Chapter 14 — A Sweetness Forgotten

That morning, before going to the restaurant, Diệp Chi accidentally glanced at a post on a startup business forum, where someone had taken a photo of her and Thế Khôi standing next to each other in a meeting - perhaps accidentally revealed by an employee - along with a meaningful comment: "I wonder when the owner Ngọt Xưa has known Department Head Bách Khang for such a long time that she was favorably invited into such a big project. Surely there is something not simple."

Diệp Chi read that comment no less than five times, feeling like someone had just revealed the deepest fear she had carried with her for the past twelve years. She turned off her phone, put it down on the table, feeling heavy all over her body as if all her efforts to build a brand with her own hands over the past six years were suddenly doubted just by a few anonymous lines on the internet.

Because of that post, when Tường Vy came to the shop in the afternoon to discuss the cooperation invitation, Diệp Chi decided to refuse as soon as her friend sat down.

"Are you crazy?" Tường Vy almost screamed when she heard Diệp Chi announce her intention to refuse the invitation to cooperate with Bách Khang, two days after the meeting. "This is the biggest expansion opportunity ever! Beautiful location, reasonable profit sharing policy, and promoted together with a large project. Why do you refuse?"

The two of them were sitting in the small office behind the main tea shop, where Diệp Chi still used to process books every night after closing time. She sat silently for a moment, twirling the pen in her hand, her eyes avoiding her best friend's judgmental gaze, then handed the phone to Tường Vy to see this morning's post.

Tường Vy read through it, her face darkened with anger. "These people really have free time. You've worked so hard for so many years, but they don't see it, just seeing a hastily taken photo makes them think everything."

"That's what I'm most afraid of," Diệp Chi said, her voice low, putting the phone back on the table. "It's not because I'm afraid that people will say bad things about me, but because I'm afraid that what I've been trying to build for so many years will be viewed wrongly by people just because of a relationship in the past that I don't even know what to call it. The negotiating representative is Thế Khôi, Tường Vy. Do you think I can sit and negotiate fairly with the person with whom I had twelve years ago..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but Tường Vy immediately understood what she wanted to say.

"I know it's complicated." Tường Vy softened her voice and sat down next to her. "But Diệp Chi, you let your personal love affairs and baseless online rumors affect the most important business decision of your career, is it worth it? Eleven branches, hundreds of employees are waiting for your decisions, you can't just miss out on such a big opportunity because of fear of facing the past."

"I'm not afraid of facing the past." Diệp Chi objected, but even she could hear the lack of certainty in her voice. "I'm just afraid..."

"Afraid of what?"

Diệp Chi was silent for a long time, then finally said what was truly tugging at her heart. "I'm afraid that if I accept the cooperation offer, people will think I took advantage of my old relationship with the group president's son to climb up to this position. I'm afraid they will say Ngọt Xưa succeeded not because of its strength, but because... thanks to an old student love affair. It took me twelve years to prove that I can stand on my own two feet, Tường Vy. I don't want all that effort to be labeled by people with the word 'rely on'."

Tường Vy remained silent, understanding the deep fear behind her friend's decision - not the fear of love, but the fear of honor, of the recognition that Diệp Chi had to pay with all her youth, all her sleepless nights, and even her mother's death to get.

"But think about it," Tường Vy said, her voice gentle but firm. "If you refuse a good opportunity just because you're afraid of what others will say, aren't you letting public opinion control your decisions? That's no different from letting money control you. Besides, if you cooperate and do well, the results of your work will be the clearest answer to those rumors. And if you hide, aren't you unintentionally admitting that you're afraid people are right?"

That sentence made Diệp Chi pause, something in her heart seemed to have just been touched at the most sensitive point.

"You're right," she admitted, her voice low. "But I still need time to think clearly. This is not only a matter of honor, but also whether I have the courage to face Thế Khôi every day at work, without letting old feelings dominate important decisions."

"Then let's keep it clear," Tường Vy proposed in a realistic tone. "Consider this a purely business negotiation first. If the terms are favorable for Ngọt Xưa, just sign. Love matters later, take it slowly." Diệp Chi nodded slowly, even though she knew clearly in her heart that the line between "business" and "love" in this case was so fragile that it was difficult to clearly define it as your friend advised.

***

That night, after Tường Vy returned, Diệp Chi sat alone in the small office, took out her mother's recipe book, and turned to the last page - the unfinished "Third Flavor" page. She looked at her mother's handwriting, imagining her sitting diligently taking notes, testing little by little, with the belief that one day the recipe would be perfect.

"Mom," she whispered to herself in the quiet room, "if you were me, what would you do in this situation?"

There was no answer, only the steady sound of the ceiling fan spinning in the quiet night. But Diệp Chi suddenly remembered a sentence her mother once told her, when she was young, every time she was afraid of a difficult decision.

"Don't be afraid of being misunderstood by people, just know that you're doing the right thing." Mother's voice, even though only in memory, is still as warm and steady as ever. "People can say whatever they want, as long as you keep your conscience clear and the effort you put in is genuine."

Diệp Chi sat quietly for a long time, letting those words sink into her heart. She thought about the eleven branches, the hundreds of employees calling her "boss", and the long distance she had walked alone since that rainy night in July last year. If she let the fear of baseless rumors make decisions for her, she would probably forever live in the shadow of the past, instead of truly stepping out of it.

Finally, she opened her phone, typed a short message and sent it to the company phone number that Bích Ngọc provided during the meeting.

"I agree to continue negotiating detailed terms. But I need a private meeting, just me and Mr. Thế Khôi, to clarify some issues before signing any documents."

She looked at the message she had just typed, her finger hesitated on the send button for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and pressed the button.

The message was sent at eleven o'clock at night. Three minutes later, a response message appeared on the screen, not from a company phone number, but from an individual number she recognized immediately, even though she hadn't seen it appear on her phone screen in twelve years.

"I'll always make time for you. Whenever you're ready."

Diệp Chi looked at that text message for a long time, her heart pounding in her chest, then turned off the phone and placed it face down on the table, as if trying to prevent herself from letting her emotions overwhelm her reason again.

She stood up, walked out to the small balcony behind the office, looking down at the quiet street at night, the streetlights shining on the street after the afternoon rain. The cool night wind blew through my hair, carrying the faint scent of tea lingering from the kitchen below. She took a deep breath, clearly feeling something change inside her — not an absolute certainty that everything would be okay, but a renewed determination that, whatever the outcome, she would not let fear control the most important steps of her life again.

She thought of the recipe book still lying open on the table, of the unfinished "Third Flavor" page, of the promise she had not yet fulfilled to her mother. Perhaps, she thought, facing Thế Khôi, facing a large corporation that she once felt guilty about, was also part of the journey of perfecting that promise — not only perfecting a recipe, but also perfecting herself, to become someone who no longer had to bow to anyone, not even to her own fears.