Lạc Long Quân

The Story

The story the Vietnamese tell of their own beginnings does not begin in their own country. It begins at a lake far to the north: Lake Động Đình, its water so wide it might be a sea. The people who lived around it said there was another realm beneath the surface, the realm of the Dragon King, lord of everything that lives in the water. The Dragon King had a daughter. Her name was Thần Long.

In the South, in those days, there was a young king called Kinh Dương Vương. He came of the line of Thần Nông, the god who first taught human beings to grow grain. His grandfather Đế Minh, a descendant of Thần Nông in the third generation, had traveled south on a royal progress, reached the Ngũ Lĩnh mountains, and married an immortal woman there; the son she bore him was Kinh Dương Vương. Đế Minh then divided the world between his sons: the elder, Đế Nghi, kept the North, and Kinh Dương Vương was made king of the South. The southern king took as his wife Thần Long, the daughter of the Dragon King of Lake Động Đình. They had one son, and they named him Sùng Lãm.

Two bloodlines met in that child. On his father’s side ran the line of land kings, the teachers of planting. On his mother’s side ran the line of dragons, the people of the water realm. Sùng Lãm grew up, and the mother’s blood proved the stronger: he was at ease in water the way other men are at ease on land, kept the water palace as his home, and treated the dry ground as a place to visit. The people of the South knew him by his title: Lạc Long Quân, the Dragon Lord of the Lạc.

Yet this lord of the water did his greatest work ashore. The people of the South did not yet know how to plow and plant; he taught them. They had no settled way of cooking their food or clothing themselves; he showed them one. They had no order among themselves; he laid down the bonds of ruler and subject, of father and son, of husband and wife. And the land still held three demons: an old fish of the sea grown monstrous, called Ngư Tinh; a nine-tailed fox, called Hồ Tinh; an ancient tree turned spirit, called Mộc Tinh. He destroyed all three, one after another, so the people could live in peace. Then, each time the work was done, he went back to the water. He never stayed for thanks and never took a throne. The people loved him as they would love a man of their own household, and they did not call him king. They called him Bố: Father. A custom grew from this, and it held: when trouble came on land, they walked to the water’s edge and called, “Father, why do you not come and save us,” and he came.

One age, a daughter of the North came down into the southern country. She was Âu Cơ, daughter of Đế Lai, a northern ruler of the same Thần Nông line, and she had followed her father on his long journey south. She was of the fairy kind, a creature of the dry land, and her beauty was unlike anything the country had seen. Lạc Long Quân met her; the two fell in love, married, and went to live on Mount Long Trang. The dragon line of Lake Động Đình, three generations on, had joined the fairy line of the land. No stranger marriage had ever been made in the country of Lĩnh Nam.

The child of that marriage was stranger still. Âu Cơ conceived, and when her time came she delivered not a child but a sac, round and smooth, with no arms and no legs. Taking it for an ill omen, the household carried it out and left it in the open fields. Seven days later the sac split open into one hundred eggs, and out of each egg came a boy. The boys never asked for milk; they grew on their own, every one of them handsome, strong, and wise beyond the common measure. Mount Long Trang became the liveliest place in the South.

But blood would not let the father rest on the mountain. Lạc Long Quân stayed a while, then longed for the water, went down to his palace, came back, went down again. Âu Cơ was of the fairy kind and could not follow her husband under the water; he was of the dragon kind and could not forsake the sea to keep to the heights for good. One day he said to his wife: “I am of the dragon kind, lord of the water realm; you are of the fairy kind, a creature of the land. Yin and yang joined to give us these children, but water and fire cancel each other, and we cannot stay together long. We must divide them: fifty sons go up into the mountains with you, fifty come down to the sea with me. One to the highlands, one to the deep; whoever meets trouble sends word. Let none of us forget the others.”

On the day of parting, the hundred young men split into two columns. Fifty followed their mother up into the high country, to the land of Phong Châu; there the brothers raised the eldest to the throne, with the title Hùng Vương, and he founded Văn Lang, the first kingdom of the Việt. Fifty followed their father down to the sea, to the water palace, to keep the rivers and the coasts.

So the water that rises at Lake Động Đình in the North flows, three generations later, into the East Sea of the South. The Vietnamese would come to call themselves children of the Dragon and grandchildren of the Fairy. The Fairy is the mother on the mountain. The Dragon, traced back along the line, is the boy Sùng Lãm, is Thần Long, is the lake as wide as a sea where the story begins.

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The Plot in the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái

The Story of the Hồng Bàng Clan (Hồng Bàng thị truyện 鴻龐氏傳) opens the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái in Vũ Quỳnh’s 22-tale recension of 1492. It begins with a genealogy: Đế Minh, third-generation descendant of Thần Nông (Shennong), fathered Kinh Dương Vương with a fairy of the Ngũ Lĩnh mountains. Kinh Dương Vương ruled the South, married the daughter of the Dragon King of Lake Động Đình, and fathered Sùng Lãm, titled Lạc Long Quân (貉龍君), the Dragon Lord of the Lạc.

The text records his deeds in concrete terms: he taught the people to farm, to eat and dress, and set the ranks of ruler and subject and the bonds of father and son, husband and wife. Then he returned to his water palace. When the people had trouble they called out, “Father, why do you not come and save us,” and he came at once. The address is the tale’s distinctive detail: the founding lord is called Bố, Father, not by any imperial title.

Đế Lai, a northern ruler of the same Thần Nông line, toured the South and left his daughter Âu Cơ at his lodge. Lạc Long Quân, back from the sea, found her beautiful beyond the common measure; the two married and lived on Mount Long Trang. Âu Cơ bore a single sac that opened after seven days into one hundred eggs, each hatching a son; the boys needed no nursing and grew up strong and wise of their own accord.

The declaration that divides the family is quoted in the original: “Ngã thị long chủng, nhĩ thị tiên chủng, thủy hỏa tương khắc” (I am of dragon lineage, you of immortal lineage; water and fire cancel each other). Fifty sons followed their father to the sea, fifty followed their mother to the mountains, with a pledge to send word in time of need. The eldest of the mountain group was enthroned as Hùng Vương at Phong Châu, and his kingdom was named Văn Lang. The hundred sons are the ancestors of the Bách Việt, the Hundred Việt. Everything after the parting, from Phong Châu to the Hùng throne, belongs to the other half of this same tale: see the Âu Cơ entry.

The Three Demon Slayings: Ngư Tinh, Hồ Tinh, Mộc Tinh

The Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái devotes three separate tales to Lạc Long Quân’s three great feats. Each has its own entry on vietmyth; only the outline belongs here.

Ngư Tinh (魚精): a giant fish demon of the East Sea that blocked the shipping lanes and ate seafarers. Lạc Long Quân closed with it by a stratagem and cut it down; by tradition its severed tail drifted off to become the island of Bạch Long Vĩ. See the Ngư Tinh entry.

Hồ Tinh (狐精): a nine-tailed fox, a thousand years old, that haunted the Long Biên country and took human form to carry off girls. Lạc Long Quân raised the waters against its lair and killed it; the collapsed den became a lake, identified by tradition with Hồ Tây, the West Lake of Hanoi. See the Hồ Tinh entry.

Mộc Tinh (木精): an ancient sandalwood tree in the Phong Châu country that had turned demon and exacted offerings from the terrified population. Lạc Long Quân drove it out of the inhabited lands; traces of the cult that grew around this tree spirit persisted long after. See the Mộc Tinh entry.

Set side by side, the three tales show a design: three demons for three habitats (the sea, the riverine plain, the forested uplands), and the dragon lord clearing each one for human settlement. Taylor (The Birth of Vietnam, 1983, pp. 1-44) reads Lạc Long Quân in exactly these terms: a hero who comes from the sea, subdues the monsters of the land, and civilizes the people, teaching them to grow rice and wear clothes. The demon slayings are the land-clearing half of the same culture-hero portrait whose people-forming half is drawn in the Story of the Hồng Bàng Clan.

The Dragon Lord: a god of the waters called Father

Lạc Long Quân’s dragon is a dragon of the waters, not of the sky. The dragon blood comes down the maternal line: his mother is the daughter of the Dragon King of Lake Động Đình, a freshwater lake; the Toàn thư names her Thần Long. His realm is the water palace, and the demon tales have him operating from the East Sea inland to the lakes and marshes of the river country. That range of waters, lake to river to sea, is the territory of a water god, not the heaven of a Son of Heaven.

The comparison sharpens the point. The Chinese tradition also has rulers of dragon descent, but the northern dragon is an emblem of the celestial mandate: it lives above the clouds, belongs to the imperial person, and stands at an unbridgeable height above the governed. The dragon of the Vietnamese tale lives under the water, and the text encodes his relation to his people in a single word: Bố, Father. People in trouble do not submit petitions or mount sacrifices; they walk to the water’s edge and call, and he comes. The distance of ruler and subject is replaced by the distance of parent and child, close enough to shout across.

Taylor reads this whole cluster of images as the trace of “a sea-oriented culture coming to terms with a continental environment” (The Birth of Vietnam, 1983, Appendix A, pp. 303-305): authority arrives from the water, and the one who carries it must learn to live with the land. The marriage on Mount Long Trang and the division of the sons between mountain and sea are two steps of that same process.

Narrative Structure: the mismatched pair and the even division

The mismatched pair. Dragon weds fairy, water weds mountain, South weds North. Conventional yin-yang cosmology assigns water to the feminine; here the father belongs to the water and the mother to the mountain, a reversal that sets the tale apart from the Sinitic cosmological mold (analyzed in full in the Âu Cơ entry).

The even division. The parting is the most commonly misread moment in the tale. Read through the frame of a modern family, it is a divorce and a father walking out. The text does not permit that reading, for three reasons. First, the division is exactly even: fifty and fifty, and neither half is the half left behind. Second, the pledge of mutual aid sits inside the parting speech itself: whoever meets trouble sends word, no one abandons the others; and the mechanism of calling Father has already been established earlier in the text as a working one, a call that is answered. Third, the Thiên Nam ngữ lục spells out what the sea branch does: “The father and his sons went down to the water palace / spreading order and administration, guarding the southeast / a hundred channels and a thousand streams flowing forth / with water for a world and waves for majesty.” The sea branch does not vanish; the sea branch governs a realm. The division is a division of rule: two territories, two heads, one web of kinship. Tạ Chí Đại Trường (JVS 7/2, 2012, pp. 139-162) analyzes how the Hùng Vương legend served successive eras as a frame for ordering the community and legitimating power; within that frame, the parting of mountain and sea reads as the Việt community’s first charter of territorial administration, not a family tragedy.

One sac, one hundred sons. The number one hundred matches the ethnonym Bách Việt, and the everyday Vietnamese word for compatriot, đồng bào (同胞, “same womb”), comes out of the image of the shared sac. The comparative analysis of the motif (the Southeast Asian gourd belt, the Mường variant, the hundred Kauravas) lives in the Âu Cơ entry and is not repeated here.

The Word Lạc (貉/雒): an etymological dispute

The “Lạc” of Lạc Long Quân is written 貉 in the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái, while the early Chinese sources write the system of Lạc kings, Lạc people, and Lạc lords with 雒 or 駱. What the word meant is one of the most durable problems in Vietnamese studies, with at least four lines of solution:

(i) The water thesis. Nguyễn Kim Thản and Vương Lộc (Thông báo khoa học, 1974) proposed that “Lạc” transcribes an ancient Vietnamese word for water, surviving in “nước rạc” (ebbing tide water) and “cạn rặc” (drained dry); the Japanese scholar Gotō Kimpei connected it to “lạch/rạch” (channel, creek). This fits the line of the Jiaozhou Waiyu Ji (3rd-4th century) quoted in the An Nam chí lược: the Lạc fields were worked “following the rise and fall of the tides,” their farmers were the Lạc people, and their governors the Lạc kings and Lạc lords.

(ii) The ethnonym thesis. Michel Ferlus (JSEALS 1, 2009, pp. 95-109) traced 雒/駱 (Old Chinese *rak) to a regional ethnonym of the shape *b.rak ~ *p.rak, cognate with the autonyms of the Wa and the Khmu; he further suggested that the Bǎi (百, Old Chinese *prâk) of Bǎiyuè (“Hundred Việt”) originally transcribed the same ethnonym and was only later reinterpreted as the numeral “hundred.”

(iii) The copyist-error thesis. Maspero (BEFEO 18/3, 1918, pp. 1-36) held that 雒 (lạc) was the original character and that 雄 (hùng) in “Hùng Vương” was a scribal error, the two characters being close in shape.

(iv) Kelley’s two-source analysis. Kelley (JVS 7/2, 2012, pp. 87-130) rejected Maspero’s thesis: the Jiaozhou Waiyu Ji used 雒 to transcribe the sound of an indigenous word, while the Nanyue Zhi (5th century) used 雄 to render a meaning (“mighty”); the two sources served two purposes, and it was Ngô Sĩ Liên who fused both into one genealogy.

No line has won outright. But all four agree on one point: “Lạc” is the oldest layer of the name, older than “Hùng,” and the name Lạc Long Quân preserves exactly that layer: the dragon lord of the Lạc, whether “Lạc” meant the water, the people, or both.

Textual History: manuscripts and official history

Lạc Long Quân’s textual record is the record of the whole Hồng Bàng narrative, and it shows the figure walking into official history and back out of it as each era reread the legend.

The three blanks at the top of the table are the negative evidence: at the end of the fourteenth century, the genealogy of Kinh Dương Vương and Lạc Long Quân either did not exist or was unknown to the men who kept the records. The Việt sử lược starts directly with a Hùng king in Gia Ninh; Lê Tắc’s An Nam chí lược, working from Chinese sources, knows only Lạc kings, Lạc people, and Lạc lords.

What did Ngô Sĩ Liên think he was doing? The Toàn thư (Outer Annals, Book I, folios 2a-3a) shows a historian using the legend while keeping it at arm’s length. He set the opening of the Hồng Bàng era at the year Nhâm Tuất, 2879 BCE, more than six centuries before China’s Xia dynasty: a deliberate choice, announcing that the Vietnamese state was as ancient as any. But at the most miraculous detail his brush drew brackets: [tục truyền sinh bách noãn], “popular tradition says she bore one hundred eggs.” The words “popular tradition” are a methodological device: the historian separated what he was prepared to record as history (an ancestral lord, a hundred sons, a first Hùng king) from what he would record only as what the people say. He also flagged the genealogy’s own difficulty, that Kinh Dương Vương and Đế Lai were kin, “perhaps because that age was still primal and the rites not yet established.” His commentary closes on methodical doubt: “Believing everything in books is worse than having no books!”

The Nguyễn rereading and the strike-through. Four centuries later the Cương Mục reversed Ngô Sĩ Liên’s decision. Emperor Tự Đức’s verdict runs: the names Kinh Dương Vương and Lạc Long Quân belong “to the primal chaos of highest antiquity; the author founded something on nothing, and it is to be feared the account cannot be trusted, the more so as it leans on the ‘Tale of Liu Yi’ by a fiction writer of the Tang.” The verdict lands on a real philological point: the motif of marrying the Dragon King’s daughter of Lake Động Đình matches the Tang chuanqi tale of Liu Yi (Liễu Nghị truyện) point for point. This is the rare case of a monarchy striking its own founding legend from its own official history in the name of evidentiary standards.

The Thiên Nam ngữ lục shows the opposite motion: further folklorization. The late seventeenth-century Nôm verse chronicle not only kept the tale but extended it, identifying Lạc Long Quân’s line with Thủy Tinh, the Water Lord, and Âu Cơ’s line with Sơn Tinh, the Mountain Lord, splicing the origin myth into the Sơn Tinh and Thủy Tinh flood legend as one continuous story of mountain and water.

Modern Scholarship

The French colonial layer. Maspero (“Le Royaume de Van-lang,” BEFEO 18/3, 1918, pp. 1-36) treated the Hồng Bàng narratives as legend without historical basis and proposed the 雄/雒 copyist-error thesis described above. Aurousseau (BEFEO 23, 1923) derived the Vietnamese from migrants out of the Yue kingdom of Zhejiang; the theory has since been discarded. The method of the layer was euhemerist: peel the mythological shell, find the historical kernel.

Kelley and the invented tradition. Liam Kelley (“The Biography of the Hồng Bàng Clan as a Medieval Vietnamese Invented Tradition,” JVS 7/2, 2012, pp. 87-130) argued that the Hồng Bàng narrative was not an oral memory from the first millennium BCE finally written down, but a tradition created after Vietnamese autonomy by a literate elite reading Chinese texts, to legitimate their dynasties. For Lạc Long Quân his strongest evidence is textual: nothing attests the figure before the fourteenth century, and elements such as the Động Đình dragon-bride motif point to Tang literature. Kelley also rejected Maspero’s copyist thesis as simplistic and condescending to the Vietnamese: 雒 and 雄 belong to two sources with two different purposes of transcription.

Tạ Chí Đại Trường. In his response in the same journal issue (JVS 7/2, 2012, pp. 139-162), Tạ Chí Đại Trường agreed with Kelley’s direction and added an analysis of how the Hùng Vương legend has been mobilized politically in era after era, including the observation that the modern state is unwilling to challenge the received story because of its usefulness. In Thần, Người và Đất Việt (2011 edition, p. 76) he hypothesized that “Hùng” was a title for indigenous chiefs in Giao Châu while “Lạc” named a people.

Taylor and the middle position. Taylor (The Birth of Vietnam, 1983, pp. 1-44 and Appendix A, pp. 303-305) holds the middle ground: the myth reflects a real cultural memory, a sea-oriented culture coming to terms with a continental environment, but one reworked through many layers of textual embroidery. In A History of the Vietnamese (2013) he leans further toward reading the myths as political constructions covering the discontinuities of the Vietnamese past.

The indigenous rejoinder. Nguyễn Mạnh Tiến (Khai nguyên rồng tiên, NXB Tao Đàn) answers Kelley with ethnography: fieldwork in Thanh Hóa shows the Việt, Mường, Tày, and Thái sharing a single mythic consciousness of the Dragon Father and Fairy Mother and a set of common deities, which argues for an indigenous Southeast Asian root that cannot be reduced to a few literati reading Chinese books.

What remains open. On textual chronology, nothing attests the Hồng Bàng genealogy before the fourteenth century, and the Động Đình dragon-bride motif carries the stamp of Tang literature plainly enough that Emperor Tự Đức himself pointed it out; that is the evidence on Kelley’s side. On the other side, the portrait of Lạc Long Quân has features no Chinese book supplies: a water god addressed as Father, a demon-slaying cycle mapped precisely onto the habitats of the northern river plain, and a dragon-and-fairy structure shared by the neighboring Việt, Mường, Tày, and Thái; that is the evidence of the indigenous-core line (Nguyễn Mạnh Tiến). The two lines are still arguing, and neither has produced the evidence that would close the file; between the poles stands a reading that treats the medieval construction as a classical frame laid over existing indigenous material. What every side records: whenever it took shape, the genealogy was built to claim a separate lineage, standing level with the North, dependent on no one.

Living Legacy

Quốc Tổ. In the living cult, Lạc Long Quân holds the rank of Quốc Tổ, Ancestor of the Nation, standing above and before the line of Hùng kings. The rank has a long documentary history of investiture: by the Bình Đà temple records, King Lý Thái Tông conferred the first patent of investiture there in 1032, and over six centuries sixteen monarchs came in person to offer incense, leaving sixteen patents that honor him as the Nation-Founding Spirit (Khai Quốc Thần).

Đền Nội Bình Đà. The original seat of the National Ancestor’s cult is at Bình Đà hamlet, Bình Minh commune, Thanh Oai district, Hanoi, on 30,000 square meters, under the great inscription “Vi Bách Việt Tổ”: Ancestor of the Hundred Việt. Local tradition holds that when he led his fifty sons toward the sea he halted and made his base at Bảo Đà, today’s Bình Đà, and that his tomb lies on Tam Thai mound. The temple’s greatest treasure is a relief of Lạc Long Quân in royal robes presiding over a boat race, recognized as a National Treasure in 2015. The Bình Đà festival (26th of the second lunar month to the 6th of the third, the main day being the 6th, his memorial day) was inscribed as National Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2014, Hanoi’s first inscription in the category.

The Quốc Tổ temple at the Hùng Temple complex. On Sim hill inside the Hùng Temple complex (Việt Trì, Phú Thọ), a temple to Quốc Tổ Lạc Long Quân was begun on 26 March 2007 and inaugurated on 29 March 2009, at a cost of 140 billion đồng; its inner sanctum holds a bronze statue of the lord, 1.5 tonnes and 1.98 meters tall. An old rule still stands: before the Hùng Kings Commemoration, the temple keeper travels to Bình Đà to receive incense fire from Lạc Long Quân’s altar, the rite of “inviting the National Ancestor” to the Hùng Temple. Within the festival week, the sixth day of the third lunar month is reserved for the incense offering at this temple, four days before the main rite on the tenth.

The Hùng Kings Commemoration and the law. Lạc Long Quân’s ancestral standing enters modern legal life through the Hùng Vương line: Emperor Khải Định fixed the tenth day of the third lunar month as the national commemoration in 1917, and in 2007 the National Assembly amended Article 73 of the Labor Code to make the Hùng Kings Commemoration a paid public holiday for the whole workforce. A figure of legend thereby holds a place in the statute book of a modern state. On 6 December 2012 UNESCO inscribed the Worship of the Hùng Kings in Phú Thọ on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity by a unanimous vote of 24; the country counts 1,417 monuments of the Hùng cult and its associated figures, 345 of them in Phú Thọ.

Southward extension. The National Ancestor’s cult has followed the Vietnamese south: the Hùng Kings Memorial Temple in Hồ Chí Minh City (completed 2009, dedicated to the National Ancestor Hùng Vương, the Ancestral Father Lạc Long Quân, and the Ancestral Mother Âu Cơ), the Hùng Temple in Cần Thơ, and a temple at the Cà Mau cape. There is also the Lạc Long Quân temple at Xích Đằng in Hưng Yên city, part of the Phố Hiến complex, which keeps the same memorial day, the sixth of the third lunar month.

The Dragon’s children in everyday speech. The Vietnamese call themselves con Rồng cháu Tiên, children of the Dragon and grandchildren of the Fairy: the Dragon is Lạc Long Quân. The word đồng bào, compatriot, entered everyday political language from the image of the hundred-egg sac (see the Âu Cơ entry). The tale of the Dragon’s children opens the grade 6 literature textbook. Nguyễn Khoa Điềm wrote in the long poem Mặt đường khát vọng (1971): “Lạc Long Quân and Âu Cơ / bore our đồng bào in a sac of eggs.” The illustrated Lĩnh Nam chích quái by the artist Tạ Huy Long (NXB Kim Đồng, 2017) sold out before its release date. And most Vietnamese cities have a Lạc Long Quân street running parallel to or crossing an Âu Cơ street: the two halves of one division, meeting again on the city map.

Notes for Use

1. Thi viện misattributes the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái. The original author is Trần Thế Pháp, revised by Vũ Quỳnh and Kiều Phú; not Nguyễn Dữ, who wrote the Truyền kỳ mạn lục.

2. The Chinese characters of the name vary. The Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái writes 貉龍君; the early Chinese sources write the Lạc-king system with 雒 or 駱. The character 貉 has other readings (hạc, mạch) with other meanings; cite the source text when citing the characters.

3. The three demon slayings are three separate tales. The Ngư Tinh, Hồ Tinh, and Mộc Tinh tales are independent chapters of the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái, not episodes inside the Story of the Hồng Bàng Clan; take each tale’s details from its own entry and do not fuse them into one continuous campaign.

4. 2879 BCE is not an archaeological date. It is Ngô Sĩ Liên’s back-calculation, made to place the Vietnamese founding before China’s Xia dynasty, and institutionalized in the mid-twentieth century (Pelley, Postcolonial Vietnam, 2002). Do not present it as archaeology.

5. Read the Cương Mục rejection correctly. The Nguyễn court struck Lạc Long Quân from official history on textual-critical standards; it did not deny his place in the culture, and temples continued to receive patents of investiture in the same period. Do not cite Tự Đức’s verdict as “the Nguyễn dynasty denied the National Ancestor.”

6. Keep local temple legend apart from the source texts. The tomb on Tam Thai mound and the halt at Bảo Đà are traditions of the Bình Đà monument, not found in the Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái or the Toàn thư; cite them as local cult material.

7. The “wife of Đế Lai” variant. A few Lĩnh Nam Chích Quái recensions make Âu Cơ Đế Lai’s wife or consort; the received line, from the Toàn thư onward, makes her his daughter. This entry follows the received line; for the manuscript details see the Âu Cơ entry, Textual History.

8. No Hùng Vương entry yet. References to Hùng Vương in this entry will link to a dedicated entry once it is written.