Hung did not come down from the bridge.
He simply stood there, separated from Minh and Lan by a stream of trucks, a curtain of rain, and ten years of silence.
Then the old phone in Minh’s hand abruptly died.
“Don’t look at him,” Lan said.
“You know he’s still alive.”
“Minh.”
“You’ve lied to me for ten years.”
Lan stepped forward, intending to snatch the phone from his hand. Minh backed away. His heel slipped on the wet concrete, but he held on to it as tightly as if it were a piece of his life that had just been dug up.
Across the bridge, Hung turned and walked away.
Minh rushed for the door.
Lan grabbed his arm.
“You can’t go after him.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s what he wants you to do.”
Minh looked at her. The scar on Lan’s wrist had turned stark white beneath the lights. For the first time, he realized it didn’t look like an injury from an accident. The scar ran straight, deep, and deliberate, like a blade had once been pressed to her skin and dragged across it in desperation.
“What’s going to happen at 9:40 p.m.?”
Lan let go of his arm.
She didn’t answer.
Minh’s phone vibrated.
A message from his own number:
“Your death isn’t the worst thing.”
A second message arrived right after it:
“At 9:40 p.m., don’t let Hung open the sluice gate.”
Minh stared at the words, confused.
“Which sluice gate?”
Another message appeared:
“The old water treatment plant along the river road.”
Lan went pale.
Minh turned to her.
“You know that place.”
“No.”
“Then why are you scared?”
Lan stared at the phone screen. Her lips trembled almost imperceptibly.
“The plant was shut down ten years ago.”
“I didn’t ask whether it was still operating.”
“Minh, listen to me. You have to leave.”
“What about Hung?”
“He didn’t come to kill you.”
“Then what did he come for?”
Lan looked toward the bridge. Hung’s silhouette had vanished behind the curtain of rain.
“To open the sluice gate.”
Minh froze.
Ten minutes later, they were riding Minh’s old motorbike along the river road. Lan sat behind him, both hands clenched around the hem of his shirt. She didn’t say a word. Only when the plant’s red lights appeared behind the trees did she lean close to his ear.
“Tomorrow is our anniversary.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t understand. Ten years ago, it was this day too.”
Rain lashed Minh’s face.
“We got married tomorrow.”
“We got married after the plant burned down.”
Minh eased off the throttle.
Lan continued, her voice torn apart by the wind:
“That night, a chemical storage tank cracked. If the water flooded into the residential area, hundreds of people would die. Hung discovered it first. He called me because I used to work there.”
“You used to work at the plant?”
“For a few months.”
“What about me?”
Lan fell silent.
That silence made Minh feel colder than the rainwater.
The old water treatment plant appeared behind an iron gate. Part of the wall had collapsed. Black pipework snaked across the ground, the pipe mouths sealed with rusted steel plates. On the roof of the control building, a red light blinked on and off even though the place had long been abandoned.
Hung stood in front of the gate.
He wore a dark jacket. His face looked older than it had in the photograph, but his eyes were unchanged.
“You finally remember the way,” Hung said.
Minh got off the bike.
“You’re still alive.”
“Disappointed?”
“Where have you been for ten years?”
Hung looked at Lan.
“She didn’t tell you?”
Lan stepped forward, blocking the two men from each other.
“Don’t drag him into this.”
Hung gave a dry, thin laugh.
“You still think you can hide it? You managed to ten years ago. But this time, there isn’t enough time.”
Minh’s phone vibrated again.
“Twelve minutes until 9:40 p.m.”
He looked up at the clock on the control building. The hands pointed to 9:28.
“Where’s the sluice gate?”
Hung looked at him, and for the first time, the mockery disappeared from his expression.
“Under the third tank area.”
“And if we open it?”
“Toxic water will flow into the old sewer system and bypass the residential area.”
“And if we don’t?”
Hung didn’t answer.
Lan answered for him:
“The plant will explode.”
A deep, muffled sound rose from underground.
The concrete beneath their feet trembled faintly.
Minh looked toward the row of buildings shrouded in darkness. Broken windows reflected the blinking red lights.
“You knew about this ten years ago?”
“We did,” Hung corrected him. “All three of us knew.”
“Why don’t I remember?”
Hung looked at Lan.
“Because you chose the easy way out.”
Lan closed her eyes.
“He suffered a head injury.”
“No,” Hung replied. “You made him forget.”
Minh looked at his wife.
“What did you do?”
Lan couldn’t look at him.
A metallic clang rang out from inside the plant. Then came the sound of water surging through the pipework, heavy as some enormous creature turning over beneath the earth.
The phone lit up again.
“Don’t trust Hung.”
After Minh read it, another message appeared immediately:
“But don’t let Lan stay inside the plant, either.”
He looked up.
Hung had opened the gate.
“Get inside.”
Lan grabbed Minh’s hand.
“No. If you go in, you’ll remember everything.”
“Maybe that’s what scares you most.”
“No.” Lan looked at him, her eyes red. “What scares me most is that you’ll remember and still choose to die for me.”
They entered the third tank area.
The underground room was cold and damp. The emergency lights along both walls came on one after another as Hung pulled the breaker. A huge pipe ran across the ceiling, shaking violently. On the floor below was an iron valve wheel secured with a brand-new chain.
Minh noticed a streak of blue paint on the valve body.
The letter H.
Memory came rushing back.
That rainy night ten years ago. Hung was kneeling beside the valve wheel, blood running from his forehead down his face. Lan stood beside the control panel, clutching the blue cloth bag. Minh held a knife, blocking the doorway.
Not to attack Hung.
To keep the fourth person from coming in.
Someone in a plant uniform.
Someone holding a gas can.
Minh dropped to his knees.
“Someone set the fire.”
Hung looked at him.
“Now you remember.”
“Who was it?”
Lan burst into tears.
The valve wheel shook violently.
The hands on the phone’s clock pointed to 9:39 p.m.
Hung pulled out a small knife and cut through the chain. But at that exact moment, every light in the plant went out.
A lock clicked behind them.
Lan turned around.
The steel door had been locked from the outside.
On Minh’s phone screen, the final message appeared:
“The disaster doesn’t begin at 9:40 p.m.”
A second later, the next message appeared.
“It began when you met Lan.”
The hands on the clock moved to 9:40.
Something exploded beneath the ground.