Why Did No One Report to Me?

Mam fell silent for a moment, then bit her lip:

"Are you serious, Aunt? Beaten half to death?"

"It's true. The people from the rice granary ran back to report it. The boy collapsed right in the courtyard, and no one knows if he has regained consciousness yet."

The kitchen fell dead silent.

Mam glanced at Lua, seeing that she still had her head lowered, her lips tightly pressed together.

"See? I told you. That young master is not someone to be trifled with. If he dislikes someone's face, he won't hesitate to punish them without any reason."

Lua nodded. It wasn't that she didn't believe it, but she was simply too terrified to react.

Right now, she only wished she were small enough to remain unseen, obedient enough so that no one would ever have to raise their voice at her.

At noon, the sun beat down mercilessly. Mam carried the meal tray up to the main house, her hands tightly gripping the porcelain bowls for fear of slipping. She walked with light steps, not daring to look directly at the man sitting at the head of the table, Master Tran.

He sat with a straight back, holding a pair of jade chopsticks to portion the fish, eating slowly out of habit.

Beside him was Nhat Khang, wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled up high, his left hand resting on the table. His gaze was as cold as a dry well, looking at no one.

Aunt Bay stood in attendance nearby, quietly pouring tea.

After a moment, the master set his bowl down, his voice deep but not harsh:

"How is your niece, Lua, doing with her apprenticeship in the kitchen?"

Aunt Bay bowed her head, replying softly but clearly:

"Yes, master, she is very diligent. Her hands are still a bit slow, but she is eager to learn. She remembers whatever I teach her and never utters a single complaint."

The master nodded. Just as he was about to raise his teacup, Nhat Khang set his chopsticks down on the table with a sharp clack.

The sound was not loud, but it was enough to freeze the atmosphere.

Nhat Khang turned his head, his voice indifferent:

"A new servant in the kitchen? Why did no one report this to me?"

Aunt Bay was startled and bowed her head even lower:

"Yes... because the girl is only a helper in the kitchen and is under my direct supervision, I... I have not had the chance to report it yet."

Nhat Khang's gaze lingered on the tabletop for a moment, as if considering something, and then he said no more.

He simply picked up his chopsticks and continued to eat.

There was not a word of blame, nor any need to shout.

Yet the entire dining table fell as silent as a grave.

Mam stood huddled to the side, her hands clutching the hem of her shirt, sweat dampening her forehead.

She knew... the young master didn't need to raise his voice. A single question like that was enough for everyone to understand: do not think that being in the kitchen keeps you out of his sight.

The moment Mam brought the cleared meal tray back to the kitchen, she slumped onto a wooden chair, threw the cloth onto the table, and exhaled a sigh of relief as if she had just escaped death.

"Oh my god, I thought I was about to meet my end just now!"

Lua, who was wiping the table, turned around in surprise:

"What is it? Did something happen?"

Mam rested both hands on her thighs, her face twisted in distress.