SYNOPSIS:

Love is both the cause and the weapon of the crime. And no one is guilty. A mountain road. Dawn. A hauler and his two oxen pull a wooden cart along a narrow path descending toward a remote fishing village, shrouded in mist and a light rain. At the roadside, the camera lingers on the damp ground: a column of fungus grower termite crosses the earth, advancing with mechanical determination toward the depths of the nest. On the road, children play, some pale, some thin, barely able to stand. They watch the cart pass without curiosity. This is normal. The hauler delivers his goods to the edge of the village. He never enters. He drops off what he has been asked to bring. He takes what he has been asked to bring back. Sometimes, under a tarpaulin, there are bodies. He ties them to stones at the edge of the cliff and throws them into the lake below. He doesn't ask why. The Emergence In the village, silence reigns. The villagers gather at the lake's edge. Something stirs beneath the surface. Slowly, a figure emerges. A woman. Her body is covered in beads that capture the first glimmer of dawn. She walks toward the shore without a word. The crowd parts. They stop before an old woman ravaged by illness. The beaded woman sticks out her tongue and, with her long, precise nails, severs it. A ritualistic, unavoidable gesture. A golden liquid flows into her palm. She touches the old woman's face, the wounds close, the skin comes alive again. The villagers fall to their knees. The Welcome The village welcomes her with genuine tenderness. They prepare a bed for her, the best meals. She recovers. She produces pearls that the villagers swallow like medicine. She vomits liquid gold, which the villagers carefully collect. The sick rise again. The children survive. It is pure love. Without calculation. On the road, the transporter notices that the children are now running toward his cart, laughing. He says nothing. He continues to throw the bodies of the most destitute into the lake, scattering petals on the water. The Dependence But the needs grow. For each sick child, more is demanded of her. For each epidemic, she is fed more heavily. Her body changes. Her breathing becomes shallow, her movements slow. The villagers see her agony, but they carry on. Not out of cruelty, but because their children are dying. Love and survival have become one and the same. She watches them with painful understanding. She knew from the beginning how this story would end. The Ritual. One morning, she produces nothing. Her body is exhausted. Panic sets in. The village gathers in cathedral-like silence. No one decides, there is no leader, just a long, heavy wait. The ceremony takes place at sunset. Spiritual dances, incense smoke. Two men lift the woman above their heads, a villager takes a knife, looks her straight in the eyes, his face impassive, and brandishes the blade, passing it beneath her and slicing through her abdomen. The villagers step forward one by one to collect the last drops of what remains. The healed dance, their faces bathed in tears and joy. This is not violence; it is a collective sacrifice. A few days later, the transporter returns, but today no one comes to greet him. He waits in front of the entrance and notices an unusual silence, so he decides to enter for the first time. He explores the deserted village; No one remains, only the buildings and vestiges of life. The man walks toward the lake and lingers, his gaze lost in the distance, as if dazed. At his feet, the lake water mingles with liquid gold, like oil in water. The ultimate revelation. Many years later. The village is abandoned, overgrown with tall grass. A group of young people wander through the ruins at night, a basket and a flashlight in hand, searching for mushrooms (Nấm Mối). One of them stops and picks a few; nearby, he finds a pearl in the grass. Captivated by its brilliance, he picks it up and holds it to his face, its radiant glow shining intensely, reflected in his eye. THE END. Where this film was born ? https://www.stage32.com/lounge/screenwriting/I-would-like-to-share-with-...