Passing the First Hurdle

Mắm was just old enough to work, and clever enough to manage in the kitchen, so she often directed Lua when Aunt Bay was busy.

Lua remained silent, only knowing to bow her head and follow instructions. Each time she tasted the broth, she would look at Aunt Bay first, as if afraid that even the flavor she created could be a sin.

By noon, the entire downstairs kitchen was bustling with preparing lunch. Aunt Bay personally carried the trays upstairs, while Lua and Mắm stayed behind to clean up.

Mắm, picking up a leftover piece of fried potato from the tray, grimaced:

"I wonder if he'll find it palatable today. If Young Master Yi Kang says it's 'bland,' we'll have to cook it all over again, and we'll be exhausted."

Lua's heart pounded at the sound. She had helped season some of today's savory dishes. Despite her best efforts to follow Aunt Bay's instructions, she was still unsure if the upstairs residents' tastes would be satisfied.

About an hour later, Mắm returned, holding a basket of dishes, her face calm but her voice light as a sigh:

"It's fine. The Master and Young Master Yi Kang didn't say anything, so it means they didn't notice any difference. That's good."

Lua, who was washing vegetables, finally let out a long breath. She didn't expect praise; she only hoped to get through each meal peacefully. Perhaps because of this, she hadn't been called out, hadn't been scolded by anyone, and hadn't been driven out of this cold kitchen.

Mắm winked as she stacked the bowls on the shelf.

"You've passed the first hurdle today. If you keep this up for about a month, the servants here will consider you one of the kitchen staff."

Lua said nothing, only nodded. Her heart still felt heavy, unsure when she would ever be able to call this place "familiar."

Upstairs, Yi Kang had finished eating, washed his hands, and stood on the veranda looking out at the backyard. The wind swept through the tall betel nut trees, carrying a mixed scent of rice and soup, kitchen smoke, and old firewood ash.

Night fell over the plantation as quickly as a blink. The entire annex was silent in the darkness. The chirping of insects in the garden mingled with the sound of wind rustling through the bamboo grove, like whispers.

The kitchen fire had been extinguished long ago, leaving only the faint glow of an oil lamp in the small room at the end of the row, where Aunt Bay, Lua, Mắm, and Ty slept together.

The room was cramped, with mats laid close together. Ty lay in the innermost corner, his back turned, already snoring deeply after a day of carrying rice in the warehouse. The boy was a few years older than her but quiet and clumsy, only knowing to nod or shake his head all day, obediently following Aunt Bay's every word.

Mắm lay in the middle, while she nestled against the outer edge near the door. Aunt Bay lay close to the wall, fanning herself, her eyes half-closed but her ears still perked up as if listening even in her sleep.