The words seemed to whisper into her ears, guiding her step by step into the world of Thái Yên Pha-a world she had never known yet felt inexplicably familiar, as though it had always been a part of her.

Suddenly, a vendor's cry echoed:

"Fresh newspapers! April 4th edition! Breaking news-find out now!"

Chương Hà startled, lifting her head as if the call wasn't just from the past but reverberated in her very space. The sound carried a gust of wind, sweeping her back in time to a Saigon morning in 1930.

That morning, the city awoke after a night of rain. Puddles lingered on brick-paved streets, reflecting the first rays of sunlight. Catinat Street (now Đồng Khởi), the busiest thoroughfare in Saigon, came alive with the gentle swish of brooms sweeping the pavement. On the sidewalk, a scrawny boy darted barefoot through the shallow puddles.

He wore a wide-brimmed, faded hat. Despite his nimble movements, the exhaustion from a sleepless night waiting for newspapers was evident. In his hands was a thick stack of papers, each bearing bold headlines:

"BREAKING NEWS: INDOCHINA TRADE WAR! MAJOR ECONOMIC TURMOIL!""April 4, 1930."

His voice rose and fell, crisp and clear, cutting through the lingering dampness of the morning air. Weaving through the crowd, he passed dapper gentlemen in tailored suits and women gliding gracefully in flowing áo dài, their steps as light as a slow melody amidst the bustling streets.

At the street corners, the cries of street vendors intertwined, forming a symphony of the city:

"Hot bread! Freshly baked, fragrant baguettes!""Sticky rice! Green bean, peanut sticky rice-who wants some?"

At Bến Thành Market, stalls were opening, and the hum of buying and selling began. Voices bargaining, cheerful laughter, the clatter of horse hooves, and the chime of tram bells filled the air. Trams, packed with commuters heading to work or the market, trundled slowly along major roads like Bonard Street (now Lê Lợi).

Farther away, in Chợ Lớn, the Chinese community's fabric and herbal shops buzzed with activity. The rhythmic clicking of abacuses mixed with Cantonese and Teochew dialects. Red lanterns still hung along the streets, their muted glow adding a touch of solemnity to the lively scene.

By the Saigon River, boats laden with goods docked as porters moved shadows amidst the mist rising from the water. In the distance, a ferryman sang a melancholic tune, the melody carrying the river's stories.

Nearby, roadside coffee stalls welcomed their first customers. The thick aroma of drip coffee mingled with the scent of freshly baked French-style bread. At a small corner, elderly men played chess, their hands moving pieces slowly across the board, eyes fixed on the next move.

Chương Hà felt as though she had stepped into that moment in time.

The words in Thái Yên Pha's journal were not mere stories but gateways to another world. Each sentence painted vivid images, sounds, and scents of a bustling yet nostalgic Saigon.

In that space, Chương Hà felt herself amidst the crowd, hearing the sharp cries of the newspaper boy, breathing in the crisp air, and observing the vibrant yet intimate rhythms of the city.

A morning in Saigon in 1930, thought to exist only in memory, came alive, and it felt as if she was truly living it.

In the distance, a sudden commotion drew attention.

The deep purr of an engine signaled the arrival of a state-of-the-art automobile. A sleek Citroën C6, a symbol of elegance and wealth, glided slowly over the brick-paved road, drawing stares from passersby. The car halted in front of a large street café, where sunlight filtered through tree branches, casting dappled patterns on the ground.

The car door opened, and a pair of lacquered wooden clogs, intricately inlaid with mother-of-pearl, stepped gracefully onto the sidewalk. Thái Yên Pha emerged, her embroidered silk áo dài shimmering with intricate floral designs swaying gently in the breeze.

The garment, meticulously tailored to her slender frame, highlighted her refined beauty and poise. Her jet-black hair was elegantly coiled, adorned with a golden phoenix-shaped hairpin, further accentuating her delicate features and porcelain skin.

She stood there, exuding a graceful confidence, her gaze sweeping the scene like a queen surveying her domain. Her eyes were clear yet sharp, her lips curving in a slight, regal smile, enough to command admiration without arrogance.

Passersby slowed, their curious and reverent eyes fixating on her. Whispers spread quickly:

"That's Miss Thái Yên Pha! The daughter of Mr. Thái Thịnh Phát. She's stunning and so elegant!"

From inside the café, the middle-aged owner-dressed simply in a bà ba blouse-hurried out to greet her:

"Good morning, Miss. The usual black drip coffee?"

Yên Pha nodded with a faint smile, her simple acknowledgment leaving a lasting impression:

"Yes, thank you. A bit stronger today, please."

While the café owner busied herself, Yên Pha strolled to the counter, her clogs making soft clicks on the sidewalk. Murmurs of admiration swelled again:

"She comes here every morning for coffee. Such a noble lady, yet she remains so down-to-earth and approachable.""Beautiful, talented, and kind-she's one of a kind."

The café owner soon placed the drip coffee on the counter. The coffee dripped steadily, its aroma enveloping the space. Yên Pha lifted the cup, the sunlight catching the delicate gold ring on her finger. She sipped slowly, savoring the familiar bitterness with a hint of sweet aftertaste.

"The coffee here always has its own unique flavor," she remarked lightly, her melodious voice adding a graceful touch of praise.

A short distance away, the newspaper boy's eyes lit up as he saw Yên Pha step out of the café. He hurried over, clutching his neatly bound stack of newspapers. Though his hat was worn and his clothes disheveled, his face radiated enthusiasm. He bowed slightly and greeted her with a familiar nickname that the locals fondly used:

"Miss Ba Pha! Fresh newspapers! Breaking news!"

Yên Pha turned, her radiant smile lighting up her features. Her gaze, warm yet authoritative, rested on the boy as she replied with gentle familiarity:

"Give me one, please."

The boy eagerly handed her a newspaper. She retrieved a silver Đông Dương coin from her embroidered áo dài pocket and placed it in his hand.

"Thank you, Miss Ba Pha!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with excitement. But as he glanced at the coin, his expression turned sheepish:"Thank you, but... I don't have change."

Yên Pha smiled, her tone kind and reassuring:

"No need for change. Consider it my treat for your breakfast."

Her words warmed the atmosphere, and the boy's eyes gleamed with joy. He beamed brightly, his gratitude overflowing:

"Thank you, Miss Ba Pha! Thank you so much!"

Around them, bystanders began to gather, their admiration for Yên Pha's generosity palpable. Soft murmurs spread through the crowd:

"She's so generous. Not everyone with wealth gives so freely.""Beautiful, talented, and kindhearted-her family must be so proud.""Every move she makes exudes grace and charm. A true noble lady."

The scene outside the café, with Yên Pha at its center, transcended an ordinary moment. It became a snapshot of Saigon's soul-a city where elegance and compassion coexisted, and even the humblest street vendor could feel the warmth of her presence.

When she returned to the car, the entire street seemed to remain abuzz with excitement. The elegant automobile glided away, leaving behind wistful gazes from the onlookers and a corner of the bustling city that still seemed to hold its breath, as if preserving the presence of this extraordinary young lady. Another day in Saigon had begun, but this morning seemed to shimmer more brightly, all thanks to Thái Yên Pha's fleeting yet unforgettable appearance.

The moment her car disappeared from view, two journalists quickly made their way through the crowd. Their keen eyes never missed a golden opportunity. Thái Yên Pha-the brightest jewel of Southern Cochinchina-had once again etched her mark in an effortlessly captivating moment, drawing every gaze her way. Her stories had already made waves across the city, and this impeccable scene was a rare chance for these journalists to capture history in the making.

The photographers approached quickly, pulling out their cameras and snapping away with fervor. One of them, donning a wide-brimmed hat and sharp, discerning eyes, murmured:

● "Here it is. This is the chance. Cô Ba Pha isn't just the jewel of the merchant class-she's a shining star in the eyes of the press. No one would dare miss this perfect moment."

A perfect frame: the beautiful, famous, and generous young heiress, smiling as she handed money to the young newspaper boy. It was a flawless blend of sophistication, humble charm, and heartfelt generosity. The camera clicked continuously, capturing every vivid detail. The photograph did more than depict Yên Pha and the boy-it immortalized the bustling spirit of Saigon: the cozy café, the hurried footsteps of the morning crowd, and the lively hum of a city awakening. The scene was a masterpiece, one the photographers knew they couldn't let slip through their fingers.

Moments later, the first photograph was dispatched, and within minutes, the news began to spread like wildfire.

● "Once again, Cô Ba Pha leaves the city in awe-another moment where she conquers hearts," --- one journalist mused with a satisfied grin, feeling as though this victory had already earned its place in Saigon's press history.

The photographers were always on the lookout for moments worth capturing, and today was no exception. Soon, Thái Yên Pha's image would grace the front page of every major paper-not only for her stunning beauty but for her boundless kindness. Among the merchant elite, there was no one who didn't know Thái Yên Pha-the brilliant heiress, the embodiment of elegance, generosity, and quiet power.

The headline was already forming: "Heiress Thái Yên Pha Buys a Newspaper with One Đông Dương Coin: A Radiant Moment Amidst the Vibrant Streets of Saigon."

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Notes for Cultural Context:

During the French colonial period in Vietnam (1858–1945), the currency system was managed by the French administration. The main currency used was the Indochinese Piastre (Piastre de Commerce), often referred to as Dong Bac Dong Duong.

This era saw a flourishing press, especially in Hanoi, Saigon, and Cho Lon, with popular newspapers like Nam Phong Tap Chi, Luc Tinh Tan Van, and Dong Duong Tap Chi. A newspaper typically cost between 0.05 and 0.10 Piastres.

Coffee was a beloved drink in both urban and rural areas, commonly served at small roadside stalls or luxurious cafés in Saigon.

A cup of black coffee: 0.03 to 0.05 Piastres at humble stalls, and 0.10 to 0.15 Piastres at upscale venues serving the middle class or French clientele.

Coffee with milk (ca phe sua) cost slightly more, about 0.15 to 0.20 Piastres in high-end cafés.

Currency breakdown:

0.05 Piastre: five silver xu.

0.10 Piastre: ten silver xu or one hao silver.

1 Piastre = 100 xu silver.