A Anh and Toan were already in the garden when Minh arrived. He was moving faster than his usual steady walk — both hands full, his old book in one and his notes in the other. He sat down on the flat stone between them without saying good morning. He placed the book and the notes side by side. Then he looked up. “I think I know what the inscription means,” he said.

B The book was small and old, its cover soft from years of handling. Master Liu had given it to Minh not long after Minh first arrived at the monastery as a young boy. Liu was an older teacher — calm, patient, and serious in the way that Minh himself would later become. He had taken Minh under his wing from the very beginning. He called Minh “son.” The book was a collection of ancient stories. But Liu had not chosen it for its stories. He had chosen it for what was written inside the front cover — an ancient inscription that had passed from predecessor to predecessor, each one sent to this monastery in the same search. None of them, including Liu, had ever been able to work out what it meant.

C “What is an inscription?” Anh asked. Toan answered before Minh could. “Very old words written inside the front cover of a book — put there by whoever first owned it.” Minh opened the book. Inside the front cover was the inscription — short, no name, just the riddle. But tucked between the pages was something else: a small strip of paper in Liu’s own handwriting. A bookmark, left there for Minh. Minh read it first, quietly.

Then he turned back to the front cover and read the inscription itself aloud.

Toan frowned. Anh read it again slowly. “What does it mean?” he asked. “That,” said Minh, “is what I could not work out. Until last night.”

D Minh explained. Everyone who had carried this book before him had been sent to this monastery for one purpose: to find the hidden library. Liu’s predecessor had been sent here. Liu himself had been sent here. None of them had found the library. Liu had passed away when Minh was still young — before he could teach him everything he wanted to teach him. The book and its riddle were all he had left behind. “He gave me a search,” said Minh quietly, “and no map.”

E “But last night I read the inscription again,” said Minh. “And I noticed something. Winds cannot shine. Only light shines. So ‘winds’ cannot mean wind.” He placed his notes beside the open book. “In old writing, winds sometimes refers to directions — North, East, South, West. The four compass directions.” Toan sat up straighter. “So if we place one lamp in each direction,” Minh continued, “one to the north, one to the east, one to the south, one to the west — all four lights shine on the tablet at once.” He paused. “I think something will become visible that cannot be seen in ordinary light.”

F “How do you know?” Anh asked. “I don’t,” said Minh simply. “Not yet. It is what I think the riddle means. I could be wrong.” He put the book carefully inside his robe. “But every person before me failed because they never found the library. We found the library. We found the tablet. We are the first people in a very long time to be close enough to try.” He looked at both of them. “We need four lamps. Paper to write down what we see. And a compass — an instrument that shows you which direction is north. I know where there is one.”

G “When do we go?” Toan asked. His voice was quieter than usual, which meant he was serious. “After tasks,” said Minh. Toan opened his mouth. Minh looked at him. Toan closed his mouth. Then the bell rang at six. All three of them stood. As they walked back toward the corridor, Anh noticed something he had never seen before: Minh was walking quickly. Almost running.