Chapter 8 — Where Old Elephants Rest

On the fifth day Tuan Khoi stayed at the camp, the first heavy rain of the season suddenly fell right around noon, causing Mun, whose legs were already weak, to slip and fall on the slippery ground near the barn. Its painful roar caused the whole camp to panic. Ha Lam and Bay Kinh rushed over, and Tuan Khoi, who was nearby checking the fence, also immediately rushed forward, carrying a suitcase of medical equipment almost reflexively.

"It's sprained its leg, possibly damaged ligaments," Tuan Khoi said after kneeling down for a quick check. His voice was decisive, no longer the usual slow and calm look but changed to the urgent state of a person used to handling urgent situations. "It's necessary to immobilize its leg immediately, don't let it stand and put weight on the sore leg, otherwise the condition will get worse."

The whole group worked in the pouring rain, Ha Lam held Mun's head to calm it with familiar whispers, Bay Kinh ran to get more tools, and Tuan Khoi carefully wrapped bandages around the elephant's swollen leg joints, moving quickly but no less meticulously, as if every move he made was calculated to minimize the animal's pain as much as possible.

"Talk to him, keep him calm," he said to Ha Lam, without raising his head, still working with his hands. "The more stressed the elephant, the more stiff the muscles become, the more difficult it is to handle."

Ha Lam followed suit, pressing her forehead against Mun's large head, whispering familiar sentences in both Vietnamese and a few M'nong words she learned from her mother when she was young. The deep sounds seemed to have a soothing effect, making Mun's struggles gradually stop, only letting out soft moans full of suffering.

After nearly an hour of struggling in the rain, Mun was finally able to stabilize his leg and take him to a covered area to rest. All three of them, soaked and exhausted, sat down on the steps of the executive building, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," Ha Lam said, her voice still shaking because the tension had not yet dissipated. "If you weren't here right now, I don't know how to handle it properly."

"You did well," Tuan Khoi replied, turning to look at her, rainwater still falling on his face, but his eyes shone with sincere appreciation. "The way you reassure him, not everyone can do it. It's not just technique, but trust that has been built over many years."

Bay Kinh, drying his hands with his wet shirt, cut in, his voice still breathless from running back and forth to get things. "This Khoi guy bandages quickly and firmly, better than the district veterinarians who came here before. You can't just learn something from books, you have to have real combat skills."

Tuan Khoi smiled slightly, somewhat embarrassed by the compliment. "I also learn more from failures than successes, Uncle Bay. Each elephant is different, there is no general formula that applies to all."

Throughout the following afternoon, three people took turns staying by Mun's side, watching to see if the elephant showed any signs of fever or further swelling. Tuan Khoi instructed Ha Lam how to check the temperature through the ear area and how to gently massage around the injured joint area to avoid hematomas, explaining each step meticulously while doing so, without hiding any professional knowledge as if wanting to equip her with the ability to fully handle similar situations in the future, when he is no longer here.

At dusk, when Mun showed signs of stability, ate some young grass and was no longer trembling in pain, the whole group truly breathed a sigh of relief, allowing themselves to rest after a long and stressful day.

That evening, when the rain stopped, the air was much fresher, carrying with it the characteristic smell of damp soil of the mountains and forests after the first rain of the season. Xuan Mai ran into the living room with the phone, her voice panicked.

"Ms. Lam, Mr. Khoi, everyone look at this." She opened a local social networking site, where she recently posted an article with a perspective image of the Dai Ngan Safari project, along with an excited caption about "life-changing opportunities for highland people", with hundreds of shares and supportive comments.

But what made Ha Lam's spine chill was the comment section below, where several anonymous accounts began asking questions about "a private facility occupying public land in the name of conservation", referring to her camp without naming it directly, along with vague words about "the need to clarify the origin of the land before more projects are unreasonably hindered".

"This is definitely Hoang Kim behind it," Tuan Khoi said, his voice serious as he skimmed through those comments. "This is a common tactic — creating public opinion before launching an official legal blow, so that when they act, the public already has unfavorable prejudices against the other side."

Ha Lam clenched her hands, a feeling of helplessness rising in her heart. "So what should I do now?"

"I can't let them lead the story one way," Tuan Khoi said, his eyes steady. "I will contact a friend who is an environmental reporter, named Ho Quynh Anh. She has written many investigative articles about tourism projects that harm wildlife. If you agree, we can proactively tell the true story of the camp, instead of letting others shape public opinion for us."

Ha Lam nodded, even though she was still a little worried about having to face public attention, something her father had always avoided for many years because of his "no aggressive advertising" philosophy. But the current situation is different, and she understands that sometimes you have to accept change to protect core values from being shaken.

That night, after everyone had returned to their rooms to rest, Ha Lam still sat alone on the executive porch, looking out into the darkness where the herd of elephants were sleeping peacefully. She took the phone and called Y Khun, not sure why she was thinking of him at this time, perhaps because she felt that the upcoming war would not only be a matter of the camp, but also closely related to the whole Chu Rinh village.

"Hello," Y Khun's voice rang out, a bit surprised to see her number.

"Mr. Khun, I want to ask, have Hoang Kim approached your house or the families in the village recently? Did they make any specific promises?" she asked directly, without beating around the bush.

The other end of the line was silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally replied, his voice somewhat reserved. "They promised to prioritize recruiting people from the village to be guides, guards, and even elephant managers. Many families are considering it, Ha Lam, don't blame them, everyone wants their children to have stable jobs, not to have to stick to the fields all their lives."

"I don't blame you," Ha Lam said, her voice softening. "I just hope people understand the true nature of that project before deciding, not just listen to empty promises."

Y Khun did not respond immediately, there was a long silence over the phone line. "Ha Lam," he finally spoke, his voice lowered, carrying a tone different from his usual coldness, "there are things that are not as simple as right or wrong as you think. Your family has owed me an explanation for a long time, it's just that no one has had the courage to say it."

That sentence, almost verbatim repeating what her father once whispered to Sao Mai, made Ha Lam's heart ache. She wanted to ask more, wanted to know what that "explanation" was, but Y Khun quickly left, leaving her alone in the dark night with more and more unanswered questions, while the storm named Hoang Kim was still moving closer day by day.

She sat quietly on the steps for a long time, hugging her knees, letting the cold air of the mountain night gradually seep through her thin coat. There were soft footsteps behind her. Tuan Khoi walked out, holding two cups of hot ginger tea in both hands. He quietly gave her one cup and sat down next to her, keeping a respectful enough distance.

"You still can't sleep?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Just finished talking to Mr. Khun," she replied, her hands holding a cup of warm tea to find some warmth in the cold night. "He said my family owed Chu Rinh an explanation, exactly like what my dad once said to Sao Mai. I became more and more certain that something bigger than I thought was being hidden, and I wasn't brave enough to dig into it yet."

Tuan Khoi listened quietly, not in a hurry to give advice or judgement. "Sometimes," he said finally, "the truth, no matter how hard to accept, is better than living forever in doubt and conjecture. If you need someone to be by your side when facing it, I'll be here, whether my survey report ends or not."

That promise, simple but firm, made Ha Lam turn to look at him in the dim darkness, a warm feeling spreading in her heart, mixed with the still remaining insecurity about what was waiting ahead.