The Story of Grandpa Faifoo

Childhood (1955–1970)

As a boy, I spent my days chasing crabs by the river and playing in the narrow alleys. The elders showed me the ancient wells, the mossy stones, and the carved façades marked with symbols from faraway lands.

Without knowing it, that’s how I learned to read the city’s secrets — secrets no one ever spoke out loud.

Young Adult (1970–1990)

Later, I learned how to make lanterns, carve wood, and fish on the Thu Bồn River. Some alleys were guarded by heavy bronze doors decorated with strange mythical animals.

Around that time, I began hiding little objects in town — like a playful pirate testing his own memory. Perhaps my treasure story began there…

Fatherhood (1990–2000)

Life gave me two sons. I taught them to respect the old jackfruit-wood houses and to notice what changes with time. Even before the old town was officially recognized, I could always tell what was truly ancient… and what only looked that way.

That’s why my treasure had to remain well hidden — among the real stones of Hoi An.

Middle Age (2000–2015)

By 2005, visitors were already filling the streets for lantern nights, but I kept to my quieter paths. I remember one rainy season, just before my 55th birthday, when the water rose so high it left a scar on the walls…

And around 2015, something at the market changed. My memory blurs — I can’t recall what was there before, or what came after. Perhaps a clue to my treasure lies there still.

Today (2025)

I walk more slowly now, but my eyes are still sharp. I see carved stones, letters above old doors, faded signs of schools and training halls.

I cross the Japanese Covered Bridge, stroll past fabric stalls, and smile at all the places that hold my memories.

My treasure? I hid it so well that even I cannot remember where it is anymore… but maybe you will be clever enough to find it!