Chen Chunhua stood in the middle of the kitchen, her apron stained with flour, staring blankly at the ribs on the chopping board.
The leaves of the sycamore trees outside the window rustled, and the cicadas chirped louder and louder. In a trance, she returned to the summer of twenty years ago - when she was squatting under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village picking vegetables, Zhao Chengshu's white shirt brushed across her shoulders, and he said that he wanted to go to the city to find a better job.
"Auntie Chen!" The boy's clear voice shattered the memory. Seventeen-year-old Ye Qingliu wore a well-tailored navy blue school uniform, a black schoolbag slung over one shoulder, and his gray-blue eyes shone like ice-cold sapphires in the sunlight.
He casually threw his schoolbag on the kitchen island. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the silver watch on his wrist. "I smell the aroma of sweet and sour pork ribs."
Chen Chunhua snapped back to her senses, the knife in her hand clanging against the chopping board. The ribs, still blood-stained, shone a pale pink in the afternoon light.
She hurriedly wiped her hands with a rag, but ended up smearing flour on her apron. "Master, are you done with school? Go and have some rest. Dinner will be ready soon."
"I told you not to call me Master." Ye Qingliu raised an eyebrow with a smile, then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a piece of candy. The wrapper made a crisp sound between his fingers. "This is for you. Peach flavor."
The moment you peel off the candy wrapper, the sweet fruity aroma mixed with the scent of sunshine hits you in the face.
Chen Chunhua's fingertips suddenly trembled - she remembered that seven-year-old Wang Tiezhu once secretly hid a piece of fruit candy under his pillow, which became moldy. After being discovered by Wang Daniu, he was beaten half to death.
The child huddled by the stove, tears and snot mixed in, but he still stuffed the damp candy into her hands: "Mom, it's sweet."
"Throw it away." She heard her own cold voice, as if she was talking about something that had nothing to do with her.
Ye Qingliu was stunned, the candy wrapper on his fingertips hanging in the air: "Aunt Chen doesn't like it?"
She saw the apprehension in the boy's eyes and suddenly realized her own gaffe. Her Adam's apple moved, and she reached out to take the candy. Her voice softened, "I like it. It just reminds me of... a kid I once saw who was always hiding candy."
"Kids who secretly hide candy must be very cute, right?" Ye Qingliu tilted his head to look at her. The sunlight filtered through the hair behind his ear, making his earlobe turn a light pink. "Like when I was a kid, I secretly hid the candy cakes you made?"
Chen Chunhua felt a sudden dull pain in her chest. Cute? Wang Tiezhu's face blurred into a gray shadow in her memory. She only remembered him tugging at her clothes with his dirty hands, crying for food.
The boy in front of her would even carefully wrap the sweets and cakes in a silk scarf when he hid them, for fear of dirtying her kitchen.
"Go wash your hands first. There's a lot of fumes in the kitchen." She turned around and put the ribs into the wok. Golden oil splashed everywhere. She deliberately used the heat from the wok to cover up the emotions in her eyes.
Ye Qingliu didn't move, but moved closer to the chopping board: "Let me help you chop the green onions. My knife skills have improved since you taught me last time."
As he spoke, the school badge on his collar swayed slightly. It was a gilded badge of a public high school, which made the skin on his neck look even paler.
Chen Chunhua watched him pick up the stainless steel kitchen knife and skillfully cut the green onion into even, fine pieces.
The sunlight filtered through the screen window, casting a golden edge on the top of his head, reminding her of Zhao Chengshu harvesting rice in the fields back then - his wrists were also so flexible back then, and as the sickle rose and fell, the golden rice ears were neatly stacked into bundles.
"Aunt Chen, what are you daydreaming about?" Ye Qingliu waved his fingertips in front of her eyes, "The ribs are going to burn."
"Ouch!" Chen Chunhua exclaimed, turning to flip the ribs in the wok. The caramel-colored sauce bubbled, its sweet aroma mingling with the aroma of meat filling the air. She hurriedly turned down the heat, only to squint at the rising steam.
"Be careful." Ye Qingliu handed her a pair of heat-insulating gloves, and suddenly stopped when his fingertips brushed against the back of her hand. "Your hands are all calloused."
Chen Chunhua quickly retracted her hand and wiped it again and again on her apron.
In the twenty years she had been at the Wang family, her hands had long been worn out by rough work. Washing clothes, chopping wood, working in the fields—which one of them didn't rely on? Wang Daniu's words, "A lowly life is for lowly work," still lingered in her ears.
Ye Qingliu's hands were white and slender, and he always wore an exquisite silver watch. Even when he was cutting green onions, he would not get any oil stains on his hands.
"It's an old problem." She forced a smile and scooped the fried pork ribs into the bowl. "Go and ask Miss Jinyue to come down for dinner. I made her favorite yam cake today."
Ye Qingliu was about to speak when the kitchen door suddenly opened. Zhao Chengshu was wearing a neat black butler uniform, the silver buttons on his chest gleaming in the sun.
In his left hand, he held a silver tray with freshly brewed Keemun black tea on it, and in his right hand, he held a white glove, his knuckles turning white from the exertion.
"Young Master, it's time for afternoon tea." His voice was steady as usual, but when he saw the burn on Chen Chunhua's wrist, his Adam's apple rolled slightly.
Ye Qingliu glanced at the tray, then at the spareribs in Chen Chunhua's hand: "Grandpa Butler, I want to drink the chrysanthemum tea made by Aunt Chen today, is that okay?"
Zhao Chengshu's gaze flickered between the two of them, finally landing on Chen Chunhua. She was bending her head over the sauce, her eyelashes casting tiny shadows under her eyes. One of her apron strings had come loose, hanging askew from her shoulder.
He remembered that afternoon twenty years ago when she was standing in front of the stove, frying an egg for him, with a wild jasmine flower pinned in her hair.
"Of course." Zhao Chengshu bent down to place the tray on the counter. As his sleeve brushed across the chopping board, he accidentally knocked over the porcelain bowl of chopped green onions. The green and white chopped green onions scattered across the marble floor, like a pile of broken jade.
"I'll sweep." Chen Chunhua immediately squatted down, but Ye Qingliu grabbed the broom first. The hem of the boy's white shirt brushed past her knees, carrying the scent of sun-dried laundry detergent.
"Aunt Chen, please sit down and rest for a while." Ye Qingliu's voice came from above his head, "Grandpa Butler, please get me a new bowl."
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