The ache in his shoulders and the bone-deep weariness washed over Van like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. After a day of grueling warehouse work, every muscle screamed. His work uniform, soaked through with sweat and grime, clung to him, emitting a sour, stale odor. He dragged his leaden feet out of Kim Hai Construction as dusk settled into night.
The storm had passed, but the air remained thick and humid. Rain-washed streets gleamed under the yellow glow of streetlights. Van didn't head straight for the bus stop. Instead, he turned into a quieter side alley. At its end, a modest four-story building bore a sign: "Dong Da District Adult Continuing Education Night School." Light spilled from several windows.
Night school. This was the other crucial decision he'd made a week ago, after organizing the papers and earning that sliver of recognition from Hùng. Mr. Chen had said, "Don't know? Then learn." The warehouse work had starkly revealed his limitations – the baffling material specs, fragments of incomprehensible blueprints, terms like "cost accounting" or "inventory turnover" Minh occasionally mentioned – they were walls separating him from the "upstream." He couldn't rely on strength and observation alone. He needed knowledge.
He'd used part of the ten million VND Mr. Chen loaned him to enroll in Basic Accounting and Basic Management courses. Three nights a week, two hours each. It meant sacrificing precious rest, forcing his exhausted brain to function after his body was already spent.
Pushing open the night school's glass door, he was hit by a wave of smells: sweat, printer ink, cheap disinfectant. The corridor buzzed with people, mostly young adults like himself or slightly older, wearing various work uniforms or casual clothes, faces etched with the day's fatigue but eyes often holding a spark of ambition. Factory girls, shop clerks, waitresses, construction workers like him. This was another battlefield where the bottom rung tried to leverage knowledge to shift their fate.
Van found his classroom. Inside, fluorescent tubes hummed overhead. Desks were old, scarred with graffiti. He took a seat near the back, carefully pulling out the booklet Basic Management PracticesMr. Chen had lent him and a brand-new notebook – bought specifically for class notes.
The Basic Accounting teacher was a bespectacled middle-aged man, speaking rapidly with a strong Northern accent. He was explaining the "Accounting Equation": Assets = Liabilities + Owner's Equity.
"...This is the foundation! Like the bedrock for a building! Assets? What the company owns! Cash, inventory, equipment, receivables! Liabilities? What it owes! Owner's Equity? The owner's investment plus profits! These three must balance! Got it?" The teacher scribbled formulas and examples rapidly on the blackboard.
Van strained to focus, trying to keep pace. But the unfamiliar terms – "current assets," "fixed assets," "accounts payable," "paid-in capital" – flooded his ears like gibberish. He gripped his pen, handwriting shaky with fatigue in the notebook. He thought of the steel bars, cement, pipes in the warehouse – that was "inventory," an "asset." The ten million VND owed to Mr. Chen? A "liability." Kim Hải's investment? "Owner's equity."
He tried linking abstract concepts to tangible warehouse items, but his brain felt like rusty gears grinding painfully. The day's labor – cement sacks, rebar – had drained his physical reserves. Now, his eyelids felt weighted, constantly drooping. He pinched his thigh hard, forcing alertness.
"Hey, new guy?" A young man with bleached hair, wearing a trendy but faded T-shirt, nudged him, whispering. "Getting any of this? The old guy talks like he's chanting sutras!"
Van shook his head, honest. "A bit... tough."
"Ha! Normal! I'm lost too!" The guy grinned, revealing uneven teeth. "Name's Cường, mechanic apprentice. You?"
"Nguyễn Văn. Construction company warehouse." Van whispered back.
"Oh! Hauling bricks? Tough gig!" Cường said cheerfully. "This accounting crap's killer! Only here 'cause the shop demands the certificate! Damn pain! Hey, lemme copy your notes? Zoned out earlier."
Van hesitated, then slid his notebook over. Cường grinned and started copying.
Ten-minute break. Van went to the water dispenser at the corridor end, filling his plastic cup. He leaned against the wall, sipping hot water, soothing his dry throat and weary body. He watched clusters of students chatting – some discussing the lesson, some complaining about work, some dreaming of better jobs after getting certified.
"Nguyễn Văn?" A clear female voice sounded beside him.
Van turned. A young woman in a white dress, hair in a ponytail, held a water cup. Her skin was fair, features delicate, standing out among the work clothes. Van recognized her as a front-row student, attentive, taking copious notes. "Y... yes?" Van felt awkward, unsure how she knew his name.
"I'm Nguyễn Thị Linh, call me Linh." She smiled easily. "I saw you paying attention, notes neat. That part about 'depreciation' the teacher just covered? I didn't quite get it. Saw you wrote an example, mind if I look?"
Van quickly offered his notebook. "Here. But... I'm not sure I get it either."
Linh took it, scanned the page. "You wrote it clearly. Depreciation is like machines losing value over time, you calculate that loss as a cost each year... yeah, I think I get it now, thanks!" She handed it back. "Construction company? What do you do?"
"Warehouse... assistant manager." Van felt self-conscious. "Just... moving stuff, logging in and out."
"Oh! That needs sharp eyes and organization!" Linh's eyes lit up. "Learning accounting will really help! Costing, inventory control, it's all connected!"
"R... really?" Van was surprised, a flicker of hope stirring.
"Of course! Our teacher says management needs data. Keep it up!" Linh encouraged with a smile, waving. "Back to studying, see you next class!"
"N... next class." Van watched Linh's retreating figure, a strange flutter in his chest. This girl was different from Mai or the site workers – she carried a brightness, a confidence born of knowledge.
The second half was Basic Management. The teacher covered the four functions: Planning, Organizing, Leading, Controlling. When he reached "Controlling," discussing "variance analysis" and "corrective action," Van flashed back to the "missing" galvanized pipe! That was actual result (19) deviating from plan/standard (20)! He'd detected the variance (wrong count), analyzed the cause (followed the trail), took corrective action (found the pipe)! His instinctive response mirrored management principles!
The realization energized him, fatigue momentarily lifting. He listened more intently, trying to grasp how abstract concepts applied to real work. The messy ledgers, unclear inventory – wasn't that a lack of effective "organizing" and "controlling"? If he could organize the warehouse like he did the papers, wouldn't it reduce errors, boost efficiency? Wasn't that a way to "make money work for you," as Mr. Chen said? – Reduce waste, save costs!
Class ended. Van packed his bag, joining the stream leaving the night school. Cool air cleared his foggy mind. He declined Cường's invitation for street food, needing to catch the last bus home.
The bus was half-empty. He took a window seat. Outside, Hanoi glittered – fancy restaurants, cafes filled with well-dressed patrons. Inside, he sat in his dusty work clothes, backpack holding management texts and a notebook, smelling of sweat. The contrast was jarring.
He pulled out his notebook, reviewing the accounting notes under the dim bus light. Debits, credits, account names remained alien and confusing. He rubbed his temples, a wave of frustration hitting. Learning was harder than he'd imagined. Physical exhaustion he could endure; mental challenge, especially in an alien field, demanded greater willpower.
His phone buzzed. A text from Mai: "Brother, Mom coughed badly tonight, took medicine, asleep now. When home? Food warm in pot."
Van's heart clenched. His mother's illness was a constant weight. His earnings vanished into medicine and debt; life remained tight. Night school fees were an extra burden.
He closed his eyes, leaning against the window. Physical exhaustion, study pressure, worry for his mother, uncertainty about the future... tangled together, threatening to crush him. The thought of quitting, like dark vines, crept in. Was it worth it? Would this learning help? Maybe just coast, like Cường said...
Just then, the bus passed Hoan Kiem Lake. The lake shimmered under lights, Ngoc Son Temple serene in the night. Van gazed at the familiar view, remembering himself months ago – a Grab rider struggling through rainy nights, future bleak. It was Mr. Chen who pulled him from the mire, gave him a chance, seed money, even pointed towards learning.
He recalled Mr. Chen's calm, powerful gaze: "Fear will drive you to fight!" "The real seed is the vision to see value and the courage to act!"
He remembered finding the galvanized pipe, Linh's encouraging smile, the satisfaction of filing the papers.
Quit? No! He couldn't! He carried not just his own fate, but his mother's hope, his sister's future, Mr. Chen's trust! He could endure physical hardship! He would conquer mental challenges too!
The bus reached his stop. Van took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped off. The alleys of Dong Da were still narrow and worn, but the distant lights of the night school and the small spark of knowledge ignited within him seemed to guide him through the dark. He quickened his pace towards the warm, faint light of home. He knew his mother's sickbed and cold supper awaited, but more importantly, his backpack held the heavy promise of reaching "upstream." No matter how bitter, how hard, he would keep the night school lights burning.