Chapter 21 — A Sweetness Forgotten

The official contract was drafted for the final time, just waiting for the official signing date, but Diệp Chi fell into a state of tension that she did not expect - not because of worries about business terms, but because of a deeper fear, harder to name, that was silently gnawing away at the confidence she had built up over many weeks of negotiations.

The night before the signing day, she sat alone in her small apartment, looking out the window towards the city center, where the lights of high-rise buildings sparkled like an artificial galaxy. She thought about the twelve years she had gone through - from a little girl who had to carry a tea basket to deliver goods every morning, to a businesswoman who was about to sign a cooperation contract with one of the largest corporations in the city.

But instead of feeling proud, her mind was filled with endless self-questioning. If she signs this contract, will Ngọt Xưa still retain the rustic, close identity that made its name, or will it gradually degenerate into an industrialized brand, losing its original soul? Is she repeating some mistake her mother made — trusting the wrong people, betting too much on a decision that could cost her dearly?

She took out her mother's recipe book and held it in her arms as a habit whenever she needed to seek comfort. She remembered the image of her mother standing by the fire every early morning, her hands quickly stirring the pot of tea, her face covered in sweat but always smiling every time a guest complimented her on how delicious it was. Her mother never dreamed of expanding into a large chain, simply wanting to raise her children with her own hands, maintaining a small tea shop in a small alley.

"Am I going too far from what you want?" She wondered, her voice whispering in the quiet room.

But then she remembered another memory — the evening her mother, in the throes of illness, still tried to tell her about her dream of seeing the family recipe become widely known, circulated more widely than the confines of a small alley. Her mother did not want Diệp Chi to stay on a small scale forever, but wanted her to dare to dream bigger, as long as she did not lose her core values.

Diệp Chi sat quietly for a long time, letting thoughts pass, comparing, considering, until a peace gradually settled in her heart. She realized that her fear did not really come from doubts about the business decision, but from the great change that was waiting ahead - a change that, no matter how carefully she prepared, still brought with it unknowns and unpredictable risks.

"But I didn't stop just because I was afraid of risks," she told herself, recalling the story her mother once told about the early days of selling tea on the streets, with no capital, no experience, only determination and hard-working hands. "If I were scared and stopped, there would never have been Lá Me tea shop, there would never have been the children of today."

She stood up, walked out to the small balcony, took a deep breath of the cool night air, to completely clear her mind before making the final decision.

The phone in my coat pocket vibrated. She looked down and saw a text message from Thế Khôi, sent at eleven o'clock at night — quite a late hour for a normal work message.

"I know tomorrow is a big decision for you. I just want to say, whatever you decide, sign or not sign, I still respect that choice. This is your life and career, not mine."

Diệp Chi read that message, a warm feeling spread in her heart, somewhat easing the rolling anxiety. She typed back a brief response.

"Thank you. I will think carefully and decide according to what I believe is right."

"That's what I always admire about you," Thế Khôi texted back almost immediately, as if he was staying up late with the same concern. "The ability to always know what you believe, even when everything around you is uncertain."

She looked at that message for a long time, then smiled slightly, put the phone in her pocket, and returned to the room with a much more stable mind than before.

***

The next morning, at the signing ceremony held solemnly but without fanfare at Bách Khang headquarters, Diệp Chi appeared with a confident and calm demeanor, without any hesitation from the night before.

She sat at the signing table, opposite Mr. Ôn Bách Quân - who personally attended the ceremony to show his respect for the Ngọt Xưa brand, with Thế Khôi standing next to him as a witness.

"Ms. Diệp Chi," Mr. Bách Quân said, his voice formal but warm, "I have read the entire negotiation dossier, and I must say, there are few partners who negotiate as sharply and fairly as you. Bách Khang is very honored to cooperate with Ngọt Xưa."

"Thank you," Diệp Chi replied, her voice sincere, bowing slightly out of politeness. "I also really appreciate this opportunity, and hope that the cooperation will bring real value to both sides, as well as to the customers who have trusted and supported Ngọt Xưa over the years."

The pen touches the page, each signature is placed slowly and carefully one by one, marking an important milestone not only in Diệp Chi's career, but also in the twelve-year long journey between her and Thế Khôi - a journey that started with a chance collision at the school gate, went through a painful separation, and now, is gradually finding a common path again, although there are still many things that have not been said out loud.

After the ceremony, when everyone gradually left the meeting room, Mr. Bách Quân lingered and came forward to shake Diệp Chi's hand again, his eyes carrying a special affection.

"Sister Diệp Chi," he said, his voice lower, just loud enough for her to hear. "I remember you, from that afternoon in front of the school gate twelve years ago. At that time you were still an eighteen-year-old student, standing up straight and answering me without any fear. Looking back now, I see that you still maintain the same demeanor, just now much more mature."

Diệp Chi was surprised by those words, unexpectedly she still clearly remembered every little detail of that short meeting that year. "I remember you too, uncle. You told Thế Khôi that he should remember what you told him when he transferred schools."

"Do you remember that sentence?" Mr. Bách Quân smiled, a bit surprised and excited. "So you probably know, I have never objected to our feelings, I just hope that we are both mature enough to appreciate it properly."

"I understand." Diệp Chi nodded, her heart filled with an indescribable warm feeling at this sincere, unceremonious welcome.

Mr. Bách Quân nodded one last time, then left, leaving Diệp Chi standing alone in the empty conference room, still holding the signed contract in her hand, filled with a feeling of relief and hope that she had never allowed herself to fully feel for twelve long years.

Thế Khôi walked over and stood next to her, both of them looking out the large glass window, where the city spread out below in the bright midday sunlight.

"So it's completely over," he said, his voice undisguised with relief.

"Yes, it's done," Diệp Chi replied, sighing slightly but it was a breath of relief, not fatigue. "It feels strange, like I've just completed a long journey that I thought I would never finish."

"You've come further than anyone I've ever known," Thế Khôi said, his eyes full of sincere admiration, without any hint of politeness. "I'm proud to have witnessed that journey, even if just a very small part."

Diệp Chi turned to look at him, a question suddenly popped into her head that she couldn't help but ask. "Do you ever regret spending twelve years waiting for something uncertain to happen?"

Thế Khôi pondered for a moment, then shook his head, his voice firm. "Not for a second. Because even without today, I still believe that knowing you, learning to be true to myself through you, has been more valuable than anything else in my life."

That sentence made Diệp Chi speechless, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to say something in response, but at that moment, Bích Ngọc walked into the room to announce that the next meeting was waiting for Thế Khôi, interrupting the moment that was just forming between the two, leaving an answer hanging in the air, waiting for another more appropriate, quieter occasion to be fully expressed.