At dawn, Lường Văn Thanh from Cò Chạy village in Mường Pồn commune stood quietly before his garden. It was not large, just a few dozen trees planted among corn rows on the steep terrain. Cold winds swirled, making winter feel longer than usual. He brushed away a thin layer of moss from a trunk and settled on a branch within reach. Instead of a knife or shears, he used a small, sharp hand saw. The cut had to be smooth to prevent the trunk from shaking too hard, as a single hasty move could have knocked off the tender buds and ruined the entire season.

Lường Văn Thanh explained slowly that he had been eyeing this specific branch since the start of the season; it was not the most beautiful, but the buds were just right. Although they were called forest peaches, he had actually cultivated the seeds to grow them in his own garden. Growing those trees was a lesson in patience, as farmers learned to track time by the mist, the frost, and the unseasonable rains.

If the sun came early, the buds might have burst before Tết; if the frost lingered, the flowers were delayed, leaving the growers anxious. Every calculation revolved around the holiday. He recalled years when the whole garden had bloomed early, forcing him to sell quickly at low prices. Other times, the rhythm was perfect, and selling just a few branches was enough to cover holiday shopping.

He noted with a gentle smile that selling a peach branch effectively meant having a Tết celebration. As he placed the branch on the ground and tied it neatly with old cloth to protect the bark, his eyes brightened. For his family, Tết began the moment a branch left the garden. He calculated that if he sold all his stock that year and combined it with his savings, he would buy a small tiller. With machinery, the soil preparation would be less grueling and the seasons more manageable.

Leaving the mountains, the peach branches joined the flow of traffic on the city streets. Lò Văn Kiên, who specialized in transporting those trees at year-end, stopped his motorcycle to adjust a knot. In the cold air, his breath turned to white mist as he pulled up his sackcloth for warmth. He knew from experience that buds fell easily on bumpy roads, so he slowed down whenever the ground got rough. His work only became busy in the few days before Tết, rushing to deliver trees from sales points to homes across the city. He ate quick bowls of noodles and took short breaks near the temporary stalls along the Nậm Rốm river. Each trip earned him about VND 50,000 for short distances, while longer or heavier loads commanded a higher fee.

While others looked at the shape of the branch, he watched the buds to ensure they remained intact upon delivery. At the end of the day, holding his earnings, his face relaxed after a series of continuous trips. The amount was not vast, but it was enough to buy new clothes for his children and prepare the chưng cake bowling pot. He believed that delivering a branch safely also meant bringing a piece of spring to his own family.

Peach trees from the highland villages and the Mường Thanh basin gathered in the center, mostly near the Nậm Rốm river, the Mường Thanh tourism market, and the road from Điện Biên Airport to the A1 bridge. Rows of branches stood together, each with a unique silhouette, some standing straight with buds lined up, others drooping gracefully, and some splitting into two leaning trunks, which sellers jokingly called the “husband and wife” style.

Amidst the year-end chill, the colors of the peach trees made the street corners brighter and more festive. On weekends, many families went out together to choose a tree. For many, it was not about finding the largest branch but the one that fitted their home space. Spring arrived after days of diligent labor, waiting, and optimism. Once a peach branch was settled in a house, Tết had officially knocked on the door, and everyone felt their hearts become lighter and warmer as the new year began.