Chapter 11 — Vegetarian Restaurant Behind the Temple Gate

The meeting was announced three days in advance, posted on a wooden board next to the main gate of Tinh Lien Pagoda with a neatly printed A4 sheet of paper: "Welcome Buddhists and interested people to attend the presentation of the project to develop the pagoda campus, at nine o'clock in the morning, at the lecture hall." Yen Nhi read that piece of paper twice as she passed by, then read it again a third time the night before, standing in front of the mirror in the small bathroom, her hands still smelling of turmeric from the braised pot she had just put down. She didn't know how she should dress to attend a meeting where she had no voting rights, only the right to sit and listen.

That morning the shop closed half an hour later than usual. Grandma Cam Thi Nu struggled to clean up the piles of bowls, muttering whether she was praying or scolding someone outside. "Let's go, don't argue with people, you hear me? It's your part to stay on the temple grounds, you have to be polite in your speech." Yen Nhi agreed, folded her apron, and put on the brown Ba Ba shirt her mother left behind, the only thing in the closet that she felt was dignified enough for a morning like this.

Tinh Lien Pagoda's lecture hall, which was originally used for sermons on full moon days, had an old encaustic tile floor with eight lotus petal patterns that had almost lost its color. Today, there is a row of long tables covered with pure white cloths, completely different from the familiar rustic atmosphere. A white projection screen is stretched right in the middle, in front is a compact projector placed on a stand, the electrical cord running along the edge of the wall is carefully taped so that no one trips. The familiar smell of incense from the temple was overwhelmed by the smell of newly printed paper and the faint scent of a stranger's perfume.

Sai Trong Phat walked in on time, not a minute early, not a minute late. He wore a white shirt with buttoned sleeves, no tie - a delicate calculation to look both neat and approachable, not too far away from the Zen atmosphere. He was about forty-eight years old, but his gait was agile, his hair combed back to reveal his broad forehead. His handshake with Venerable Thich Tue Thong was firm and just long enough to show his sincerity. Following him is a young assistant holding a silver laptop and a moss green hardcover folder, printed in gold letters "DAI PHU KHANG - Creating sustainable value".

The Ho Tu Committee sat in the front row: a few old men and women with gray hair, simple blue ao dai or ao dai, including Mr. Nhan Duc Phong, the neighborhood leader, sat straight with his back straight, his hands placed solemnly on his knees. Yen Nhi and Ms. On Bich Ha and a few familiar Buddhists sat back, near the window overlooking the lotus pond. No one invited them to sit in the front row, nor did anyone tell them to sit in the back row, just an implicit arrangement that everyone automatically followed, like water flowing to a low place.

Venerable Tue Thong stood up to briefly introduce himself, his voice monotone, without any clear bias towards any side, but Yen Nhi noticed that the teacher's hand slightly tightened the hem of his shirt as he said: "Today we have the opportunity to listen to a proposal from the business side, so that the Household Committee has full information before making the most suitable decision for our temple." The word "we" rang out like a word of reassurance, but Yen Nhi felt it was empty, like a cracked bell, it still rang when knocked but the sound was no longer full.

Sai Trong Phat began his presentation with a personal story - his grandmother was a devout Buddhist, he grew up hearing the temple bell every morning, and because of that sentiment, his group "never looks at the temple as a piece of land, but as a heritage that needs to be properly cherished". His voice was deep and warm, at a moderate pace, occasionally pausing just in time to let his eyes glance over each face in the room, making the listener feel like he was talking to them privately. Yen Nhi suddenly remembered how her old restaurant managers used to train food marketing staff — same technique, just different subjects.

The screen turned on, showing a three-dimensional perspective of the "Ben Truc Zen Center - Resort Complex": rows of low-rise wooden houses with curved tiled roofs, a triple-wide lotus pond, a paved path leading through an artificial bamboo forest, transparent meditation halls overlooking an ancient Bodhi tree marked by a copper-plated protective fence, captioned "Heritage Tree - kept intact". There is a herbal treatment spa, a luxury resort with an infinity pool overlooking the valley, and an "international class" vegetarian restaurant serving guests. Numbers danced on the screen: total investment capital of phase one was more than eight hundred billion dong, creating about three hundred jobs for local workers, the town's expected tourism revenue increased fivefold in five years.

"In particular," Sai Trong Phat emphasized, pointing to a frame showing the main hall painted with shiny gold, "Dai Phu Khang committed to sponsoring the entire cost of restoring the main hall, the ancestral house, and building a new spacious monastery for monks to rest in their old age, not included in the total investment capital, considered as part of the company's offerings to the Three Jewels." Some of the old men and women in the Temple Protection Committee nodded slightly, some raised their sleeves to dab at the corners of their eyes, sincerely moved by the image of the temple wearing a new outfit. Yen Nhi looked at Mr. Nhan Duc Phong, saw him frowning, his eyes glued to the corner of the screen where the area of Cay Bo De alley - the exact location where An Tam restaurant is located - was colored in a light blue color, with a small caption: "Native food area (expected re-planning)".

When it came to the question and answer session, the atmosphere in the lecture hall softened, the hum of the ceiling fan mixed with the sound of cicadas in the yard. An old lady asked if maintaining her daily chanting routine would be affected, and was smoothly answered that the worship area would be "completely isolated" from the commercial service area by a green fence. Uncle Nhan Duc Phong asked about the land lease term and was told "the contract is flexible, can be negotiated according to the wishes of the pagoda". No one answered any questions directly, all answers were as soft as noodles, bending into every shape the listener wanted to see.

Yen Nhi sat silently for a long time, her hands clasped together in her lap, feeling like she was swallowing a hot coal into her stomach. She finally raised her hand, her voice shaking slightly but still trying to keep it clear. "Uncle, let me ask, the land my family is renting to open a shop, located next to the side gate of the temple, is written in the drawing as re-planning - so that means my shop will no longer be there, right?" The whole room was silent for a beat. Sai Trong Phat smiled, a smile without the slightest hint of confusion, as if he had anticipated this question for a long time.

"You ask a very good question," he said, his voice still gentle as if he were having a friendly conversation. "We really appreciate the story of your family's vegetarian restaurant, it is part of the 'indigenous soul' that the project wants to preserve. Our orientation is to integrate the traditional vegetarian cuisine model into the high-end restaurant area in the complex, under a common brand, so that the story is known to more tourists, on a larger scale, more professionally. Of course all specific details will be discussed privately, we are always ready to listen to your family's wishes." He said "integrate" as lightly as if he were talking about mixing two spices, not about erasing a name that had existed for twenty-five years, erasing the hand and recipe of a deceased person.

Yen Nhi did not ask further. She understood, under that layer of smooth language, the real answer was: An Tam restaurant, following the rustic shape that her mother created, would no longer exist. It would be "integrated", meaning swallowed up and digested into something else, with a different name, serving a different class of customers, and perhaps she herself would no longer have a place in that new kitchen, if it were actually built.

The meeting ended with Venerable Tue Thong's words of thanks, announcing that the House Protection Committee would meet separately to consider and would have an official response in the near future. Sai Trong Phat stood up and shook hands with each member of the Household Committee, his face bright and confident like someone who had just successfully completed his job. When passing by Yen Nhi, he stopped and bowed slightly, "Thank you for your deep interest in the temple. Hopefully we will have many more opportunities to exchange in the future." The statement was so polite that no one could refute it, but Yen Nhi clearly felt that a boundary had been drawn in it - she was allowed to "care", but not allowed to decide.

Leaving the lecture hall, the sun was high in the sky, shining down on the surface of the lotus pond, sparkling like silver sprinkles. The lotus flowers at the end of the season have withered, their petals drooping to the surface of the water, leaving only the dry lotus stem standing alone among the leaves. Ms. On Bich Ha followed behind, gently holding Yen Nhi's hand. "They speak so well, even I feel captivated when I hear it, let alone the elders in the Household Committee." Yen Nhi did not answer immediately. She looked towards Cay Bo De alley, where the old tiled roof of An Tam shop rose behind the rows of areca nut trees, the sunlight covering it with a pale yellow layer of aching peace, as if the house itself had never known the fate hanging over its head.

"They don't need me to fall in love," Yen Nhi finally said, her voice quiet but firm. "They just need the Patronage Committee to nod. We are here, just so they can say that they have 'consulted the community' to complete all the procedures, sister." Ms. Bich Ha remained silent, squeezing her hand tighter. The wind blowing through the lotus pond carried the smell of young mud and the smell of incense still lingering in the lecture hall. Those two seemingly opposing smells mixed together, lingering in Yen Nhi's chest into an unnamed insecurity, exactly like the feeling she had seven years ago, standing in a brightly lit kitchen in Saigon, knowing clearly that something was breaking but no one was willing to look directly at it.