Chapter 8 — The Ten-Yuan Donation

So, it seems the Thinh family is quite adept at damage control.

He did not argue. The legal proceedings spanned three separate trials. The divorce suit, the division of assets, and the civil compensation claim arising from the investigation into the accident were all tangled together like frayed wires. Thinh Canh Xuyen no longer permitted his lawyers to attack me. Instead, in open court, he admitted to every document he had ever signed. The risk control directives. The orders to freeze supplementary credit cards. The decision to halt investigations following the accident. The tragic mistake of misidentifying the person who saved his life. One by one, he confessed to it all. The judge finally asked:

Does the defendant agree to the divorce?

For the first time, he looked toward me. His eyes were bloodshot.

I agree. I respect the wishes of the plaintiff.

I did not look at him. Lawyer Ha submitted the final piece of evidence: the handwritten note Du An had left for me. Sister, if I do not make it, please do not beg him anymore. When that note was projected onto the courtroom screen, Thinh Canh Xuyen suddenly bowed his head. His shoulders shook violently. When the final verdict was delivered, I did not cry. The court granted the divorce. Thinh Canh Xuyen was ordered to return the loan I had provided before our marriage, along with all accrued interest. The assets acquired during our marriage were redistributed. The losses resulting from his risk control documents and the freezing of fundraising accounts would be pursued in a separate case. The investigation into the fire at the western warehouse was transferred to criminal proceedings. Ha’s parents were prosecuted for fraud, misappropriation of relief funds, and the falsification of official documents. Ha Thanh Le faced charges for malicious litigation, forgery of internal company records, and embezzlement. Thinh’s father was brought in for questioning regarding professional misconduct during the handling of the accident. Thinh Canh Xuyen resigned from all positions within the Thinh Corporation to cooperate with the ongoing investigations. Reporters swarmed the courthouse exits. Someone called out:

Ms. Tang, does the truth still hold meaning when it arrives this late?

I looked directly into the lens.

It does. At the very least, it proves that my younger brother was not a bottomless pit of greed. He was owed a life—a debt that remained unpaid for six years.

That evening, I visited Du An. I placed the court verdict before his gravestone. Du An, I have won a small victory. But I know it is still not enough. A breeze stirred the air, and the pages rustled softly, as if he had finally heard. Two years later, I established an organization for emergency medical cost advances. I did not name it after Du An; I feared people would exploit his name for their own agendas. I named it Thirteen Six, for the one hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars that could not be paid in time. The door that was once slammed in our faces, I transformed into a different kind of threshold.

Thirteen Six does only one thing. During the agonizing waiting period while families with terminally ill relatives struggle with fundraising, insurance claims, and charitable vetting, our organization provides an immediate advance on medical expenses within seventy-two hours, along with legal support. We do not exploit misery for sympathy. We do not require families to kneel and record tearful videos. We do not force those seeking help to prove exactly how desperate they are. In the first year, we helped thirty-nine families. In the second, one hundred and twenty-one. By the third year, the site of the old western warehouse had been renovated into an emergency resource center. On the day of the ribbon-cutting, many media outlets were present. I declined all interviews, placing only a small sign above the entrance: May every cry for help find an answer.

After the ceremony, my assistant approached me. Director Tang, there is someone outside who wishes to see you.

I asked: Who?

She hesitated for a moment. Mr. Thinh.

I walked to the entrance. Thinh Canh Xuyen stood at the base of the steps. He was much thinner than he had been two years prior, dressed in a simple black coat. He held no flowers, no documents. He simply stood there in silence. I approached him.

Is there something you need?

He looked at me, his voice very low. I am leaving for the Northwest tomorrow. There is a congenital heart disease screening project there that requires long-term commitment.

I said: That is excellent.

He nodded. The Thinh Corporation has completed all compensations. The remaining assets in my name have been transferred into a charitable trust. A portion of that has been designated specifically for Thirteen Six.

I looked at him. I do not accept money with conditions.

There are no conditions.

He produced a file. The donation is irrevocable and made anonymously. You may audit it, or you may refuse it.

I took the file. The amount was staggering—enough to sustain the operations of Thirteen Six for many years to come. I said: I will have my legal department review it. If it is lawful, I will accept it.

Thinh Canh Xuyen’s eyes grew moist. Thank you.

I raised my head to look at him. This is not forgiveness. This is what you were obligated to return.

He nodded. I know.

We stood in silence for a long time. He looked toward the gate of the emergency center. This used to be the back entrance of the warehouse. Du An rushed in from this side.

I said nothing. He continued: I have watched that video over and over again. Every time I watch it, I think: if only I had been clear-headed, if only I had seen him back then...

I cut him off.