Chapter 1 — Cooking for you for the rest of your life

The company just got a new female colleague. Her appearance is quite pretty, there's only one bad habit— She stares at me when she goes to work, and after work she also stares at me. At lunch time, her eyes can't wait to stick to my lunch box. At first I held back. After that, I really couldn't stand those expectant eyes anymore. So every day I make an extra portion of rice to take with me. I think it's normal for a new person, just graduated, low salary, not being able to eat the thirty-eight yuan frugal salad downstairs. Eight months later— Her mother wore the coat that I tried for three lifetimes and couldn't buy, and stopped me under the company building.
“Boy, my daughter's unlimited black card has not been used for eight months.”
“He said his boyfriend cooks for him every day, better than Michelin.”
I looked at Kieu Mong, who was holding my thermos, smiling innocently next to me. Boyfriend??? In the end, am I raising a stray cat or raising a girlfriend??? 【Chapter 1】 My name is Ky Hoan, twenty-six years old this year. As a programmer at a certain Internet company, the words "Senior Development Engineer" were printed on my employee card, but my daily work had nothing to do with those two high-level words—fixing requirements, fixing bugs, being chased around by product managers. The salary is neither high nor low. Enough to live, but not very glorious. The only thing that helps me have some sense of existence in this office building is the skills my mother passed down to me. Cook. Others ordered food from outside at noon, spending more than thirty yuan to eat a portion of half-cooked, half-cooked vegetables. I wake up forty minutes early every day and carry a double-layer stainless steel thermos. The upper level contains rice, the lower level has two savory dishes and one soup. Some days I make braised ribs, some days I make pickled fish. My colleague Luong Vien said I was the living canteen of the entire seventeenth floor.
“Smell it.” Every day he stopped by at lunchtime. “Your rice is like giving a death sentence to outside food.”
I ignore him. In March, our team had a new person.
“This is Kieu Mong, starting work today, later will join the project team with you guys.”
The team leader led her to the empty work space across from me. I raised my head to take a look. Thin, white, very big eyes. She wore a beige sweater and sat down quietly. It's the first day, new people are like that. I don't pay attention. But starting at noon the next day, I couldn't help but notice. At twelve o'clock, I opened the thermos as usual. Today I made sweet and sour tenderloin served with stir-fried broccoli with garlic, and the soup was egg-tomato soup. The moment I opened the lid, a gaze from the opposite side immediately hit me like a nail. I raised my head. Kieu Mong was resting her chin, her eyes not blinking, staring at my thermos. How should I imagine that face? It's like your family owns a Golden dog. When you eat steak, it squats next to you, puts its front paws on the edge of the table, chin rests on top, and the whole body clearly writes the four words "Give me a piece". It was those eyes. I chewed a piece of tenderloin, and her throat moved as well. I picked up a piece of broccoli, her eyes moved as well. I—
“Haven't you had lunch yet?” I asked.
She regained consciousness and shook her head: "Already eaten, salad." There was indeed a box on her desk Semi-transparent plastic, inside were a few lettuce leaves and three pieces of chicken breast, looking like rabbit food.
"OH." I said.
Then I continued eating. She continued looking. Those eyes are big and round, and when looking at others, they create an indescribable pressure. I felt like every bite of rice I ate was being monitored, every muscle in the tenderloin was being scanned by her. The second day was the same. The third day was the same. The whole week was like that. Every day, at exactly twelve o'clock noon, as long as I open the thermos, she immediately appears on time. So precise that I doubt she set an alarm. Luong Vien stopped by, lowered his voice and said: "Brother, shouldn't you show something off?"
“Show what?”
“The new girl is staring at you every day.”
“She looked at my rice.”
“Even looking at your rice, that's a breakthrough.” Luong Vien pushed his glasses. "Look at her, she's been eating lettuce for a week. Or should you give her some?"
I looked to the opposite side. Kieu Mong was using a fork to skewer a lettuce leaf, bringing it to her mouth, then her eyes flew towards my braised meat dish. The lettuce leaf hadn't even entered her mouth before she put it down. She sighed. The sound is not loud, but the resentment in it has an extremely strong penetrating power. My chopsticks stopped. Alright.
"This."
Kieu Mong raised his head.
“Do you want to eat?” I pushed the thermos forward a little.
Her eyes immediately lit up. The whole person almost jumped half an inch off the chair, his mouth opened and closed, closed and then opened again.
“Is it possible?”
“I brought so much, I couldn't eat it all.”
I actually brought a lot—the thermos my mom bought me has four layers, and every time there's still room left, I have a habit of filling all three layers. Kieu Mong used a salad fork and carefully picked up a piece of braised meat. Put it in your mouth. She closed her eyes. Chew. Swallow. Then she opened her eyes, and the expression on her face when she looked at me changed. From “Golden sees the bone” turns into “Golden gets to eat the bone”. Almost ready to wag his tail.
"Tasty." She said, her voice a tone higher than usual.
"YES."
“Really delicious.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Do you cook for yourself every day?”
"YES."
She looked at her salad box, then looked at my thermos. The hate in his eyes was almost about to overflow.
“That…” She put down her fork. “Is there still tomorrow?”
I stopped. Looking at the pitiful salad box in front of her, then looking at her—to be honest, she was quite thin, her wrists were so small that it felt like if she used too much force they would break. New person. Having just graduated, I didn't receive my salary until my first month of work. I remember when I first started working, at the end of the month I had to eat white rice mixed with Lao Can Ma chili sauce for a week.
"Okay." I said. “I can do just one more part.”
Kieu Mong smiled at me. Her neat teeth were exposed, her eyebrows and eye corners were curved up. I moved my eyes and continued eating. Luong Vien sitting next to me sent me a text message:
“It's really great.”
“In just the first week, I've already invited people to dinner, so fast.”
I answered him with one word:
“Go away.”
I really don't have anything else in mind. I just can't stand the sight of others having to starve. 【Chapter 2】 From that day, my time to wake up early from forty minutes turned into an hour. Servings for two people, ingredients doubled, the steps are also doubled. But not too troublesome. I put her portion in a newly purchased round lunch box, light blue, looks quite nice.
“Why blue?” Luong Vien looked at the lunch box.
“On sale.”
“Are you sure it's not because she was wearing a blue coat that day?”
“You talk a lot.”
Every day at exactly twelve noon, I put the lunch box on her table, she immediately pushed the salad box aside. The movements flowed seamlessly, completed in one go, without even looking at those lettuce leaves.
“What is there today?” She opened the lid, hot air blew onto her face, and her whole body leaned forward slightly.
“Coca chicken wings, stir-fried peas, egg seaweed soup.”
“Wow.”
She let out a short exclamation, then bowed her head and began to eat. While eating, she didn't talk, but her bulging cheeks looked extremely attentive. Occasionally she raised her head to look at me, but the corner of her mouth was stained with oil and she didn't wipe it off. I threw a tissue over.
“Wipe it off.”
She took it, wiped her mouth and said to me in an unclear voice because she was chewing: "Thank you, Mr. Ky." Mr. Ky. She is three years younger than me, so calling me Mr. Ky is reasonable. I nodded and continued to eat my food. Just like that, a week passed. Two weeks passed. A month passed. The frequency is extremely stable—from Monday to Friday, exactly at twelve noon, without missing a single meal. I gradually discovered a few rules. She doesn't eat coriander. She doesn't eat bitter melon. She is especially enthusiastic about sweet dishes. Every day sweet and sour ribs appear, she can eat more than half of the box alone. She likes to drink soup last, picking up the bowl and drinking it all in one gulp. After eating, she would clean the lunch box and put it back on my table the next morning. Every time you return the box, there's an extra candy inside, with a fixed flavor—strawberry, grape, mint. I accumulated a whole drawer. Luong Vien turned over the pile of candy wrappers and let out an exclamation sound just like a middle-aged mother.
“Tch.”
“Say anything.”
“Brother, are you playing a character raising game?”
“Just make an extra portion of rice.”
“Then you can make me another one.”
“You weigh ninety pounds, eat less.”
“Discrimination against fat people, right?”
I ignore him. By the second month, I started to notice more details. It wasn't that I was intentionally observing, but it was—it was so obvious. For example, Kieu Mong hardly spends money. She doesn't drink milk tea. The restaurant "One Bit" downstairs is visited almost every day by everyone in the group, but she has never participated. She doesn't order snacks. The girls in the group order cakes together every Friday, and every time she says "I'm not hungry". She only has a few clothes that she wears over and over again. A beige sweater, a white t-shirt, a gray hoodie and a pair of jeans are worn alternately. The phone she used was still the old model from three years ago, and the bottom right corner of the screen still had a crack. All signs tell me one thing: This girl is short of money. I get it. Just graduated, probably still have to pay off student loans, family conditions are probably normal. Therefore, the matter of me cooking for her was determined in my heart as— A matter of convenience. If you can help, help. But Luong Vien doesn't think so.
“Do you know? How is the group gossiping?" One afternoon, he mysteriously stopped by.
“Rumor of what?”
“They say you two are in love.”
My chopsticks stopped.
“Who said?”
“Everyone said. Every day he brought people rice, every day people washed the lunch box and gave him candy, and at noon they sat across from each other to eat. What is it if it's not love?
“This is… poverty alleviation.”
Luong Vien burst out laughing. It's the "you just keep pretending, keep pretending" type of laugh.
“Eliminating hunger and reducing poverty to the extent of giving people new lunch boxes? Eliminate hunger and reduce poverty to the point where people clearly remember what they don't eat?
“I also remember you don't eat celery.”
“Then why don't you bring me food?”
“You don't deserve it.”
He was stopped by me, but still refused to give up.
“Ky Hoan, I'm serious. If you really don't mean it that way, you should tell them clearly. Otherwise that girl will think too much.”
I was silent for a few seconds. I raised my head to look at the opposite side. Kieu Mong is sitting in front of the computer writing code, wearing headphones, the screen light reflects on her face. She seemed to feel something and suddenly turned her head. We looked at each other for a second. She tilted her head and silently asked, "What's wrong?" I shook my head. She smiled, turned back to continue typing on the keyboard. I— I really didn't mean that.