Lady Trieu drifted over Hanoi without physical form and risked contact with Sun Quan. But it allowed her to remain anonymous to the crowds of people below, still reeling from the brutal night. She slipped unannounced into the small living room of a house in the Old Quarter on Hang Bac Street. It belonged to Mr. Thao, a neighbor of Mr. Tho and Lien, and a former policeman. Other neighbors huddled around, too. Ms. Linh, the pho seller, old Mrs. Gia, and several more. They spoke in hushed tones as if they spoke salacious gossip. But the quietness of the room ended when Lady Trieu appeared in full human form in their midst—a warrior from an ancient time, commanded full attention. They hollered, cried, and cowered to whatever corner of the small room would accept them. When the gasps had dissipated but their gazes hadn’t, she asked them the question.
“Do you know who I am?”
Everyone shook their dumbfounded heads until Thao asked, “A ghost?”
“I am Ba Trieu.”
Mrs. Gia’s head swooned once before she fainted from her stool. Two other women overcame their shock to attend to her. Mr. Thao turned away mumbling. Tears streamed down his face, and he repeatedly asked the idle air in the room for forgiveness. Ms. Linh started praying to the spirits of her ancestors.
Lady Trieu moved in front of Ms. Linh. The giantess towered over the woman, who had a small hunchback. “Who do you think sent me?”
Linh looked directly up. “You are … You are …” She couldn’t complete the sentence.
“I am here to resist the Chinese and crush their aggression. But too many people cower in the shadows of their own rooms. This permits the evil to continue.”
Thao spoke: “We’re afraid. The Chinese and that demon. They visited us yesterday and warned us of destruction if we didn’t follow the regime. We’re afraid.”
“When we allow fear to determine our actions, when we allow fear to make our decisions, when we allow fear to consume the breath of the living, we might as well be dead. And you will be if you comply with the invaders. And what of the boy, Minh?” Trieu pressed the room further. “The boy who grew up in your presence, who played on this street. What have your deeds taught him?”
“You know Minh?” asked Ms. Linh, who had helped Mrs. Gia back to consciousness. “The boy was with his father, who wore the reunification pin.”
“The boy is with me,” snapped Lady Trieu. “I need to know, are you?”
Thao stepped forward. “Lady Trieu, I had been an honorable policeman for many years before I retired. I’m ashamed of my actions. I have cared more about my safety than for my country, and in doing so, I have shamed my ancestors. But no more. I will do whatever it is you want me to do.”
“So will I,” spoke old Mrs. Gia in a raspy voice. “I used to go to school on Ba Trieu Street. You are not just a name. Not to me. You are an ideal. You represent our Vietnamese identity. I am honored to be in your presence, and I will never again allow the invaders to stir my emotions with fear. I will speak the truth.”
Everyone in attendance concurred.
“When did Sun Quan visit you?” asked Lady Trieu.
“It was an hour or two before Minh and his father showed up.”
Trieu nodded and turned from them. “After two more sleeps, you will have your chance to show your true hearts.”
“And Mr. Tho and Lien. Are they all right?” asked Linh. “We’ve heard rumors—”
“They’re all true. Mr. Tho is my general. He just doesn’t know it.”
“And Lien?”
“She is the motor behind the general.”
“She’s the ba xa?” asked Gia, using the colloquial term to describe the local woman in charge.
“Yes. Now tell everyone you can trust in Hanoi. After two more sleeps, look to the south. Our salvation comes from the south. Be prepared. And remember. Look to the south.”
Lady Trieu morphed into her shapeless form and slipped out of the house into the evening air. She buzzed over the Old Quarter and past the newly-built structure in Ba Dinh Square, landing in human form on the back side of the wall obstructing the view of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. She unsheathed her sword and with a mighty swing, sliced the brick wall in two. She kicked over large chunks of the wall, using some of the pieces to throw at other sections. Relentless, she toppled the barrier, revealing once again the mausoleum to the rest of the square. In a single bound, she landed at the apex of the granite structure, facing the new building with her sword pointed directly at it in a threatening stance.
“Sun Quan,” she hollered. “I demand an immediate retreat across the northern border, or you shall regret the decision to come here.”
The machines arrived. Dozens of them. They fired at Lady Trieu, but she deflected most of the shots. The ones that made it past her twirling sword did little damage to her human form.
One machine scaled the granite edifice. It had rolled vertically up its side as if gravity meant nothing. It fired repeatedly at Lady Trieu, but undeterred, she attacked it, thrusting her sword at the center of its metal chest. The ancient forged weapon pierced the outer shell of the machine, and it disintegrated into a mere puff of harmless particles. Lady Trieu moved forward to inspect the pile of dust catching the breeze. She turned quickly and looked out at the top of the opposing building. Sun Quan stood opposite her with the Chinese man at his side. The dust revealed the truth to everyone. The machines stopped their attack. They backed away like frightened dogs, realizing they no longer had the upper hand in a fight even though they outnumbered her one hundred to one. The realization came across her face. She knew. Lady Trieu understood, and her bold stance displayed her new found knowledge. She smiled and pointed her sword at Sun Quan, who glanced down at the Chinese man. She knew. And they knew it.
She went formless and flew off over the city. Sun Quan chased after her, snatching the last edge of her form halfway to Hoan Kiem Lake. They turned and tossed in the air, suffocating each other under thousands of years of history and struggle. She had to break free, one last time. She called for the bird, not audibly, but in her mind, and as the cosmic forces wrestled in the early night sky, the bird made its cry known to nearly everyone in Hanoi. Lady Trieu returned to human form and free fell towards the ground. The bird swooped underneath her and caught the warrior in midair. Sun Quan had turned human at the same time, but he fell unobstructed and landed on top of an evening pho station. The shocked hawker, already scared enough to try and earn a meager amount on the day after the attack, fainted while the few patrons able to afford such a luxury as noodle soup scattered. Sun Quan shook off the fall and glanced into the sky. She had disappeared.
The bird flew into the heart of Hoan Kiem Lake and slipped under the surface of the sacred water. Witnesses gawked and spread word of the mythical bird and the lady warrior, previously feared to be dead. The buzz reached the outer portions of Hanoi in under an hour. It even reached Hang Bac Street and the house of Mr. Thao, but he wasn’t surprised.
The arduous task given to Tho and Lien challenged their wits as well. Lien instructed Tho to design a pontoon bridge while she rallied support from the community surrounding ancient Co Loa Citadel north of Hanoi. She found the previously-scared-off two old men playing Chinese chess on the first road past the gate of the citadel. One of the men whacked all the chess pieces from the board with the back of his hand and stated that, while the game may have originated in China, she could count on their complete loyalty to the rebellion. The other man simply cowered in respect and informed Lien she could keep the basket boat.
“I am keeping it,” she confirmed. “But I need your help. I need many more of these boats.” They jumped into action without question. They had seen the bird—all of the local community had—and they had heard the rumors of the strange happenings at the pearl well; rumors they had spread.
“We’ll get them. How many do you need?”
“As many as you can find. And rope. Lots of it. And long pieces of timber. Many of them.”
They received the orders from Captain Lien. One even saluted her before he grabbed his bicycle and began hollering down both sides of the street like a bread seller. But he sold nothing. He searched for an army and any and all able-bodied persons, and even some who weren’t.
Lien returned to the edge of the pond where Tho stood like an orator with his arms spread out wide over the water.
“Tho!”
“I don’t know how to design a pontoon bridge.” His arms smacked down at both sides.
“Never mind. I took care of it.”
“Then why did you ask me to do it?”
“Because I wanted you to rest.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me to rest? I was stressing.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She pointed to the rear. “Look.”
The two old men led a parade of townsfolk, a ragtag corps of army engineers, dragging behind them basket boats with knotted rolls of rope hanging off the sides. Men and women, of different ages and abilities, pulled long pieces of wood, some of which had been ripped off the roofs of sheds and houses. Children as young as five meandered along with cloth or rope or strands of twine.
Lien barked out orders, which no one questioned. No one wondered who put her in charge. She just was. She waded chest-deep into the pond. Others joined her. Boat after boat plopped into the water, and they bound them together with any type of string or twine or rope they had scrounged. They tied together a pair of basket boats, which would be connected to long planks reaching to the next pair of basket boats ten feet or so away. They repeated the procedure until the final planks reached the cement ring around pearl well. The plank ends laid flat upon the edge of the cement, and Lien instructed the men and women to bring several sacks of sand to stabilize the base of the planks.
Within two hours, they had constructed a pontoon foot bridge sturdy enough for even ninety-five-year-old Tho to wobble across.
Every remaining soul in the village gathered at the foot of the bridge with Tho and Lien standing over them. The rowdy crowd shouted questions, previously unvoiced during the construction phase. “What is the bird? … What is going to happen here? … What is the purpose of the bridge? … Is it true that Lady Trieu has appeared from the dead? … What do we need to do?”
Lien waved her arms in the air to focus everyone’s attention.
“Listen. We can’t answer all of your questions now. But we can say that your work here today will play a big part of the resistance. Thank you.”
“What now?” yelled one of the old men.
Tho wobbled to the stage with Lien reaching out with her hand to help stabilize him. “Listen, friends. The best we can do is pray for rain and a strong cover of clouds which might hide our deeds here for one more day. In the morning, all of you need to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“The day we’ve been waiting for. Now go. Disperse. We mustn’t draw attention. Not today. Tomorrow we’ll make ourselves known. Be ready.”
The cryptic words did little to lessen the worry on their faces. The townsfolk dispersed from the citadel, asking more questions than they would ever get answers to. They especially wondered about a silly pontoon bridge, which connected the shore of the pond with the ring of cement in the middle. The purpose would elude them for one more day.