Chapter 16 — Betrayed by My Own Mother, Saved by My Mother-in-Law

I finally found the solution to the knotty problem. I scribbled down the final answer with only three minutes left before the proctors collected the papers. I lifted my head to glance out the window; the sunlight spilled perfectly across the lush, verdant leaves of the pagoda tree. The second day of the exam covered Physics, Chemistry, and Civics. Physics, as expected, was a grueling trial. There were two questions I was not entirely certain about, so I did my best to detail every step of my calculations. Chemistry, however, was far more manageable than I had anticipated. The Civics portion touched upon the policies of educational reform, a topic I knew thoroughly, and I felt I had performed very well. When the final bell rang to conclude the exam, the entire testing ground seemed to release a collective sigh of relief. Some students laughed, others wept, and some sat slumped in their chairs, simply unable to summon the strength to rise. I gathered my pens and rulers, moving slowly out into the corridor. The school gates were packed with people. Mother Chau stood on her tiptoes, peering through the throng, and the moment she caught sight of me, her eyes lit up. "Are you finished?" she asked. I nodded and replied, "Yes, Mother, I am done." She pulled me into a tight embrace. The familiar, comforting scent of her—a mix of sweat, dried firewood, and simple soap—enveloped me. I buried my face in her shoulder, and the tears simply began to flow. Standing nearby, Dai Tru looked flustered and anxious, asking, "Did you not do well?" I laughed through my tears, "No, it is not that. It is just that it is finally over." Mother Chau patted my back gently and whispered, "Being finished is good. Everything is good now."

On the day we returned to the village, the sky was a brilliant, endless blue. Our wooden cart rattled along, rolling past fields of wheat where the wind whipped the green stalks into rhythmic, rolling waves. I clutched my bag tightly; my body felt hollowed out, yet somehow simultaneously filled with a budding sense of hope. When the villagers saw us returning, they rushed out to meet us. "Trieu Thu, was the test difficult? Do you think you will pass? Is the university far away in the city?" I answered each question as it came, though I dared not promise anyone that I had certainly passed. The days spent waiting for the results were far more agonizing than the time I had spent studying. I tried to keep reading my books, but my mind was constantly drifting elsewhere. While I cooked in the kitchen, every stray noise from the lane made me jump, thinking it might be the postman. At night, even the barking of dogs made me restless, fueling my fear that they were heralding news. Mother Chau, seeing how I could neither sit still nor stand comfortably, assigned me chores. "Pick the beans. Mend this shirt. Come out to the field and pull weeds with me." She told me that idle hands lead to a restless mind. I trotted after her to the fields. The sun scorched my back, my feet sank into the thick, wet mud, and the sharp grass cut my hands until they bled. Mother Chau taught me how to distinguish the rice seedlings from the weeds. "Look," she said, "the seedling may be small, but it has a sturdy foundation. Weeds grow quickly, but they only serve to steal the nutrients meant for the rice." I smiled and said, "Every word you say these days is filled with wisdom." She chuckled in response, "Life is what teaches us these lessons."

During that waiting period, my biological mother came to find me once. This time, she did not drag the rest of the family along to cause a scene; she stood alone by the gate, looking terribly haggard and frail. I stepped out to meet her. She opened her mouth and asked immediately, "Are you finished with the exams?" "Yes." "Do you think you will pass?" "I do not know." She remained silent for a moment, then said, "The marriage prospects for De Zu have fallen through. The girl’s family heard about the chaos our family caused at the administrative office and decided we were too scandalous. I did not answer." She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and profound, bone-deep exhaustion. "Are you satisfied now?" My heart gave a sharp, painful throb, but I quickly steadied myself. "I did not persuade him not to work, I did not ask you to trick me into a marriage, and I did not tell you to go to the village office to slander me. Why do you blame me?" Her lips trembled. "You think you have grown your own wings now, do you?" "It is not about wings," I said, looking straight into her eyes. "It is about the fact that I no longer want to live on my knees."

Tears spilled from her eyes. "I had to live on my knees, too. When your grandmother married me off, did anyone ever ask if I agreed?" I was stunned. This was the first time she had ever spoken of her own suffering. But her next sentence hit me like a falling rock. "Women are born with this fate; why do you refuse to accept it?" I looked at her and said softly, "It is precisely because you have suffered that you should not force me to suffer as well." She froze. I continued, "Mother, I will not hate you for the rest of my life. But I will also never let you dictate the rest of my life ever again." She stood in silence for a long time before turning and walking away. Her back was hunched, her gait heavy and defeated, yet she remained stubbornly herself. I did not chase after her. Mother Chau stood in the doorway, and as I returned, she handed me a glass of plain water. "Do you feel troubled?" "A little." "Then just be sad for a while, but do not hold onto that sadness for too long." I nodded in agreement.

By early July, the district began posting the cut-off scores. Every day, people went to the office to scan the lists. Some returned with their faces buried in their hands, weeping; others laughed like madmen. Two young men from my neighborhood failed, and one barely scraped by. But there was no news of me. Accountant Ton began his snide remarks again, saying, "If she is this quiet, she has surely failed. All that money spent on selling pigs was thrown into the river." This time, no one in the neighborhood joined in his mockery. Aunt Ma barked back at him, "What the devil do you know? Are you the one holding the acceptance letters?" The crowd roared with laughter, and the accountant turned red with embarrassment. I, however, could not bring myself to laugh. Three days later, Teacher Diep sped into the courtyard of the Trieu house on her motorcycle, the wind whipping behind her. Sweat drenched her forehead, and she did not even bother to park the bike properly. Waving a piece of paper in her hand, her voice trembling, she cried out, "Trieu Thu!" I scrambled out of the cattle shed, my heart racing.