Chapter 4 — Cooking for you for the rest of your life

When encountering a dish that is not so delicious, chew it more slowly, but absolutely will not say it is not delicious. I did not intentionally memorize this information. Which is the natural data accumulated after five months of feeding. Just like when you raise a dog, over time it will naturally know what flavor of food it likes.
—That's right, I still use the word "raise" to define this relationship.
Luong Vien said my brain is sick.
“Do you like someone already?”
"Are not."
“Are you sure?”
"Sure. I just feel like she's quite pitiful."
"Poor? How pitiful is she?"
"Poor." I said.
Luong Vien looked at me, his eyes were very complicated. As if wanting to say something but holding back.
“Have you ever thought,” he considered his choice of words, “that maybe she wasn't poor?”
“If you're not poor, why do you eat my rice every day?”
“Because… you cook well?”
“If it's delicious, go to the restaurant to eat.”
“Maybe people just want to eat what you cook?”
“You think too much.”
This topic ends here. But very quickly, some things began to cause cracks in my "poverty alleviation" theory. The first happened in mid-August. That afternoon, an error occurred with the newly launched project, and the whole team worked overtime until eleven o'clock at night. After finishing the last round of repairs, everyone left one by one. I turned off the computer and went downstairs, discovering that Kieu Mong had also just packed her things.
“Let's go together?” she asked.
"YES."
At eleven o'clock at night, the street under the office building was almost empty. The summer night wind blew, carrying the scent of gardenia flowers from the flower bed. She walked to my right, the distance was not far, not near. When she reached the intersection, a black car quietly slid forward and stopped in front of her. Car lights flashed. The back seat window lowered, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman: "Miss, you should go home." Kieu Mong's footsteps stopped. I also stopped.
“You… do you have someone coming to pick you up?”
"YES." Her expression was a bit unnatural. “My mother sent a car.”
Her mother's car sent her. A black car. Someone opened the back door. I don't know much about cars, but the reflection of the rims and the lines of the body all tell me—this isn't the kind of commuter car worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Kieu Mong opened the front seat door and climbed into the passenger seat. Before closing the door, she stuck her head out: "Mr. Ky, go home early and rest. See you tomorrow."
"YES."
The car quietly left. I stood in place. The summer night wind blew across the back of my neck.
-Wait.
There is a driver. There's someone in the back seat. The car is not cheap. What kind of family condition is this? Is this poverty? I took my phone and wanted to search for the car's logo, but just now I couldn't see it clearly. That's it. Maybe the car her mother borrowed. It could also be that the car was sent by her mother's boss. There are many reasons. I chose the most reasonable reason to put in my head, then went into the subway station. The second happened three days later. At lunch, Kieu Mong's phone rang. She looked at the call display screen, frowned, then answered the phone.
“Yes… no need… I said I don't need it… give it back… that's also not needed, I said I don't want to change it… okay, okay, I'm at work, I'll talk about it later.”
She hung up, looking a little annoyed.
"What's up?" I asked.
“Nothing, my mother.” She poked the rice. “If you insist on buying things for me, I will unused."
“What stuff?”
“A bag.” she said. “It's enough for me to wear a canvas bag to work, just insist that I change to a leather bag or something.”
I said "oh" once. A string in my head vibrated slightly, but it didn't make a loud sound. Third story. Late August. Downstairs, the company opened a new milk tea shop and organized a buy-one-get-one-free opening program. The girls in the group invited each other to go shopping. Someone asked Kieu Mong if she wanted to go with her. She shook her head: “I don't drink.”
"I don't drink every day, today buy one get one free."
“I really don't drink.”
After they left, Kieu Mong lay face down on the table. I looked at her through the screen.
“Do you not like drinking or do you regret spending money?” I asked.
She turned to face me, her cheek resting on her arm.
“Don't like it.” she said.
“Last time, you asked me to buy Yakult for you.”
“That's not the same.”
“Not the same anywhere?”
She looked at me for two seconds.
“Yakult, you bought it for me.” she said. “The taste is not the same.”
I didn't reply. Bow your head and continue typing the code. The cursor on the screen flashes for a long time. I can't write a single line of code. 【Chapter 6】 September. As the weather turns cold, my menu also changes. From the cold, sour and spicy mixed dishes that stimulate the taste buds of summer to the stewed soups and potted rice dishes of autumn. Lotus root rib soup, braised chicken with chestnuts, rice with shiitake chicken and mushrooms. Kieu Mong shows unprecedented enthusiasm for clay pot rice. She could chew the burnt bottom for five minutes, her expression filled with satisfaction.
“Were you a squirrel in your previous life?” I watched her cheeks puff up from chewing elderberry.
“You were a chef in your previous life, right?” She answered inaudibly.
“If I had been a chef in my previous life, I wouldn't have had to code in this life.”
“That's good.” She swallowed the burnt rice. “The chef may not be able to cook for me.”