Ngọn Lửa Hồng Hoang -  Nguyễn Đình Phùng  
 
 
 
The Primordial Flame
 
Nguyễn Đình Phùng
 
 
Chapter 1
 
Lệ pulled up in front of the Excelsior Hotel and circled around the side to the parking lot at the rear. She glanced in the rearview mirror. No cars were following, and there wasn't a single Asian face in sight. She sat for a moment, adjusting her hair and touching up her lipstick. Making Hoán wait a little longer would only heighten his anticipation—and his desire for her.

She could clearly picture Hoán’s face and his long strides as he paced the small hotel room, anxiously checking his watch. He would be wondering why she was late—or if something had prevented her from coming at all. Yet, he would still hope she was on her way, since she hadn't called him on her cell phone. She had told him she would call from the car if she couldn't make it.
 
She smiled to herself. Her lover—fourteen years her junior—had no idea that if she were truly detained and unable to come, she simply wouldn't call. Leaving him frustrated and miserable—yet too afraid to reproach her—would only make him more obsessed with her. Lệ shook her head; men were truly dense. Thinking this, she dabbed a bit of *Obsession* perfume behind her neck, opened the car door, and entered the hotel through the back entrance.

Hoán worked at an insurance office just around the corner from her workplace. She had first noticed him at a *bánh cuốn* shop on Bolsa Avenue. His fair, elongated face—still retaining a boyish quality—combined with his tall, well-built frame, had immediately caught her eye when he and a group of male friends sat at the table right next to hers. She had listened to their conversation; Hoán’s strong voice and cheerful laughter held her captivated. She guessed he was about twenty-four or twenty-five—an age where a man is just beginning to mature but hasn't yet experienced much of the world.

She smiled. A man of this age is like an apple at the peak of ripeness. Lệ made an instant decision. She wanted to bite into the succulent fruit before her, to devour the crispness of life and the cool refreshment of youth, savoring every moment of vitality without letting a single drop go to waste—leaving no room for future regrets.
 
Why should she hesitate or hold back? The desire for a young lover—to replace a husband whose body had long since grown frail and past its prime—suddenly surged within her, engulfing her like a crashing tsunami. A lump formed in her throat, making her feel as though she were choking on a sip of water; she stood up and walked past Hoán’s table toward the counter to pay.

The purse she was holding suddenly slipped from her hand and landed right at Hoán’s feet. She stood still, smiling expectantly. Hoán bent down, picked up the purse, and rose to hand it back to her. Lệ looked straight into his eyes, relishing the sight of his confusion and astonishment. He had surely never stood so close to a woman with a body as hot and alluring as hers.
 
Lệ smiled and gave a playful wink of thanks. That smile and gaze were reserved for the most special, crucial moments—and they had never failed to captivate any man she had set her sights on. Hoán stammered a few incoherent words, staring after her in a daze. His male friends fell silent, too. Lệ left the restaurant without looking back, yet she knew everything would unfold exactly as she wished.

Three days later, Lệ stopped by Hoán’s insurance office. She had waited in her car after seeing Hoán and his friends leave the restaurant, noting the insurance company’s name and phone number displayed on his vehicle. Hoán worked near her investment office—how convenient! Lệ had come to renew her car insurance, and Hoán was overjoyed, acting as if he’d struck gold. She sat quietly, letting him talk while offering encouraging smiles. Everything unfolded exactly as she had foreseen: eventually, Hoán mustered the courage to ask her out to lunch.

° ° °

Lệ stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor—Room 826. Hoán had already called to give her the room number he’d booked. During the lunch he’d treated her to, Lệ hadn't needed to say much. Hoán’s gaze was fixed intently on the revealing neckline of her blouse, rendering any idle chatter about the weather utterly meaningless. His undisguised desire and the way his legs brushed against hers under the table made her flush with heat.
 
Yet, Lệ didn't want to rush things. She wanted Hoán to be a lover—not necessarily a long-term partner, but someone to be with for a while, not just a one-night stand. So, she arranged to meet him another day. The young man—fourteen years her junior—was completely captivated, like a young colt led by the nose; yet, he needed soothing, guidance, and a lesson on the ropes.

She instructed him on the hotel arrangements for their lunch date the following week: where to park; the need to avoid other Asians—treating every person of Asian descent in Orange County as a potential gossiping Vietnamese busybody who might take notice; and the requirement to request a room at the far end of the hallway, away from the elevators and on at least the fifth floor or higher.
 
She told him to have room service deliver food and drinks beforehand, so they wouldn't be interrupted by a waiter knocking at a critical moment. Small yet essential details were needed to make that lunch perfect. Nothing could be left to chance...

 
Everything had to be carefully planned and timed to ensure a smooth flow of events—avoiding any surprises that, even if not disastrous, might diminish the pleasure she so eagerly anticipated.

Lệ felt an extraordinary thrill and intense curiosity—the excitement of a new discovery, an unexpected delight in life. It was vibrant, fresh, and playful, like an intriguing new game; it brought the sheer joy of finally receiving a doll she had long coveted—one she had gazed at through the shop window day after day, walking past countless times without the means to buy it.
 
She had had many lovers before, but never a young man fourteen years her junior—someone barely out of adolescence, perhaps not yet fully mature, like a novice taking his first steps into the world, in need of the guiding hand of an older sister or a mother figure. Lệ laughed aloud. *Like a mother!* she chided herself silently.
 
Yet, the comparison only heightened her excitement; the sensation was so novel that she wanted to savor it slowly, letting the realization of this new romance seep into her very skin and flesh, enveloping her completely as she strode down the corridor, counting off the numbers until she finally stopped before the door to Room 826.
 

Lệ gave the door three light knocks—the signal she had agreed upon with Hoán. The door swung wide, and Hoán appeared before her, his eyes wide and his breathing rapid and shallow. Lệ smiled. She turned to hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside of the door and locked it securely.
 
Hoán remained standing there, rooted to the spot and looking dazed, as if unsure of what to say or do. Lệ narrowed her eyes at Hoán and remained silent; she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a searing kiss on him, feeling his body go limp. Yet, Hoán’s reaction shifted instantly—just as she had foreseen and desired.

He suddenly transformed into a fierce tiger—growling, clawing, and acting with the aggression of someone starved for days. He swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the thick mattress nearby. Lệ opened her eyes in anticipation and smiled as Hoán’s entire body descended upon hers like a violent storm crashing onto the shore during a tempest—sweeping away all other emotions, leaving no room for regret or pity, and surrendering entirely to raw, primal instinct. It was like tilting one’s head back to drink life to the dregs—without calculation, without a shred of remorse.

° ° °

Tuyến walked into his wife’s office and, with a nod of his chin, asked the secretary sitting outside:

"Where’s my wife?"

"She’s out for lunch."

Tuyến shook his head in frustration. He had driven all the way from Los Angeles to Westminster for a task. He had hoped to drop by Lệ’s office and invite her to lunch, but he had missed her—all because he had forgotten to charge his cell phone. Tuyến glanced at the secretary. She had a charmingly crooked tooth. Should he ask her out to lunch instead?

He smoothed back the few strands of hair remaining on his head, which was balding halfway to the crown. Lệ probably wouldn't be back for another hour. He tossed a file folder onto the desk:

"Give this to her when she gets back. I want her to review it and call me immediately."

 
Chapter 2
 
Tuyến picked up the phone sitting on the secretary's desk and dialed. Quang’s office was nearby; it would be convenient to invite him to lunch and discuss business at the same time.

"Put me through to Lawyer Quang."

On the other end, Quang’s receptionist answered in English, asking him to hold. Tuyến cursed under his breath. Doing business with Vietnamese people—yet putting on airs like this! Acting as if they were a high-end law firm in Beverly Hills! Quang’s voice sounded curt as he picked up the receiver:

"Who is this?"
 
"Who else but yours truly? Come meet me at Tây Sơn Phở for lunch. I’ve got some big business to discuss with you."
 
Tuyến left Lệ’s office and drove two blocks down to Tây Sơn Phở. He couldn't even count how many *phở* shops and Vietnamese restaurants had sprung up along Bolsa Avenue. But this particular *phở* shop was a favorite for both him and Quang. It evoked memories of the old street-vendor *phở* stalls in Hanoi—back when they were just little kids, craving every single strand of noodles and every spoonful of rich, savory broth.

The shop was packed at lunchtime, even on a weekday. Outside, a dozen "armchair pundits"—the *thầy bàn*—sat on long benches, noisily debating current events. Two old men, their hair almost entirely gray, stood up with beet-red faces, gesticulating wildly and arguing at the top of their lungs. Tuyến smiled. He steered clear of the heated debaters and opened the door to the shop to wait for Quang.
 
He had grown accustomed to the sight of idlers gathering outside the *phở* shop to argue about everything under the sun; it no longer bothered him the way it once had. Yet, the amusing nature of the term *thầy bàn*—"armchair pundits"—always caught his attention, and he found a certain joy in it whenever he visited.

Sometimes, Tuyến would even run into acquaintances he hadn't seen since his days in Saigon thirty years ago. These older men—who once commanded great authority or held high-ranking positions in the South—now lived here dependent on their children or government welfare. Their sole pastime was gathering outside busy *phở* shops or inside shopping malls along Bolsa Avenue to discuss current affairs. They were known as "armchair pundits," each clutching a Vietnamese or American newspaper every morning, unfolding it to read and then launching into debates.
 
Arguments broke out frequently; sometimes, tempers flared into physical brawls—resulting in bloody heads and the need for ambulances to rush them to the hospital. Tuyến found the sight of these men gathering seven days a week both comical and pitiful, yet he understood their state of mind. What else was there to life? He shook his head, thinking to himself: *If I were in their shoes, I’d probably be exactly the same.*

But deep down, Tuyến knew for certain he would never end up like that. There were still so many pleasures in life left to enjoy, and countless opportunities to amass more wealth. Had he earned enough to be considered truly wealthy? In American society, just how much of a fortune did one need to be called rich?
 
He thought of Quang, a friend who viewed living for pleasure as the ultimate purpose of existence. Quang had once defined the term "millionaire" for him: A millionaire isn't someone who earns a million, nor someone who saves a million. A millionaire is someone who *spends* a million! Quang would laugh heartily when saying this. "Take me, for instance! I’ve never earned a million, let alone saved that kind of money. But I’ve spent millions—and I keep right on spending them!"

"Of course!" Tuyến would reply. "Because you’re spending other people's money!" Perhaps no one else enjoyed life with such ease, joy, and utter lack of concern as Quang. Tuyến had admired—and envied—Quang’s lifestyle ever since their days back in Vietnam. As the son of a bank manager in Saigon, Quang—even while still a law student—exploited his father’s position to engage in shady deals and rake in money hand over fist.
 
Tuyến suspected that father and son were colluding to amass wealth through these illicit schemes. One of Quang’s easiest money-making ventures involved extracting payments from construction companies bidding for U.S. military contracts; in exchange, he provided them with letters of credit—certified by his father—attesting that they possessed the capital required to bid on the massive U.S. projects flooding South Vietnam with funds during the 1960s.

Quang would contact the bidding firms and collect fees, while his father—leveraging his role as bank manager—signed off on fraudulent paperwork granting these companies enormous loans for their operations. Additionally, Quang acted as the importer of record for motorcycles entering Vietnam. Thanks to his father’s extensive connections within the South Vietnamese government—and the strategic use of bribes—Quang secured the necessary import licenses.
 
Possessing a license to import brands like Honda, Suzuki, and Yamaha was akin to owning a money-printing press; the public was clamoring for Japanese motorcycles, and demand far outstripped supply. Quang made a fortune; despite being merely a law student, he would turn heads by parking a gleaming Peugeot 404 or a convertible Mustang right on Duy Tân Street, outside the law school.
 
At the time, Tuyến was merely an impoverished law student, but as Quang’s childhood friend, he often tagged along to share in the high life. Quang’s lifestyle left Tuyến both envious and utterly awestruck. Quang kept a bachelor pad—a *garconnière*—on Lê Lợi Street. The room was air-conditioned, humming softly day and night, and lavishly decorated; its centerpiece was a massive, ultra-modern bed inlaid with gleaming brass fittings imported from Hong Kong.
 
It was an electric bed that adjusted at the touch of a button, featuring a plush, deep-sinking mattress and surrounded by mirrors—including a ceiling mirror that was Quang’s pride and joy. Tuyến often got a taste of the good life accompanying Quang to nightclubs, bringing hostesses back to the bachelor pad, driving to Vũng Tàu the next day for a swim at Pineapple Beach, and partying for days on end at Quang’s father’s mountainside weekend villa overlooking the sea.
 
Yet, this hedonism never hindered Quang’s studies; he passed his law exams every year and began his apprenticeship at the firm of a prominent lawyer—a friend of his father. Having secured a permanent military exemption, Quang lived without the fear of conscription, continuing his lavish lifestyle right up until the fall of South Vietnam. After arriving in the United States in April 1975, Quang retrained in law and became one of the first Vietnamese lawyers to practice in California.

Tuyến looked toward the door. Quang walked in, carrying a leather briefcase. He gazed at his friend with admiration. Quang looked a full ten years younger than him, despite them being the same age. His face was wrinkle-free, thanks to two facelifts. His hair, dyed a reddish-brown, showed not a single strand of gray. And for the first time, Tuyến noticed Quang’s right earlobe.
 
Tuyến burst out laughing. "You rascal!" A small diamond stud was pierced into Quang’s earlobe—just like the trendy jewelry worn by American men these days. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do; adapt to the times," Quang had once declared to his friend. "The way I live now has to match the style of American millionaires—I can't just keep acting like a typical Vietnamese guy forever!"
 
Quang shook his friend's hand and ordered food. He asked immediately:

"Got a big business deal in the works?"

"Eat first! We'll talk later."

"Where's Lệ? I haven't seen her around for weeks."

Tuyến glossed over it:

"Oh! Lệ's been really busy lately. My wife and I sometimes don't even see each other until late at night. Both offices—the one in LA and the one down here—have a huge workload."

Quang looked at his friend hesitantly:

"You'd better watch out! Working too hard isn't good for you. Take a page out of my book—I never get stressed!"

Tuyến remained silent. He bent his head and finished his bowl of phở. Quang was nearly done with his meal as well. Tuyến glanced around; the neighboring tables had cleared out, and the shop was growing quiet. He lowered his voice:

"I've got a massive investment opportunity. I need a lawyer to handle the paperwork. Naturally, it has to be kept confidential, and you're the only lawyer around here I trust."

Quang looked up at his friend. He simply asked:

"What is it?"

Tuyến hesitated:

"I can't tell you everything right now. Just the main points. If you're on board, I'll share more. Of course, whether we go through with it or not, this stays strictly between us."

Quang nodded. Tuyến continued:

"These people need to invest between 100 and 120 million US dollars. They want to set up a corporate structure in the US—companies nested under other companies—with the ultimate parent company based overseas, somewhere in the Caribbean like the Cayman Islands or the Bahamas."

"So no one knows who they are?"

"Exactly. The front company is this investment firm in Westminster, which is a subsidiary of another company in San José. The San José firm is a subsidiary of a New York company. And at the very top of the chain is a company in the Cayman Islands! Naturally, the paperwork is a hassle—which is why I need you to handle it.

Quang thought for a moment. He asked:

- How much?

- Your retainer is a hundred thousand a year. Hourly billing is separate.

Tuyến looked at his friend. How could Quang possibly turn down such a lucrative deal? Quang simply asked:

- I’ll take it, on the condition that there’s no involvement with drugs.

Tuyến replied:

- Rest assured! There’s absolutely no connection to drugs. It’s all legitimate business. The whole point is just to set up a pyramid-style corporate structure so that no one knows who the investors actually are.

Quang looked at his friend:

- I want to know one more thing—though you can refuse to answer if the time isn't right. What nationality are these investors?

Tuyến smiled:

- They’re Vietnamese! Just like you and me.

 
Chapter 3
 
Quang said nothing. Tuyến looked at his friend. He understood that Quang didn't believe a group of Vietnamese people could possess such a massive sum—hundreds of millions of US dollars—for investment. And if it wasn't something shady, why go to such lengths to conceal it by setting up a pyramid-like corporate structure, with the ultimate parent company based on a Caribbean island?
 
Tuyến addressed Quang’s unspoken doubts:

"I don't know who these people are myself. But they want to invest in legitimate, legal business ventures. The only issue is not knowing who the real principals are. I have a list of six people listed as the company owners. They’re scattered across the States—California, Texas, New York, Florida—just ordinary Vietnamese people running harmless businesses, with no ties to anyone else. I’m certain they’re just figureheads! I haven't been told anything more, and I don't want to know. As long as they want to invest legally and stay clear of drugs or crime, that’s enough for me. You agree?"

Quang pondered this for a moment. He sensed something amiss. But the fee the law firm was paying was huge. And he needed the money to buy a Lamborghini. No Vietnamese person in all of California drove a Lamborghini yet! Quang nodded:

"Fair enough! We’re just hired hands, after all. I only need to know the names of the people on the paperwork. If, as you say, they’re nobodies with no connections to anyone or any organization, that’s all I need to know!"

Tuyến stood up and shook his friend's hand:

"Good! I’ll get all the paperwork to you later. If any issues come up, call me right away. You’ll get your first check in three days!"

Quang left first. Tuyến placed the money on the table and walked out of the Tây Sơn phở shop. The armchair pundits outside the door were still eagerly debating current affairs. Tuyến shook his head. To him, time was money; take this business venture with Quang, for instance—each of them stood to make millions if things went smoothly. How could so many people afford to be idle, to squander their time like that? Meanwhile, he didn't have a single minute to rest—let alone take the summer vacation he had promised Lệ three years ago!

° ° °

Hoán returned to his office, feeling as drained as someone just recovering from an illness. Lệ had been far more passionate and demanding than he had anticipated; he had been forced to use the excuse of a heavy workload to break free from her embrace and hurriedly get dressed to leave.
 
He had read somewhere that a woman of Lệ’s age was at the peak of her sexual vitality, and that afternoon at the Excelsior Hotel had proven it beyond a doubt. He had discovered things he had never known before; Lệ had guided him, showing him every step of the way toward ceaseless pleasure, making the experience exquisite and perfect—he had never imagined that physical sensations could be so powerful, so utterly consuming.

Yet, at the same time, fear gripped him. It was the feeling of someone who had committed a terrible transgression, plunging his soul into the depths of a horrifying abyss; there, flickering memories of his late mother suddenly mingled with arms that felt slick and constricting—like a python squeezing the breath out of him—amidst raging flames and the shrieks and moans of demons. The hallucinations that flashed before him at the moment of climax left him limp, thrusting him into a state of unexpected, profound despair. He was in a panic, as if unaware of what had just befallen him; ignoring Lệ’s pleas, Hoán told her he had to leave immediately.

Hoán found himself unable to work. Stacks of clients' insurance files sat high before him, yet he had no desire to touch them. Overwhelming emotions still clung to his mind, refusing to let go. Hoán had known many women, but none had left as profound an impression on him as Lệ. The fair-skinned girls he had known in high school and later in college had given him some experience, yet perhaps he had never truly encountered a *woman*—a woman in the fullest sense.
 
He was stunned, as if suddenly discovering a vast realm of things he did not know and had never even imagined. Until now, sex had been merely a physical need—an urge he kept strictly separate from the love he felt for Vân. He had wanted to preserve that love, keeping it untainted by what he viewed as base desires that might muddy his thoughts and feelings when he was with her.
 
She, too, trusted him implicitly, waiting for the day she finished pharmacy school so they could marry. Their love was like golden sunlight—clear and pure. That was how Hoán saw it. To him, sex was something entirely different, utterly unconnected to his love; he felt no guilt when satisfying his physiological urges with the Latina or white women he met in bars.
 
Until today. Hoán sat dazed, recalling that afternoon in the hotel with Lệ. What had happened? Could sex, in its rawest form, exist on a different plane—a different level—than what he had previously defined? And what of his love for Vân? He sensed a subtle shift, a transformation that filled him with unease. What had befallen him? Does life always hold such turning points—and are the majority, if not nearly all, of them harbingers of misery, suffering, and disappointment rather than anything good?

 
° ° °

Bách poked his head into Hoán’s office:

"Vân stopped by earlier asking for you. I told her you’d gone to lunch. She asked you to call her back when you got in."

Hoán thanked him and dialed Vân’s number. Bách studied Hoán more closely. What was going on with the kid? He looked so haggard. Bách told himself he needed to keep a closer eye on this employee. Among the nearly thirty agents selling insurance for him in Orange County, Hoán was one of the most capable, yet Bách still wasn't satisfied. The problem was that Hoán was too honest and straightforward with clients!

Bách Việt Insurance Agency was the largest provider of insurance services to the Vietnamese community in Orange County—and had the biggest staff—but Bách still needed more people because he wanted to expand aggressively into other cities with large Vietnamese populations. He wanted to train Hoán to go up to San José and open a branch there. But first, he had to teach Hoán to be a bit more of a hustler! Bách smiled to himself. The kid needed to pick up at least a third of his own cunning before being sent off on his own. How could someone as gentle as Hoán possibly survive in this world?

Bách reflected on the past and felt a sense of smug satisfaction. You couldn't succeed in California—in Orange County—without being shrewd! And what was the difference between shrewdness and being a hustler? Better to just admit to being a hustler than to waste time with silly questions or delude oneself. Only then could you fool others! And only then could you survive in Orange County!
 
The first thing Bách had realized was that the influx of Vietnamese people settling here had raised the bar: to succeed, one needed a level of shrewdness—or "hustler" mentality, by Bách’s definition—far beyond the norm. It seemed as though the most unscrupulous of the Vietnamese refugees had converged here—flocking from every U.S. state, from Paris, Montreal, Brussels, Germany, Australia, and corners across the globe. These were rogues who cloaked themselves in the guise of being "savvy operators," drawn to Orange County as if by a powerful magnet to live, to swindle one another, to amass wealth, and to enjoy the good life.

Bách was one of them. He had begun his life as a refugee in sweltering Houston but had grown weary of the heat and humidity of cowboy country. He wanted to move to California, but first, he needed sufficient capital to launch a business. The hardest part was the beginning; without the seed money to establish a viable venture, how could one strike it rich or build a glorious career? Bach spent two or three years floundering, unable to find an opportunity.
 
Then, a stroke of luck arrived when he traveled to France to visit a friend. He was introduced to Huyền, a capable woman skilled in the restaurant trade. Huyền had recently divorced and longed to move to the United States. She wanted to leave Paris to forget—and escape—her wretched ex-husband, who spent his days strolling the Champs-Élysées with young French women, squandering her money.
 
Her friend had described Bách as the first Vietnamese man to become an "oil king" in the Houston area. She had heard much about the region as the U.S. oil capital; during those years, oil prices were skyrocketing and shortages were widespread—with cars queuing for hours just to fill up—so how could she not take notice of Bách, the Vietnamese oil tycoon visiting Paris from Houston?

Bách visited her restaurant in Saint-Germain-des-Prés every day. He told her about America—specifically the warm, sunny Houston area. Naturally, he described the climate as mild and pleasant—affectionately dubbed the "Sun Belt"—dismissing the claims of detractors who spoke of sweltering 105-degree days and humidity that clung to one's skin like a sticky film.
 
He lavished praise on Houston, a city drawing people from all over, where housing prices had doubled or tripled in just a year or two, driven by the anticipation of oil prices hitting $100 a barrel. He spoke proudly of his timely investments in the oil industry: he owned five gas stations and an oil drilling company in Beaumont, a city just a few dozen miles from Houston. He showed her photos of his gas stations—located at busy city intersections and selling both fuel and convenience goods—featuring long lines of cars waiting to fill up, with him, dressed in a suit, gesturing instructions to his staff.
 
There were also photos of his oil well in Beaumont, showing a tall derrick resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower and a pump jack bobbing up and down like the giant beak of a bird, drawing oil from the depths of the earth. In these shots, Bách stood at the base of the rig wearing a hard hat and casual jeans, yet still exuding the dashing air of a boss directing a crew of American workers.

Huyền gazed at the photos Bách proudly displayed with fascination and admiration. She marveled at his achievements; in just over five years since leaving Vietnam, he had built such a magnificent career, becoming a Vietnamese "oil king" right in the heart of the U.S.—and global—oil capital. There was no telling how far a talented man like him might go. She also felt a secret sense of pride that Bách had taken an interest in her—and was clearly captivated by her—given that he visited the restaurant every day and had even postponed his flight to stay in Paris for an extra week, despite the mountain of work awaiting him back in Houston.
 
Huyền did not hesitate to accept Bách's invitations: seeing *Moulin Rouge* one evening and the *Lido de Paris* the next; the following day, she handed the restaurant over to her younger sister so she could head out to the countryside with Bách, staying at a charming little auberge and that night spent with Bách—a move designed to bind him to her.
 
The opportunity had arrived for Huyền. She wanted to leave behind this land of stingy, prejudiced Westerners; the land of Vị—her wretched ex-husband who had chosen Paris as his home—a place as despicable as the man himself. And Bách had appeared at just the right moment in her life, ready to whisk her away to the oil capital, where he had built a brilliant career that promised to shine even brighter.
 
She married Bách the very next week. He postponed his flight a second time to stay an extra two weeks. He boldly declared that no matter how busy work was, or how many millions of dollars might be lost because he wasn't in Houston to handle business, it didn't matter. He had found the ideal woman for his life. An opportunity to meet a lover like Huyền came only once in a lifetime; he couldn't let it slip away, no matter the cost!
 
Yet Huyền understood him; every day he stayed could cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars in deals with major oil companies like Mobil and Pennzoil—without his presence, they might turn to others, and he would lose the business. As a businessperson herself, she understood this perfectly. That was why, when Bách proposed and wanted to marry immediately, she quickly agreed. What more could she ask for? There was no need for hesitation or further calculation!
 
With a solid pillar of support like Bách—and the prospect of becoming the mistress of an oil company—she was ready to sell her restaurant and take her capital to the United States to build even greater wealth alongside him. Life was like a dream, and everything seemed preordained by fate. Hadn't the blind Vietnamese fortune-teller in Montmartre predicted she would soon meet a benefactor and experience a glorious union of dragon and cloud?
 
Huyền sold the restaurant to an acquaintance for over a million francs and gathered all her diamonds and more than fifty taels of gold to join Bách in Houston, where they would build a new life alongside her brilliant husband—the first "oil king" among Vietnamese refugees in the United States.