Flat as a Board

She walked barefoot. Just as she entered the room and before she could even roll out her mat, she heard a sharp knock on the door.

All three of them were startled.

Aunt Bay sat up first and cracked the door open.

Outside stood Nhat Khang, standing tall with his shirt buttoned up to the collar, holding a ledger in his left hand. The thin gold frames of his glasses reflected the light of the oil lamp from the hallway.

His face was expressionless. He merely glanced inside and said curtly:

"The girl Lua, follow me to my room. Fan me."

Aunt Bay froze. Before she could reply, Mam looked over at Lua, her eyes wide with shock.

"Ye... yes, master, did you call for me?"

"Yes."

Aunt Bay said flusteredly, "She just finished bathing. Let me... change her clothes and bring her up."

"No need. I am waiting. Come in immediately."

Having said that, Nhat Khang turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

Lua stood there, her face flushing red not from embarrassment, but from sheer panic. Mam whispered right beside her:

"Go, go quickly. Don't make him call for you again."

Aunt Bay frowned, pulling an old shawl to drape over her shoulders:

"Cover yourself with this for now. Once you're done, come back immediately. Do not ask questions, and do not say anything unnecessary, do you hear me?"

Lua nodded, her trembling hands pulling down the hem of her shirt.

The door closed behind her with a dry click.

Lua took cautious, quiet steps, her hands tightly gripping the handle of the bamboo fan.

Young Master Khang's room was located in the main wing, right next to the study. It was not spacious, but it was orderly and cold.

A large wooden desk was set near the window, piled with ledgers. An oil lamp cast a warm yellow glow over his lowered face.

Nhat Khang was sitting and writing, the thin gold frames of his glasses gleaming under the lamp.

On the paper, each stroke of his pen was steady and perfectly aligned, without a single flaw.

Lua stood still beside the desk, holding the fan handle with both hands, fanning him in steady strokes as she had been taught by Aunt Bay.

Nhat Khang's gaze rested not on her face, but on the loose shawl over her shoulders, which covered her slender chest beneath the thin nightshirt.

He uttered a sentence, his voice as flat as still water but freezing to the bone:

"Flat as a board. There's nothing to hide anyway."

Lua felt as if someone had kicked her right in the chest.

She stood frozen, her face burning hot as if scalded.

Her hands frantically clutched the hem of her shirt, the fan almost slipping from her grasp.

Not because the words were dirty, but because they were so raw. So cold.

As if he did not view her as a human being, but merely as a piece of flesh to be analyzed, evaluated, and summarily dismissed with a few harsh words.

She dared not react. She said not a single word.

She only bowed her head lower, continuing to fan him, each stroke trembling.

Nhat Khang did not look at her again. He returned to his ledgers, as if he had never uttered a word.