Chapter 20 — The Thirteenth Landmark

Three months after the flood, Ha Luu still had walls that were not dry. The mud has been removed from Reed Street, but the brown outline on the base of the wall reminds everyone where the water level once stood. The "post-disaster reconstruction" signs were taken down and replaced with temporary signs listing the names of each household.

The provincial court opened a public hearing on the case. Nguyen Dieu Trang was suspended, Le Hoang Vinh was investigated for land transactions and data manipulation. Hai Duy partially cooperated, providing Tan Giang records in exchange for bail, but still faces charges of dumping and forced relocation. Dang Quoc Duy disappeared for two days and then went to the investigation agency with his lawyer.

No one can be said to be the sole cause of the flood. The profile had too many signatures, too many silences, and too many people believed that they were only doing a small part of the job.

An was invited as an expert witness. She sat in front of the council, behind the screen displaying Milestone 13. The clock face had been removed from the pillar, the hands were repaired and placed in a glass case. The number 2.47 still has scratches on the glass.

“Do you think Lam Quang Vu is innocent?” a lawyer asked.

An looked at her mother in the backseat. Ms. Hanh did not avoid it.

“No,” An replied.

There were whispers in the room.

“So what are you protecting him for?”

"I don't defend. I describe fully."

An presents maps, pressure data, father's diary, and meeting video. She said Mr. Vu received the money, signed the order to open the sewer and chose to save the hospital in front of the Bac Bo area. She also said his signature was used to cover up a controlled flooding plan in which someone else decided which areas would be subject to water.

“Could he have warned the residents earlier?”

"Have."

“Can he refuse to sign?”

"Have."

“So he is responsible?”

"Have."

An paused, then continued:

"But his responsibility does not make the rest innocent. One wrong signature cannot make dozens of other signatures disappear."

The answers are broadcast live. Bich sat at the back of the room, taking notes by hand instead of using a computer. She did a five-hour podcast, not calling it a whitewashing story. The name of the episode is “Where Water is Allowed to Flow”.

Khoi was not present in the morning session. He was at the riverbank, checking on the civilian rescue team that had just been funded by the city. His shoulder has healed, but the new scar runs through the old scar like a different colored thread.

Phuc was accepted into the community data group. He no longer livestreams old items regularly, but still records videos instructing people to read water meters and save data offline.

Ms. Hanh reopened the tea shop. On the wall hangs a small sign: “Today's water level — ask before signing.” People come to drink tea not just to talk, but to see the manual data table updated every hour.

After the hearing, An went to the community measuring station. A group of students are installing a clear plastic water level ruler with self-drawn colored lines. The girl leading the group asked:

“Sister An, does the thirteenth mark really measure a liar?”

An smiled. “It only measures water.”

“So why do people call it that?”

“Because when the situation is different from the words, people have to look again.”

Khoi came up behind her and gave her a cup of iced tea.

"No sugar. I remember you don't like sweets."

“I miss so much.”

"I used to be a doctor. Remember vital signs."

“How is your shoulder?”

“Still holding the roof paddle."

An looked at the river. The city is rebuilding part of the embankment, but the new design provides room for controlled overflow. Old sewer lines are publicly marked on maps. A council of residents has the right to see the raw data and request independent testing.

“I accepted a job in Da Nang,” An said.

Khoi didn't ask when she was leaving.

“Congratulations.”

“But I will be a consultant for the Lower Basin water system.”

“What do you mean you haven't left yet?”

“I go half way.”

“Where is your other half?”

“There are people still arguing about the water level.”

Khoi laughed. “Then you will still be busy.”

That afternoon, the investigation agency handed over his father's notebook to An. Some pages are photocopied, the originals are sealed. The last page had a line she hadn't read the first time:

“If An finds Mark 13, tell her that there is no natural water flow that goes wrong. There is always someone opening a door.”

An brought the notebook to the canal bank. Milestone 13 has been reconstructed, next to it is a board explaining the entire history. On the board, there is no name Tan Giang or her father's name printed in large letters. Just the time, the data, and the link to the open data repository.

She placed her hand on the metal. The water mark no longer functions as a secret device. It becomes part of public memory.

Bich called from the ferry terminal.

“There is news. New Lower Fund just dissolved a subsidiary.”

“Has Vinh been arrested yet?”

"Not yet. But there is an account that transfers money to a metering station in another province.”

An looked at the water. “Which account?”

“Code name: M-14.”

An is not surprised. Ha Luu's story has ended, but the water gates are more than one city.

“Send me the data.”

“You just said you would take half a break.”

“I just leave the part where no one lies.”

Bich smiled over the phone. Khoi stood next to him and heard.

“If you go to investigate again,” he said, “this time remember to bring a properly sized life jacket.”

“Are you coming along this time?”

“I only know how to drive a canoe.”

“That's enough.”

The sun sets behind the new row of houses. The light shines on the water surface, making the measurement lines on Marker 13 stand out clearly. The river did not get clearer immediately. The city also doesn't become kind just because one incident comes to light.

But every North Shore house now has a meter of water. Each measuring station has two records. Each command to open a sewer must be read aloud before execution.

An stood next to the canal and heard the distant sound of the pump stopping. She misses her father, no longer as an absolutely innocent person, nor as someone who bears all the blame. He was a man who chose too little time one night, then let others use that choice as an excuse for an entire empire.

Water does not know who to love. But humans can learn not to let just one person decide where the water flows.

On the other side, a child used chalk to draw the number 13 on the cement floor, then added a large circle next to it.

An saw it and asked:

“What are you drawing?”

The child replied:

“Next water mark. So that no one can erase it.”

An did not correct it. She just took her phone, took a photo and sent it to the community database.

Below the photo, she noted:

“The first day after the water season. Water level: 1.42 meters. He wrote: all of us.”

An saves the image to the open data folder, then turns off the screen. Mrs. Hanh called from the tea shop, asking if she would come home for dinner tonight. An said yes, but before that he had to visit Loc at the hospital.

Phan Duc Loc is out of danger. He lay by the door window, looking at the traffic and listening to the radio reading about the hearing. When An came in, he told her to close the curtain.

“I don't want anyone to see me cry,” he said.

“I haven't seen it yet.”

“I see.”

Loc gave An an envelope. Inside is the original photo of her father standing at the measuring station. On the back is written the date of the photo and the photographer's name: Nguyen Dieu Trang.

“She wanted to keep her father on the team,” Loc said. "Mr. Vu refused because he knew she had received money from the fund."

“So why does he still work with you?”

“Because in a city like Ha Luu, if you don't work with the people in power, no one can open the sewers.”

An looked at the photo. She no longer wants to find a perfect father. She wanted to remember a man who knew he could be wrong and still tried to leave a path for those who came after him.

At the tea shop, Mrs. Hanh hung a new map next to Mr. Vu's photo. People mark their own culverts, water meters and collection points. Phuc created a simple electronic board, anyone can enter measurements by phone or write down a paper to send to the shop.

“People call it the Water Milestone Network,” Phuc said.

“The name is a bit long.”

“It can be abbreviated as MMN.”

“Sounds like the name of a medicine.”

“As long as it saves people.”

An walked past houses that had been marked in red. Some families still repaired the wall, others chose to sell, but this time they sold at a known price and were not pushed out with a fake map.

Mr. Sau gave her a cup of tea. “The water has gone down, but people are still arguing.”

“Arguing is good.”

“Where is good?”

“While arguing, some people asked where the number came from.”

Khoi stood at the ferry wharf, preparing for a rescue training trip for students. He showed the children how to tie a rope, measure the direction of the stream and not follow the whistle if they don't know where the whistle is coming from.

A boy asked: "If two landmarks are different, which one should you believe?"

Khoi Chi An. “Ask someone who knows how to check.”

An replied: "Don't believe it right away. Measure further."

In the evening, she and her mother ate on the porch. Mrs. Hanh gave her a piece of fish, then asked:

“Are you still angry at me?”

An thought for a long time.

"Yes. But not because he signed. I'm angry because he thinks you and I can't handle the truth."

“He was afraid that I would lose my father a second time.”

“I'm gone.”

“But now I can remember him properly.”

An looked at the photo on the wall. Mr. Vu smiled, standing next to an old water marker. In the photo, behind him is a little girl who cannot read numbers.

An's phone vibrates. Bich sent a new data set from another province. A mechanical marker records water level deviation from the electronic system. The device code ends with 14.

An opens the message. Bich wrote: "I'm not saying this is a new case. But do you want to see it?"

An looked at Khoi who was cleaning the dishes, watched his mother put the map in the cupboard, then replied: "Send it."

Not because she wanted to be a hero. It's not because she doesn't know how to rest yet. Just because from now on, when a number is different from the sound of water, she can't pretend not to hear it.

Outside the wharf, Mark 13 reflects under the lights. Kim stands at 1.42 meters.

Low. Not low.

Just a number written down by everyone who decided not to let it disappear.