Chapter 5 — When the Wind Crosses the Porch

The new notice was posted at five forty in the morning, when the neighbors had not yet opened their doors. This time the paper was not yellow but pure white, with red letters and a square stamp. The title reads "Temporary decision on control of land clearance area". Mai's gate was sealed with a plastic tape.

Hanh stood inside, her hand holding the edge of the curtain. She didn't dare step out.

Mai read the entire text. Twelve households around the house are on the control list. People are not allowed to arbitrarily repair, move large assets or rent houses. The response period is seven days. The paper does not specify the issuing agency, only the file code K-17.

“They did it so fast,” Quan said.

He stood outside the tape, not passing by. Mai took pictures of each page and then called the town's one-stop shop. The line was busy three times. The fourth time, a female voice read the correct sentence: "The file has been transferred to the province, please wait for the official document."

“Is this document official or not?” Mai asked.

“Just wait for the announcement.”

“What if I need my roof repaired today?”

“You are not allowed to make repairs in the controlled area.”

The call ended.

Hanh opened the back door and gave Mai a cloth bag. “Get the files out of the house.”

“What did Mom say?”

"They took the tape once. Next time they will search more thoroughly."

Mai looked at the ribbon in front of the gate. “You know they'll come back?”

“The person who decided to take the land did not stop because of a piece of paper.”

Quan went around the back and used the old key to open the wing door. The house has no public exit, just a narrow path between two walls. They brought the notebook, letters and photocopies to Sau Luu's house. Duy held the disassembled radio, hiding the pieces in three different bags.

Sau Luu received them in the room containing boxes of books. He put a pot of water on the stove, then pulled the town map to the middle of the table.

“The K-17 code appears in three types of records,” he said. "Storage warehouse, temporary housing area and embankment lot. If they group all three into one code, they can say everything is the same area."

Mai uses a pen to circle. "In this map, the warehouse is outside the project boundary. In the company's map, the warehouse is inside."

"The old map is kept by the cooperative. The new map is kept by the surveying department."

Quan looked at the edit mark. “There are two reviewers, but the same initials.”

"Who?" Mai asked.

“One is named Luu, the other is named Hao.”

Hao is the broker who quoted Hanh's house price. She appeared at the gate only once, always saying "sell early to get a good price".

Sau Luu opened the drawer and took out an old delivery slip. "I'm not sure if this is the original, but the number of barrels matches Mr. Lam's book. Three barrels were transferred to the salt factory. One barrel was transferred to the project office before Huong Duong company was established."

“Sunflower didn't exist seven years ago,” Quan said.

“So who does the person who took the records work for?”

No one answered.

Mai remembers the saying in the tape: strangers know about her scholarship. That person certainly has access to communal documents, or was provided by someone.

“I'm going to my old school,” she said.

Hanh was startled. "For what?"

“Find scholarship records.”

“That file is not related to land.”

“If they used the scholarship to force mom to sign, it's related.”

Quan took her away by motorbike. The old school is located near the fishing wharf, the newly built row of houses covers the soccer field where Mai used to practice performing arts. She went into the administrative office, showed her identification and said she needed a copy of the scholarship file to file a complaint. The teacher in charge has now left, the replacement cannot find the paper records.

“Everything has been transferred to the system,” the employee said.

“Who entered the data that year?”

"Not sure. Maybe the education room."

Mai, please see the edit history. The old system is gone. But in the warehouse, she found a box of files placed behind the printer shelf. The side of the box says her school year, below is the code K-17.

“Why is this code here?” Quan asked.

Staff don't know. Mai opens the box. Including a copy of the certificate of circumstances, scholarship application form and a document signed by Hanh. The line "no complaints about property disputes" was covered with white ink in the form sent to the school, but was revealed in the archived copy.

Mai held the paper, her palm cold. There is a signature at the bottom confirming the representative delivering the documents: Tu Hau.

“You are both a warehouse guard and bring papers to school?” Quan asked.

“So he didn't just sign for the people.”

Quan took the photo. “We need a certified copy.”

Staff are alert. “I cannot have internal records taken.”

Mai did not argue. She wrote down the file number, date, and deliverer's name. Before leaving, she saw a guest book at the table. The line dated November 12 seven years ago had the names Vinh, Hao and Tu Hau. Entry time: 8:41. Departure time: 9:36.

The time period 9:17 is located between the two ink marks.

On the way home, Quan asked: "What do you plan to do with this information?"

“Give it to the lawyer.”

“Which lawyer?”

"I don't know yet."

"I know someone. She specializes in community land, low initial fee."

Mai laughed dryly. “How low is it?”

“Enough so that your mother doesn't have to sell sewing machines.”

When they arrived at Sau Luu's house, Duy was already waiting. He said someone stood outside Mai's gate, taking pictures of the seal strip.

“Do you have scars?” Mai asked.

"No. It's a girl wearing glasses. I saw her talking on the phone to someone: 'She went to school.'"

Hao wears glasses. Mai recognized her from an old photo of seven households, standing far away from the group as if she didn't want her face to be clearly photographed.

Mai called Hao. She answered the phone on the second ring.

“Miss Mai, I was planning to stop by your house.”

“Are you following me?”

“I just take care of the paperwork.”

“Do you know that my scholarship application is coded K-17?”

Hao was silent for a moment, enough for the sound of cars on the street to fill the void.

“I don't understand what you're saying.”

"In the school's guest book, there are your names, Vinh and Tu Hau's names on the day my father had an accident."

“You are slandering.”

"I haven't told you what you did. I just asked where you met my father."

Hao hung up.

Ten minutes later, a text message came from an unknown number: "Don't turn relief into revenge. You won't be able to bear the consequences."

Mai gave the phone to Quan. He did not advise her to report to the police immediately. He asked: "Do you want to delete the message?"

“No. Save it.”

Sau Luu took a large tin box. "Paper records are here. Electronic records must have three backup locations. One copy is on the computer, one copy is in the Army, and one copy is sent to the lawyer when found."

Duy said: "I can scan everything with my phone, but it needs even light."

“I still have to study.”

“I'm on summer vacation.”

Mai looked at him. "If anyone asks, I'm just the one helping with the scanning. Don't follow us on your own."

“You didn't go with anyone on your own.”

Mai wanted to scold him, but then just gave him a desk lamp.

In the evening, they digitized each letter. Some leaves are moldy, some leaves are only half left. In a letter from Mrs. Lai, the writer said Mai's father brought money when her son needed surgery. She said she would pay it back after the fishing season, but later someone came to collect the money, saying it was a loan with interest.

“Who collects?” Mai asked.

No name. There is only an ink mark of an overturned boat.

Sau Luu recognized the sign. "It's the foundation's seal, but it's upside down. Someone forged the seal."

Quan enlarges the photo. In the corner of the letter are some numbers: 04–09–2, similar to the series in the notebook.

Mai understands that a series of numbers is not a simple code. It can be date, household number, box number. 17–04–09–2. Hour 9:17, day 17. Four boxes, nine papers, two people? She wrote all the possibilities on the board.

Hanh sat on the porch and did not participate. Only when Mai brought out a copy of the scholarship paper did she look at it.

“Tu Hau gave this paper to school?”

“Do you know him?”

"He came to the house twice. The first time he asked your father to sign a receipt. The next time he asked your mother to sign so you could study."

“Dad, do you know that Hau gave the paper?”

"I know. He told me not to go alone anymore."

“So why are you still going?”

Hanh smiled sadly. “Because I think as long as you can learn, it's okay for adults to endure a little more.”

Mai sat down next to her mother. “You used that sacrifice to return to the city, then left me with this piece of paper.”

"I'm not leaving. I just don't know yet."

“Now I know.”

Hanh looked at the sealing tape outside the gate. “Knowing does not make people better.”

“But I don't have them call my name for me.”

That night, the introductory lawyer Quan called. Her name is Thu, she works in the city, and asked Mai to send all the documents before accepting the case. She listened to the story without interrupting, then asked a question: "Does your family want to keep the land or do you want to publicize your father's responsibility?"

Mai looked at her mother through the window. “Can both coexist?”

“Yes, if you accept that there are people who will no longer stand by the family.”

“I don't want to win by hiding my father's mistakes.”

"Then send me the recording and documents. I will check the land use rights first."

Hanh heard the call. She went into her room and took one last envelope from the bottom of her sewing machine. "There's a note your father told me not to give to anyone. I think it's time."

The paper is a handwritten receipt, the person delivering the money is Vinh, the recipient is Mai's father. The amount is exactly equal to the remaining amount in the support table. At the bottom of the page, Father Mai wrote: "Received to keep for seven households. Not Vinh's money."

Mai finished reading and looked at her mother. “Do you still have anything left to say?”

Hanh shook her head, but her eyes did not look at her.

On the street, a car stopped for a long time before leaving. Duy from the window reported that no one came down. Quan turned off the living room lights and asked people not to stand near the door.

Mai keeps the receipt in a moisture-proof box. She understood that this piece of paper could be the key, or it could also be a trap. If Vinh gave the money to his father, he could say that his father kept the money for himself. If father hands it over to the people, she needs to prove it.

Tomorrow morning, they will meet Tu Hau. Before going to sleep, Mai turned on her phone, made three copies of the data and sent it to lawyer Thu. She named the letter: “K-17 — do not delete.”

Hanh lay in the next room, coughing. Mai was about to go ask but stopped. She knew there was a bigger question between them about the night her father died. She'll ask, but not tonight.

The wind pulled the ribbon outside the gate taut. It made a flapping sound, like a flag from someone trying to make the house disappear before the truth could have a name.