The Stream of Love and the Love Spell - Short story contest by Ngoc Dac

Legend has it that in a remote village, there is a sacred stream called Tuong Tu stream. All year round, the water flows in all four seasons, nourishing the lush, green mountains and hills. The villagers say that on moonlit nights, the sound of the stream turns into a love song, making the young men and women on the banks reluctant to leave each other. Some couples even believe that if a person accidentally drinks the stream's water when their hearts are not yet strong, they will never be able to go far. The elders in the village also say that any young men or women who want to cast a "love spell" on the person they love can take the water from this stream, mix it with a special type of leaf - which only grows here - and give it to that person to drink. It will definitely keep them there.

Suối Tương Tư và bùa yêu - Truyện ngắn dự thi của Ngọc Đắc - Ảnh 1.

And the story begins…

Date…

Holding my teaching certificate still smelling of new paper, I confidently returned to my hometown. I was sure that my revolutionary grandfather who had "cut through the Truong Son mountain range to save the country" and my father, a veteran of the Cambodian battlefield, would help me find a teaching position near home. But I was wrong, all the doors of the city were closed to me. Both my grandfather and father were determined:

- I have to go to a remote area to teach. All the schools in the city are full. Even my sister's school has two extra teachers. Everyone hasn't received their salary this month.

- If you are a teacher, you have to stand in class anywhere, son.

Although my mother had whispered to my father, but before his stubbornness, she had to give in. She gently held my hand, her soft but skinny hand, smelling of the familiar balm:

- Wait a few years… I will find a way to bring you back.

Date…

I left the city on a gloomy morning, still filled with resentment towards my father and grandfather. I hugged my old suitcase, carrying with me a fragile belief in my mother's promise, and set off for a place I had never been to before.

The mountainous region welcomed me with cold rain and bitter wind. The classrooms had broken corrugated iron roofs, rickety desks and chairs, and uneven, rain-stained floors. Students skipped class to pick corn. Parents were absent, their eyes wary. Every day, I taught until the end of the week, counting down the days until the weekend. Many times, I wanted to quit teaching because I was discouraged. But when I thought of my mother, I consoled myself, "Okay, I'll try a little longer."

Date…

The colleagues here were very enthusiastic, which somewhat reduced my dissatisfaction. Occasionally, students gave me some corn or some wild fruits. That made my heart feel better. But all of that was not enough to dispel the coldness in my heart. I still hoped that in a few years…

One afternoon, an old teacher invited me to drink tea. The tea tasted strange, at first it was bitter, then clear and sweet aftertaste. Seeing my surprise, the teacher smiled, his eyes distant:

- This tea is grown here, mixed with water from the stream behind the school to have such a unique taste. Whoever drinks it will be captivated, finding it hard to leave. I was also under the spell, married a wife here, now "stuck" for life. Therefore, people named that stream Tuong Tu stream.

I laughed, thinking it was funny.

Date…

I was criticized by the principal for being negligent in my homeroom duties, and class sizes were reduced. My superiors asked me to try harder. Indeed, my homeroom class was very special. Students had to skip school during the harvest season to go to the fields to pick corn. One day, students came to class with their little children on their backs to study.

In class, the one who tired me the most was Man - a skinny student, his hair smelled faintly of kitchen smoke. His eyes were both wild and sad. Man often skipped school, sometimes coming to class with the smell of alcohol in every word. At first, I just hoped he would drop out for my own good. But because of the number of students, I made up a promise:

- Try to go to school regularly. If you get good grades at the end of the year, I will give you good wine and city specialties.

To further strengthen his confidence, I gave him some gifts from the city that my mother sent up. Man raised his head, his eyes bright but his mouth smiling:

- Is there any alcohol at the end of the year?… never mind… let you guys drink, I'll ask for candy for the kids.

Then he looked at the gift bag I was holding and hesitated:

- I don't accept it, you just bring it to the class. If I take it home, if I miss school tomorrow, I'll break my promise to you.

Having said that, he picked up the empty basket and walked quickly towards the slope, his figure thin but steady like a fence post in the wind.

Man's answer made me think for a bit. But then I stopped…

Date…

One rainy afternoon, I waded across the stream to get to class. The water rose high, rushing to the bank, muddy and smelling foul. The current wrapped around my legs, cold as ice, so strong that each step felt like walking on a knife edge.

Before I could calm down, my feet slipped off the mossy rock. I staggered, and then my whole body was swept away by the ferocious water. "Mom!" - a cry choked in my throat, drowned out by the roaring water. I struggled, my hands flailing, but only touched the cold whirlpools. The more I resisted, the more I was drowned. Water flooded my mouth, the bitter taste of mud stuck in my throat. My heart pounded, my chest felt like it was about to explode. Above my head, the flickering light seemed to go out. I despaired: "That's it. I'll disappear in this place I haven't even gotten to know yet."

In the darkness, a figure suddenly rushed down. I was dizzy, thinking I was hallucinating. Then that hand really grabbed my arm - strong, hot, defying the turbulent water. It was Man! He tensed up, his teeth clenched, his face pale but his eyes shining. I could clearly feel every stone cut into his flesh, every drop of red blood spreading in the cold water. In that moment, my life hung in the balance of that small hand.

Everything blurred, the roar of the water receded into the distance.

When I woke up, I smelled the pungent smell of tobacco coming from the roughly bandaged wound. Before me was Man, his skinny body covered with scratches, his trembling hands still trying to hold the leaf tightly to his wound. I could clearly hear Man's heart pounding next to me. Suddenly, my throat tightened. The false promise I had once let go suddenly felt as heavy as a stone in my heart.

Date…

I went to Man's house to find out. I learned that her mother had left a long time ago, leaving only her and her father. Because of family matters, Man's father was addicted to alcohol. From that day on, I listened to her more, and became more patient with the students. Gradually, she had faith and hope. Man became more diligent, making obvious progress. And I began to realize that this place was not all harshness. The people's voices were rustic but honest and sincere. The scent of ripe rice, the smell of kitchen smoke, the sound of dogs barking to call their owners home every afternoon. Children in worn-out sweaters, breathing white smoke in the cold, warming their hands by the stove while reading. Everything was like an embrace around me.

Four seasons in the mountains and forests follow each other, each season wearing a new coat.

Spring - thin mist, peach and plum blossoms white on the hillside.

Summer - the sun is blazing, cicadas are singing all over the mountainside.

Autumn - the scent of ripe rice, the sound of sickles in the wind.

Winter - clouds hang over the roof, smoke from the kitchen rolls, the stream sings a long lullaby.

With each passing season, my heart becomes more attached. Many times, I wonder: "Did I drink the wrong spring water?"

Date…

The land here is different now. The muddy dirt roads of the past have been paved smoothly, and vehicles are bustling up and down. The dilapidated tin-roofed school has been replaced by rows of brightly painted yellow classrooms. The sound of the school drum echoes throughout the valley. The vast green tea hills stretch out, bringing prosperity to the village.

Every morning, groups of tourists follow Man - the skinny student from the past - now a strong tour guide. His gait is still as strong as a fence post. His voice echoes by the stream, recounting the legend of "Tuong Tu stream" with bright eyes. On the other side of the bank, children in brocade dresses chatter and sell woven bracelets, their clear laughter blending with the sound of the babbling stream. I stand from afar and suddenly see that the place that once made me depressed in the beginning has become a land that many people come to, reluctant to leave. The stream water still flows like the day I first set foot there, only the hearts of the people have changed.

One day, my mother asked:

- Do you want to go to town?

I looked over to the stream, heard the sound of trickling water mixed with the children's laughter, and shook my head.

Now, I live in a wooden house with my wife and two children. Every morning there is the sound of roosters crowing, the sound of running water, the smell of fresh rice from the kitchen and the sound of children running around the yard. Perhaps, I have been "affected" by the Tuong Tu stream for a long time - it was just that when I was young, I did not realize it yet.

The two children sat in a circle by the fire, eyes wide open, waiting for me to continue.

- What happened next, dad? - the older child tilted his head and asked.

I smiled and poured more tea:

- Then… I stayed here, married your mother, gave birth to two inquisitive children like now. And I have never regretted it.

The child hugged my leg:

- So we are like dad!

Their laughter rang out crisply, mingling with the crackling fire, warming the entire kitchen. It turned out that the love potion was not only in the tea, the wine, or the bamboo dance, but also in the murmuring stream and in the people here.

Outside, the night dew gently crept down the roof. The sound of the stream whispered in the darkness, as if telling a never-ending story.

Date…

In a remote village, there is a sacred stream...

The fifth Living Well Writing Contest was held to encourage people to write about noble actions that have helped individuals or communities. This year, the contest focused on praising individuals or groups that have performed acts of kindness, bringing hope to those in difficult circumstances.

The highlight is the new environmental award category, honoring works that inspire and encourage action for a green, clean living environment. Through this, the Organizing Committee hopes to raise public awareness in protecting the planet for future generations.

The contest has diverse categories and prize structure, including:

Article categories: Journalism, reportage, notes or short stories, no more than 1,600 words for articles and 2,500 words for short stories.

Articles, reports, notes:

- 1 first prize: 30,000,000 VND

- 2 second prizes: 15,000,000 VND

- 3 third prizes: 10,000,000 VND

- 5 consolation prizes: 3,000,000 VND

Short story:

- 1 first prize: 30,000,000 VND

- 1 second prize: 20,000,000 VND

- 2 third prizes: 10,000,000 VND

- 4 consolation prizes: 5,000,000 VND

Photo category: Submit a photo series of at least 5 photos related to volunteer activities or environmental protection, along with the name of the photo series and a short description.

- 1 first prize: 10,000,000 VND

- 1 second prize: 5,000,000 VND

- 1 third prize: 3,000,000 VND

- 5 consolation prizes: 2,000,000 VND

Most Popular Prize: 5,000,000 VND

Prize for Excellent Essay on Environmental Topic: 5,000,000 VND

Honored Character Award: 30,000,000 VND

The deadline for submissions is October 16, 2025. The works will be evaluated through the preliminary and final rounds with the participation of a jury of famous names. The organizing committee will announce the list of winners on the "Beautiful Life" page. See detailed rules at thanhnien.vn .

Organizing Committee of the Beautiful Living Contest