laugh.

You were the one carrying the flask; did the ink pad crawl inside by itself?

Hearing the commotion from within the hospital room, my mother called out to me in a weak, fragile voice.

Thanh Thanh.

I hurried to her side. She extended her left hand. On the inside of her wrist lingered a faint smudge of red ink. Tears immediately spilled over my lashes. She had just undergone major surgery, tubes still running into her body, yet Ma Xao Van had still dared to press her thumb. The attending doctor's face turned green with fury.

Who authorized you people to come into contact with a post-operative patient?

The patient is in no condition to endure such severe agitation.

Outside, my father managed to catch his breath and struggled to sit upright. He stared at Ma Xao Van, his voice low, yet carrying a chill that cut straight to the bone.

Twelve years ago, you pressed her hand once.

Today, you pressed it yet again.

Just what on earth does she owe you people?

Ma Xao Van finally lost her composure, panic breaking through her facade.

I did not use any force.

I simply wanted to put this matter behind us.

Step by step, I walked forward, towering over her.

Put it behind you?

When my mother nearly lacked the funds for her life-saving surgery, did you ever consider putting it behind you?

When your son used my father's allowance to purchase a vehicle and renovate your home, did you ever think about letting it go?

When you forced my father to sign over our house, relocated my mother, and cut off her medication, did you ever view her as a human being?