Chapter 38 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

The Person Who Knocked On The Door That Year

Khe Lam placed her personal device on the table, the screen still displayed the photo of the words "Renewal status, journey year two hundred and thirty-five" that Bach Van found, then gently pushed it towards her grandmother who was mending her shirt like every night.

"Grandma, I need you to look at this." She spoke, her voice no longer fumbling as before, but carrying a certainty that had been tempered by weeks of facing the truth piece by piece.

Doan Bich Thu put down the needle and thread, picked up the device, and read the text on the screen. Her hand trembled, not a slight tremble like the previous times, but a violent trembling that made her put the device down on the table immediately, as if it burned her hand.

"Where did you get this?" She asked, her voice broken.

"From public personnel records, ma'am." Khe Lam replied. "My mother's status was renewed three times, years two hundred thirty-one, two hundred thirty-three, and two hundred thirty-five — seven years after the night of her arrest. A dead record doesn't need anyone to renew, grandmother. I need you to tell me, do you know anything about the year two hundred thirty-five?"

Doan Bich Thu sat quietly for a long time, her eyes looking down at her old hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if trying to find strength from her own body to say something that had been buried for so long that it had almost become a part of her flesh and bones.

"Someone came knocking on my door, late one night that year." She spoke finally, her voice distant as if she were recounting an old dream. "I was eight years old at the time and was fast asleep. My father opened the door, then the two of them talked for a long time in the hallway. She couldn't hear everything, only a few sentences."

"Who is that person?" Khe Lam asked, her heart beating rapidly.

"I don't know his full name. A middle-aged man, wearing civilian clothes, not a Council or Guard uniform. Your father called him 'Mr. Tu', perhaps a nickname or part of their nickname." She said. "After he left, your father entered the room, his face pale, and sat in a daze for a long time before telling her part of what he said."

She stopped and took a deep breath, as if preparing to cross a threshold she had avoided for years.

"He told your father that your mother was still alive." She said, her voice breaking. "That she was being kept somewhere, not sure exactly where, under some form of surveillance that he couldn't explain clearly. He said he knew this because he had been indirectly involved in managing the records of those arrested that night, and he felt guilty enough to break the silence once, just to inform your father that his wife was not dead. But he also gave a warning, so fierce that we had to promise again and again. many times, that your father must not search further, must not ask anyone else, because doing so could endanger your mother, and you as well."

Khe Lam sat motionless, tears rolling down uncontrollably, a mixed emotion between the extreme joy of knowing her mother was alive, and the pain of realizing that for twelve years later, her grandmother had carried this secret alone, not daring to tell her even a word.

She tried to imagine that scene — her father, young, standing in the dark hallway listening to a stranger whispering news about his missing wife, then returning to the room with a pale face, carrying a secret that was both a gift and a burden that could not be shared with anyone but his second wife. She wondered how he felt those nights afterward, having to watch his little girl grow up without being able to tell her a truth that could change the entire way she saw herself and the world around her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her voice both reproachful and begging to be understood.

"Because your father promised, and I promised him, that I would never mention this to anyone, including you, until you were old enough to understand and strong enough to keep the secret without accidentally revealing it, endangering yourself and your mother." Doan Bich Thu said, her tears also fell continuously. "I was planning on telling you when you turned eighteen, but that year you had just settled down with your job at the Roots Week. She was afraid that if you knew, you would do something reckless, losing the stability you had just gained. Then year after year, she kept procrastinating, telling herself to wait a little longer, a little longer, until she realized she had procrastinated for too long, so long that she no longer knew how to start speaking."

"Is your father looking for more, even though he promised?" Khe Lam asked, even though she had already guessed the answer from the unfinished notebook she found.

Doan Bich Thu nodded, a painful nod. "He kept his promise for the first four years. But I know, deep down, he never really gave up. He was still silently paying attention, silently taking notes, waiting for an opportunity to learn more without breaking his promise to 'Mr. Tu'. Then when I was twelve years old, he started working more often near the Primeval Core area, telling me that there was a special maintenance project that needed him. A few weeks later, he died."

The story closed in a complete circle in Khe Lam's mind — her father, keeping his promise for four years, then unable to hold back any longer, returned to search for the truth near the same place where her mother had discovered it, and paid with his own life, leaving an unanswered question for both his wife and his mother, lasting another eight years until tonight.

"The last renewal seal is the year two hundred and thirty-five." Khe Lam said, thinking quickly, piecing together the timeline. "The same five men came knocking on the door. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence — perhaps it was that extension, the final review of your mother's records, that made that man aware of the information and decide to reach out to your father with the news, before something changed and he no longer had a chance."

"It's possible." Doan Bich Thu said, nodding slowly, as if seeing that piece of the puzzle for the first time in a new perspective thanks to her niece's sharp analysis. "You're like your parents in that way — always seeing connections that others miss."

Khe Lam hugged her, both crying in silence for a long time, no more words needed, just each other's presence, sharing a burden that had been carried separately for so long, now finally laid down together.

"I will find her." Khe Lam said, her voice became stiff again after her emotions. "No matter who that Mr. Tu is, no matter where your mother is now, alive or dead, I will find the truth in the end, grandma. I can't live another day with a name that has no ending."

"I know, baby." Doan Bich Thu said, squeezing his niece's hand. "And this time, I won't stop you. I only ask you one thing — let me help you, in any way I can, even though I'm just an old woman with little strength left. I've been silent long enough. It's time for me to step out of the shadow of my own fear."

That night, the two sat together until late, Doan Bich Thu recounted every smallest detail she could remember about the man who called himself "Mr. Tu" - his appearance, his voice, a small scar on his chin that she happened to see through the crack in the door - fragments of twelve-year-old memories that had faded but were still enough to become a new beginning for Khe Lam's search, another door that had just opened among countless doors that had been closed for nearly two decades. on this ship that never looks back.

"Did he say what department he worked in, ma'am?" Khe Lam asked, trying to squeeze out every drop of remaining memories in her grandmother's mind.

"I don't remember exactly, but I remember your father mentioning, very quietly, that he seemed familiar with the administrative area near the Dome Floor, perhaps doing some office work related to personnel files." Doan Bich Thu said, trying to retrieve every piece of memory that had faded over the years. "He's not wearing a Guard or Council uniform, but the way he talks, the way he knows things no one on the outside should know, makes you believe he must be somewhere close enough to where such records are kept."

Khe Lam remembered each of those details, no matter how few, like the first map pieces for a new journey, more difficult but also more hopeful than anything she had ever dared to dream of since the day she discovered Lam Chu coordinates in the Primeval Core.