At over eighty years old, Mào Văn Ết, an artisan living in Quarter 4, Điện Biên Phủ Ward (originally from Mường So, Lai Châu), is still tirelessly passing on his passion to young people, just as he was once taught by those before him. He is both an artist and a silent teacher, patiently keeping alive the soul of intangible cultural heritage in a time of great change.

Born in 1944, growing up amid the sounds of the khèn and drums ringing out during village festivals, young Ết developed a deep love for traditional arts. At age 12, he was taught his first notes on the tính lute by his grandfather and father, both master musicians. With no formal school or textbook, he learned by watching, listening, trying, making mistakes, and practicing until it became second nature. His learning journey was like a living cultural map stretching across Mường So, Mường Chiên, Quỳnh Nhai, Mường Lay, Mường Lò, and Ngọc Chiến. In each place, he absorbed a new melody, a singing technique, a way of tuning the lute strings, or a method of crafting instruments.

Keeping the flame alive is hard; passing it on is even harder. Since 1965, he has organized dozens of classes teaching tính lute, folk songs, folk dances, and the art of crafting traditional musical instruments to over 80 students in Lai Châu and Điện Biên.

He not only teaches performance skills but also the secrets of making the tính lute, the very soul of White Thai music. Crafting a fine instrument requires selecting the right variety of gourd, treating the wood correctly, and fine‑tuning for perfect sound. He carefully instructs each step: carving the gourd, making the neck, attaching the bridge, fitting the strings… Many of his students are now skilled artisans capable of making and tuning the tính lute sought after by many.

Meritorious Artisan Mào Văn Ết shared: “Passing on a craft isn’t just teaching someone to play a song or sing a folk verse. It’s passing on a way of life, the spirit of a people. Learners must truly love the craft to master it, and teachers must have heart and sincerity for the heritage to live. Some say young people today aren’t interested, but I believe if we can ‘ignite their passion,’ they will feel it. As long as there is one person listening, I will keep singing and playing.”

For his contributions, Mào Văn Ết is now completing his application for the title of People’s Artisan.

In Lọng Háy Hamlet, Mường Phăng Commune, every morning the small family forge of Cứ A Lộng rings with lively sounds: the bright glow of burning charcoal, the steady clang of a hammer on the anvil, and the hum of a blower feeding the flames. Here, master blacksmith Cứ A Lộng passes down each movement and secret of his craft to his son Cứ A Nếnh.

The forge is simple: a pit lined with stones for the fire, a large smooth block of steel for the anvil, a small electric blower, and a few other basic tools. Yet from this humble space have come thousands of knives and farming tools, sickles, hoes, used by locals across the region and even sought by visiting tourists.

Cứ A Nếnh said: “I’ve been learning from my father for over two years. At first it seemed difficult, but with his detailed instruction, and perhaps the family’s natural gift, I’ve mastered it. In this trade, precision and care are most important. On average, I can make two complete knives a day, with handles and sheaths.”

Beyond teaching his son, Cứ A Lộng also trains others in the commune, including young people such as Cứ A Thềnh, the 1991‑born head of Lọng Háy Hamlet, who actively learns the trade.

Cứ A Thềnh held: “Blacksmithing is a cultural hallmark of the Mông people. In today’s era of integration, we must work harder to preserve it. The recent training sessions have improved our skills so we can make more products for daily life and protect our cultural heritage.”

Having spent his life with fire and steel, Cứ A Lộng is now planting seeds of hope for the next generation, people like Cứ A Nếnh and Cứ A Thềnh, so that the Mông’s blacksmithing tradition will not only burn bright in the village but also shine as a living cultural heritage in the mountains of Mường Phăng.

Whether in Mường Phăng’s glowing forge or across Điện Biên with the resounding notes of the tính lute, the common thread linking artisans like Cứ A Lộng and Mào Văn Ết is their quiet devotion to preserving the very soul of their ethnic culture. On this journey, they, and many other artisans, are true “flame‑bearers,” not only keeping the craft alive but also rekindling pride and faith in the traditions and cultural identity of the far‑western borderlands.