Chapter 3 — Between Two Worlds: A Bride Exchanged for a Dumpling

The first days as husband and wife of Thua An and Tieu Mien passed in a quiet reserve, like two strangers sharing a home but not necessarily a life. Tieu Mien is still weak, every step shakes, but she tries to get up early every day, sweep the corner of the dilapidated kitchen, and rearrange the rotten bamboo panels to block the wind from blowing through the cracked walls. She didn't say much, partly because her strength had not yet recovered, partly because in her heart she still had the vigilance of someone who was so used to being taken advantage of and looked down upon in these miserable days.

She had heard many stories about poor girls being "married" only to work hard for free, or worse. She prepared herself for the worst, telling herself that no matter what, having a roof over her head and a meal, no matter how small, was better than starving to death on the side of the road. But as the days passed, Thua An did not appear as she feared.

On the first morning after that hasty night of worshiping, she woke up in pain all over her body, only to see that Thua An had woken up early, not to order her to work, but was busy building a fire to cook a pot of thin porridge from some moldy rice he got from a family he knew. When she tried to get up to help, he just waved his hand, his voice calm.

"You just lie down and rest a little longer. Your body is still weak, exerting yourself now will only make your illness worse."

Tieu Mien was stunned, not knowing how to react to a simple sentence that contained the care that no one had ever given her since her parents passed away. She watched him scoop the porridge into a bowl, blow it on to cool it and then bring it to her hands, without a single complaint, without a single look demanding a response.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she finally asked, her voice still hesitant. "Your Highness married me, but from yesterday until now, you have never...never asked anything from me."

Thua An sat down opposite her, his eyes thoughtfully looking out at the cracked dirt yard outside. "I didn't marry you to have a servant," he said slowly. "I need a real life partner, someone I can trust and share with. If I have treated you badly from the beginning, then what is the meaning of this marriage? You are also a human being, and deserve to be treated well, let alone you have agreed to spend your life with me in such difficult circumstances. I owe you at least respect."

That answer, simple but sincere, made Tieu Mien bow her head, hiding her suddenly teary eyes. She was so used to having to take care of herself, so used to no one paying attention to the feelings of a poor girl in the midst of famine, that a kind word was enough to make her choke up.

In the following days, Thua An continued to prove his words with concrete actions. He spent most of his time repairing the dilapidated kitchen, fixing the thatched roof, and covering the walls to prevent drafts, even though he himself was equally hungry and tired. He went around the village looking for odd jobs in exchange for some food—carrying water, chopping firewood, repairing fences for families who still had a little wealth—always bringing most of the results back to share with Tieu Mien first, only keeping a small portion for himself.

One afternoon, when the two of them were sitting on the doorstep, Tieu Mien quietly asked about his family, about where he lived before coming to Bai Tro village. Thua An was silent for a long time, his eyes flashed with something vague and difficult to name.

"I... don't remember very well," he replied honestly, not trying to hide his own confusion. "There are fragments of memories, but they are as faint as morning dew. The more I try to remember, the more they disappear. I only know that I got lost here, in the midst of this misery, for unknown reasons."

Tieu Mien looked at him and didn't ask further, even though she couldn't help but feel curious. She realized that in his voice there was a deep loneliness, a lostness that perhaps even he had never revealed to anyone. Instead of asking, she just gently placed her hand on his shoulder, a simple but sincere gesture of comfort.

"It's okay," she said softly. "No matter where you come from, we are together here now, right? I don't need to know your past, just knowing how you treat me from now on is enough."

Those simple words made Thua An slightly stunned. He had prepared himself for suspicion, for the barrage of questions he couldn't answer satisfactorily, but instead, he received unconditional tolerance from a woman who just a few days before had been a complete stranger. In that moment, something in his heart softened, like a warm wind blowing through the constant cold of the Great Hunger Year.

Not everything went smoothly. Some people in the village, when they heard about Thua An - a foreigner of unknown origin - marrying an orphan girl with just a dumpling, did not hesitate to make sarcastic comments. An old woman in the neighborhood insinuated that Tieu Mien was "cheap", only worth a piece of cake; There was a village boy who joked that Thua An must have had some other intention to take an empty-handed girl as his wife in the middle of such a famine. Those words reached Tieu Mien's ears several times when she went to fetch water from the village well, making her feel sorry for herself, huddled in the corner of the kitchen all evening without saying a word.

Thua An immediately noticed the change in her. He didn't ask directly, but when he heard about it through an acquaintance, he went straight to where the group of people were talking, without raising his voice, without threats, just saying a few calm but strong sentences.

"Tieu Mien is my wife, not a commodity for you to judge her value. If anyone still wants to say rude things about her, please say it directly to my face, don't say it behind my back like cowards."

That sentence, although not harsh, was enough to make the gossiping crowd quiet, gradually dispersing in embarrassment. When Thua An returned and told Tieu Mien the story in a gentle voice as if it were just a trivial matter, she couldn't hold back her tears. This was the first time in her life, since her parents passed away, that someone stood up to defend her honor so resolutely.

"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice trembling. "No one... no one has ever done this for me."

"Don't call me sir anymore," Thua An smiled softly, a rare smile since he came to this land. "We're husband and wife. You can call me by my first name."

Tieu Mien nodded slightly, her eyes were still filled with tears, but her gaze was completely different from the first days - no longer a cautious vigilance, but a trust that was gradually growing, silently but surely, like a small seed finding a rare patch of moist soil in the middle of arid land to begin to bloom.

From that day on, a small but warm routine began to form between the two. Every evening, after finishing work, Thua An and Tieu Mien sat on the doorstep of the kitchen wing, sharing a small bowl of thin porridge, telling each other the trivial stories of the day - a stray chicken strayed into the garden next door, a wild vegetable plant that had just sprouted in a crack in the rock, a funny saying from a neighbor's child. Those ordinary stories, in the midst of extreme hunger, became a rare precious thing that helped them both temporarily forget their worries about tomorrow.

Tieu Mien gradually learned to recognize small expressions on Thua An's face - when he was thoughtful about something, when he tried to hide his tiredness so she wouldn't have to worry anymore. She also began to be more proactive, no longer withdrawn like the first days, but knew how to give advice when he was wondering about exchanging labor for rice, and knew how to mend his torn shirt without him asking. There were afternoons, when the weak sunlight penetrated through the cracks in the ground, she sat sewing clothes next to him sharpening the ax blade, both of them did not say much, but that silence was no longer as awkward as before, but became a rare peace in the midst of difficult days.

That night, when Tieu Mien fell asleep, Thua An quietly went out to the warehouse, placing his hand on the wooden cabinet door as a habit he had repeated every night since the wedding day. This time, under his palm, the familiar warmth was no longer as weak as before. A pale blue halo of light appeared slightly in the crack of the door, clearer than the first night, although still fragile, like a small fire trying to ignite from still damp sticks.

Thua An stood silently in front of the door, feeling both hopeful and cautious. The gate was reviving, slowly but surely, and he understood that it was an exact reflection of what was growing between him and Tieu Mien — a bond that was still young, but was being nurtured by small acts of kindness every day. He hasn't dared to reveal this secret to her, afraid that it's too strange, too unbelievable for someone like her who has just gone through so much suffering to accept immediately. But he told himself, one day soon, when the trust between the two of them was strong enough, he would tell her everything.