Chapter 9 — Vegetarian Restaurant Behind the Temple Gate

This year's full moon day in July falls on a rare, clear day in the midst of Ben Truc's heavy rainy season. From early morning, Yen Nhi woke up before the rooster crowed, because she knew this would be one of the busiest days of the year for the restaurant - Vu Lan holiday, filial piety day, the day when the whole small town seemed to be heading towards the ancient pagoda on the high mound, carrying incense sticks, fruit baskets, and all the year-round feelings.

The bell of Tinh Lien pagoda rang from the time it was still dusk, the warm sound spread through Cay Bo De alley, into the kitchen where Yen Nhi was busy preparing dozens of pre-ordered vegetarian trays for Buddhist families. Mrs. Nu, even though she is eighty-one years old, still wakes up early to help her grandchildren wrap each batch of banh it with gai leaves. Her hands tremble but she still quickly folds each layer of banana leaves, muttering a short verse that she has memorized since she was young.

"In the past, your mother was five or seven times as busy as today." Ms. Nu said, her voice was both nostalgic and a little proud. "The whole neighborhood flocked to the pagoda and our restaurant, from morning to night, didn't show any hands. Xuan cooked without holding his breath, but his face was always bright. He said this day was the happiest day of the year for him, because he was able to cook for the whole village to eat."

Yen Nhi smiled as she listened to her story, her hands kept stirring the stir-fry pan, preparing braised mushrooms with pepper for one of the rice offerings sent to the temple. She remembered the words in her mother's notebook, and reminded herself that today, no matter how busy she is, she must try to keep her mind from getting confused with the pace of work.

By about eight o'clock in the morning, the stream of people coming to Tinh Lien Pagoda was already crowded. From the beginning of Cay Bo De alley, Yen Nhi can see groups of people marching past the shop's gate, holding offerings, holding incense and lamps, including old people with canes being helped by their children and grandchildren, and young families taking their children wearing blue shirts to the temple. The atmosphere was bustling but not noisy, a quiet bustle typical of Buddhist holidays, interspersed with the sound of chanting from the main hall and the murmuring chatter of people who have known each other for many years in the small town.

Today, An Tam Vegetarian Restaurant is open from dawn until late, serving not only pre-ordered meals but also visitors who stop by to eat after the Buddha ceremony. Yen Nhi and her two kitchen assistants worked tirelessly, but she noticed that, unlike the usual busy days here that made her exhausted and irritable, today she felt an unusually warm source of energy, as if the very atmosphere of the holiday had infused her with some vitality.

In the middle of the afternoon, Ms. Bich Ha stopped by, not to eat lotus seed sweet soup as usual, but brought a small fruit basket to make offerings to the temple. She stopped at the restaurant for a moment and helped Yen Nhi bring a few trays of rice to the table for the customers, a friendly gesture that did not require anyone's help. "Today I went to the temple to pray for Bo's life." she said softly when the two of them had a free minute to stand next to each other. "On this day every year, I go up, light a stick of incense for my child, and ask the monk to recite a sutra for him."

Yen Nhi gently held her hand, didn't say much, just let her presence be a silent comfort. Mr. Lanh Van Dat also stopped by the restaurant in the middle of the afternoon. His tanned skin today was a bit brighter than usual. He was wearing the cleanest Ba Ba clothes. He said he had just returned from the temple after burning incense for his wife. He sat at his usual table, ordered a bowl of mushroom and wormwood soup, and this time, instead of eating quietly as usual, he chatted loudly with a few old friends at the table, telling old stories about his youth, about the Vu Lan seasons long ago when his wife was still alive and went to the temple with him before the cock crowed.

In the temple yard, under the shadow of an ancient Bodhi tree, Venerable Thich Tue Thong stood and observed the bustling flow of people coming in and out, hands clasped behind his back, sharp eyes scanning every corner of the campus. Yen Nhi happened to see the teacher when he brought a tray of hemp leaf cakes to make offerings according to Mrs. Nu's instructions. She noticed that he did not chant with the other monks and nuns in the main hall, but stood alone in a corner, looking out at the large yard in front of the lotus pond, where hundreds of people were sitting under the trees, eating vegetarian meals, chatting, and some families even spread out mats to rest in the middle of the long ceremony.

"This space is so beautiful, unfortunately it has not been exploited properly." Yen Nhi heard Master Tue Thong speak, not to her but to one of the Ban Ho Tu standing next to him, a neatly dressed middle-aged man whom she did not know. "Looking at today, we know that our pagoda has great community appeal. If we re-plan the campus, build more light resorts, and more systematic meditation spaces, we will definitely attract more Buddhists from all over, and have more resources to restore the main hall and repair the degraded monkhood."

The person in the Protection Committee nodded, seeming to partly agree. "What you say makes sense, but people around here are used to the old ways, afraid of too much change and losing the soul of the temple."

"Change does not mean losing your soul." Teacher Tue Thong replied, his voice calm but firm. "On the contrary, if we don't have resources, our pagoda will gradually deteriorate, the roof tiles will leak, the lime walls will peel off, and by then the soul will have no place to take refuge. I just think, I need to look a little further, don't let emotions hinder the necessary decisions."

Yen Nhi stood silently behind her, the tray of banh it still in her hand, a familiar feeling of insecurity suddenly arose in her heart, similar to the first time she met teacher Tue Thong. She couldn't hear the whole story, but words like "replanning", "resort", "proper exploitation" kept echoing in her head, evoking a bad premonition. She remembered the strange car with the person wearing a suit that appeared around the temple not long ago, and remembered the searching eyes of Master Tue Thong during their first meeting.

She quietly placed the tray of cakes on the altar according to the ritual, then left, not wanting to let Master Tue Thong know that she had accidentally overheard the story. On the way back to the shop, she passed by the area near the side gate, where teacher Thien Tam was helping an elderly woman find a place to rest under the shade of a tree, gently supporting her arm, patiently guiding her step by step on the somewhat rough brick floor. Looking at that image, Yen Nhi suddenly felt her heart calm down a bit - at least, amidst the calculations and worries, there were still such simple, sincere things happening right in the temple grounds.

In the evening, when the main ceremony was over and the crowd gradually thinned out, Yen Nhi stood at the door of the shop looking out at the temple yard lit by hundreds of small flower lanterns that Buddhists dropped on the lotus pond, shimmering and reflecting in the still water. Mrs. Nu sat next to her on the steps, still holding the fan in her hand and waving it even though the weather was less hot.

"This day looks so fun, but I'm so tired." Ms. Nu said, her voice a bit relieved after a long day. "But this type of tiredness is different. I'm tired but my heart is light, not like the tiredness I told you about when I was in Saigon."

Yen Nhi nodded, clearly feeling the difference her grandmother had just said. She looked out at the flower lanterns floating lazily on the surface of the pond, thinking about the story she accidentally heard from Master Tue Thong that afternoon, thinking about her mother's notebook, thinking about Ms. Bich Ha going to the pagoda to pray for her child's death, thinking about Mr. Lanh Van Dat finding his smile again next to a familiar bowl of mushroom soup. All of those pieces, in one day, showed her more clearly than ever the true value of this small space - the vegetarian restaurant and the ancient temple, relying on each other for many years, an anchor for so many souls carrying their own pain.

The night wind carried the scent of incense smoke lingering from the main hall, mixed with the faint scent of young mud and lotus rising from the surface of the pond, a scent that Yen Nhi had smelled familiarly since childhood but tonight suddenly felt strangely poignant, as if each breath carried a layer of memories on top of other memories. In the distance, the sound of gongs and bells echoed from the main hall, steadily and slowly, like the heartbeat of the entire temple gradually calming down after a long day of welcoming visitors. She looked down at her hands, still stained with sticky rice flour from the last batch of banh it wrapped in the afternoon, and thought, perhaps it is simple hands like these - Mrs. Nu's hands wrapping cakes, Ms. Bich Ha's hands carrying a tray of rice to serve guests, Master Thien Tam's hands helping the old man through the rough brick yard - that are really what keeps this place alive and warm, not flashy plans on paper.

And that's why, Teacher Tue Thong's fleeting words that afternoon made her heart feel heavier. She doesn't know what will happen, she doesn't know what "modernization" the teacher mentioned specifically, but she feels, like a cold breeze passing through a hot summer night, that peaceful days like today may not last forever. She sat quietly next to her grandmother, watching the lanterns drift away on the dark pond. Her heart was both warm because of a perfect holiday and at the same time anxious about a worry that had not yet clearly formed, like a gray cloud quietly moving towards the horizon.