Chapter 23 — Unnamed Perfume Shop

On the morning of the opening day of the festival, before going to the square to set up a booth, Bach Nguyen stopped by his uncle's small apartment one last time. Mr. Vinh Khang opened the door, somewhat surprised to see his nephew arriving so early, dressed neatly as if preparing for an important event.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, inviting him into the house.

"I came to invite you to come with me to the festival today," Bach Nguyen said, his voice serious but earnest. "I know you still have many doubts, but I hope you give me, and Miss Nghi, one last chance to prove what we've always told you — that place is worth keeping."

"I thought you and I had finished discussing this," Mr. Vinh Khang said, his voice somewhat tired, although not as harsh as before. "I don't want to have to go through any more convincing, Bach Nguyen. I'm too tired of this."

"I'm not here to convince you again," Bach Nguyen replied, his voice sincere. "I just want you to see for yourself, feel for yourself, and then make your own final decision, no matter what decision it is. I respect any choice you make, as long as it comes from a complete understanding, not just from the pressure of numbers on paper."

Mr. Vinh Khang pondered, poured him a cup of tea, and sat down opposite. "You have already signed a preliminary memorandum of understanding with the group, Bach Nguyen. No matter how successful the festival is, you are still bound to complete the official contract in the next two weeks."

"I know," Bach Nguyen replied, "but I believe, if you see with your own eyes what Ms. Nghi and this whole neighborhood have built together, maybe you can find a way to renegotiate with the corporation — not a complete cancellation, but another plan, retaining some of the original value while still meeting your financial needs."

Mr. Vinh Khang was silent for a long time, looking down at the steaming cup of tea. "You know," he said at last, his voice low, "yesterday I was looking through some old photos and found one of me as a child, standing in front of that same house number 14, next to your grandfather and Mrs. Anh Nguyet. I was about ten years old at that time, and I remember fondly that Mrs. Anh Nguyet gave me a candy wrapped in paper that smelled of flowers. I kept that smell in my head for many years without knowing where it came from, until recently when you told me about it. the story Ms. Nghi is doing."

Bach Nguyen sat up straight, a ray of hope flashing in his heart. "So you also have a part of your memories associated with that place," he said softly.

"Maybe so," Mr. Vinh Khang admitted, sounding somewhat confused by his own discovery. "I didn't expect that everything would involve me in this way. Okay, Bach Nguyen, I will go with you to the festival today. But I don't promise to change my decision, I just think, I should at least see it with my own eyes before making the final choice."

Bach Nguyen was delighted, thanked him profusely, then hurriedly left to meet Bao Nghi on time at the square. On the way, he called her to tell her the news, his voice full of excitement. "My uncle agreed to come see the festival," he said. "This might be the best chance I have."

"Really?" Bao Nghi shouted on the other end of the phone, her voice full of hope. "So I have to do well today."

Arriving at the square, the atmosphere was bustling early, dozens of stalls of traditional artisans and businesses in the old town were set up close together, each with its own unique look - there was a hand-embroidered stall, an antique ceramic stall, a conical hat making stall, and in a solemn corner near the main stage, the stall of an unnamed perfume shop, elaborately decorated by Nha Truc and everyone last night with vases of fresh flowers, old photos, and in a central position, a small table displays familiar unlabelled glass jars.

Bao Nghi was standing and rearranging the final details when she saw Bach Nguyen arriving with Mr. Vinh Khang. She was a bit nervous, but still maintained a friendly smile when welcoming him. "Hello, thank you for coming," she said, bowing politely.

"Miss Nghi really prepared carefully," Mr. Vinh Khang commented, looking around the booth, stopping for a long time at the black and white photo of the youthful Ms. Anh Nguyet that Mr. Ta Khac Nguyen gave. "Is this Mrs. Anh Nguyet? I still remember her image, even though it's been a long time."

"Yes, that's right," Bao Nghi replied, her eyes lighting up. "Bach Nguyen told me that when I was little, I also went to the store with my grandfather."

Mr. Vinh Khang nodded, a nostalgic smile flashing across his always serious face. "I thought I had forgotten that memory a long time ago, but standing here today, everything comes back strangely clear." He looked around the booth once more, then looked at his nephew with a complicated look, both touched and still filled with concerns that could not be resolved overnight.

Bao Nghi invited him to sit down, introduced him to the journey to find the Hoai Huong formula, and gave him a small sample bottle to smell. Mr. Vinh Khang closed his eyes, took a breath, and in that moment, his face flashed with an emotion that he tried to hide but was not entirely successful. "This smell," he said, his voice hoarse, "has something very similar to my childhood memories, although I can't name it exactly."

"That's exactly the purpose of this recipe, uncle," Bao Nghi said quietly. "Not to create a beautiful fragrance, but to preserve something seemingly lost, for those who are fortunate enough to find it again."

Mr. Vinh Khang was silent for a long time, not saying anything more, just sitting there, in the bustling atmosphere of the festival, among the traditional craft stalls that were attracting more and more visitors, seemingly struggling with a decision that he knew he would soon have to make, a decision that was no longer simply about money, but touched on a part of his memory that he did not expect to still retain.

Meanwhile, a delegation of officials from the Provincial Department of Culture also arrived and walked along the booths, taking notes, taking photos, and interviewing each artisan about their career history and the difficulties they are facing. When arriving at Bao Nghi's booth, a middle-aged female official stopped for a long time, listening intently to her telling about the Hoai Huong formula, about the journey of three generations, and even about the unfinished pages of the notebook. "This is exactly the type of story we are looking for to include in the proposal for recognition of intangible heritage at the provincial level," the official commented, taking careful notes. "Do you have any relevant documents or images that we can attach to the report?"

Bao Nghi was delighted and quickly showed her the documents she and Bach Nguyen had painstakingly prepared over the past few months, including a copy of a few pages in her grandmother's notebook, old photos, and Bach Nguyen's architectural heritage proposal. The officer took a look, nodded in approval, and promised to include all the documents in a report to be submitted to superiors next week, a good sign even though it is not the final result.

Standing from afar, Mr. Vinh Khang witnessed the entire scene and clearly saw the sincere interest of the experts in the store's story, completely different from what he had imagined when he only viewed the issue through the lens of land valuation numbers. He quietly walked closer to Bach Nguyen and patted his nephew's shoulder. "Maybe I need more time to think more carefully," he said, his voice much softer than the initial resoluteness. "But at least, today I understand that this is not just about Ms. Nghi or just my family anymore."

Bach Nguyen squeezed his uncle's shoulder, his heart filled with a hope that he did not dare reveal too clearly, for fear of ruining this fragile moment. "Thank you, uncle, for coming today," he said. "No matter what the final result is, for me, the fact that you were willing to open up like that is already meaningful."

That afternoon, when Mr. Vinh Khang left, promising to think more and have an answer two weeks before the deadline, Bach Nguyen found Bao Nghi who was busy welcoming visitors at the booth. He recounted the entire morning's events, his eyes filled with hope. "I think I made a real difference today," he said.

"I believe so," Bao Nghi replied, holding his hand, looking out at the crowded square with passersby, where the story of the unnamed perfume shop, for the first time in more than fifty years, was being told publicly in front of hundreds of strangers, and each person who heard it seemed to take a small part of that story with them when they left, like seeds of memories scattered throughout this ancient street.