Chapter 1 — The Anti-Cancer Kitchen

My parents opened a one-dollar anti-cancer kitchen at the back door of the oncology hospital. Use the stove once for one coin, rice flour, oil and salt can all be taken for free. They paid their own rent, electricity, water, and gas, to the point where my mother's pension ran out every month. I advised them. My mother said: "People are already in the hospital. If you can save a hot meal, then just save it." Later, a patient's daughter used her real name to denounce them. The denunciation was written very harshly. Dirty and messy. Doing business without a license. Voluntarily accepting donations. There are signs of embezzlement. The kitchen was sealed, the books were checked, and my parents were fined twelve thousand yuan. When the accuser came to explain, he said very well: "Aunt Hua, I'm not targeting you, I just want charity activities to be transparent." My mother looked at her and only asked one question: "When my mother had two-thirds of her stomach removed, she couldn't even swallow white porridge. Who cooks rice for her every day?" She bowed her head, but still said: "Kindness is kindness, rules are rules." My mother nodded. "Okay." "In the future, when your mother eats, just follow the rules." When I arrived at the alley behind the hospital, there was a circle of people surrounding the kitchen door. The wooden sign that originally hung on the door is still there. On it were a few words handwritten by my father: Mot Te Warm Kitchen. The letters were yellowed by oil smoke and the edges were worn out. But the seal on the door is very new. White paper, red mark. Request a pause. Comply with regulations. Meal preparation and delivery may not continue. My mother, Hua Mai, stood by the stove, holding a rag in her hand, wiping over and over again the stovetop that had turned off the fire. She didn't seem to see anyone outside the door. It's like I didn't hear those rumors. “No more porridge today?” “My husband just finished chemotherapy and can only eat thin foods.” "Who reported this? This place has been open for eight years." "I heard that some people reported that the hygiene was not up to scratch, and that the donation money was not clear." "Embezzlement? What can Uncle Co and his wife be greedy for? It's still embarrassing to collect just one yuan." My father, Co Minh Vien, sat on a small chair in the corner. In his hand he held a penalty decision. I went over and picked up that piece of paper. It's written very clearly on it. Not having a relevant food business license, providing cooking stoves, ingredients and meal preparation services for a long time; Some areas at the scene were piled with debris; Lack of sterilization and sample storage means food safety risks exist. In addition, regarding the issue of using donated money that the public reported, it was transferred to the public benefit activities supervision department for inspection. Fine, twelve thousand yuan. It was dark before my eyes. “Donations?” My father raised his head to look at me, his lips pursed very tightly. He had never blushed at anyone in his entire life. But now his eyes were red again. My mother's kitchen mop paused for a moment, then continued wiping. I asked: "Who denounced?" No one said anything. In the crowd outside, a woman wearing a hospital attendant's uniform said in a low voice: "Is that Diep Gia Ninh?" My heart skipped a beat. Diep Gia Ninh. Her mother, Tham Boi Tran, was treated for stomach cancer at an oncology hospital and stayed in the hospital for more than two years. She was one of the first people to use this kitchen. Also one of the people my mother takes care of the most. Before I could ask, Director Dinh of the neighborhood public utility office arrived. Behind him was a person from the market management department, holding a sealed bag in his hand. Inside were books, receipts, and the key to my parents' donation box. Headmaster Dinh saw me, his expression a bit unnatural. “An Nhien, you're here too.” I stared at him. “Who is the accuser?” Chairman Dinh pushed the glasses. “We are not comfortable disclosing this matter.” I laughed. “Not convenient to reveal?” “So why is there a video in the denunciation document of my mother cooking rice water specifically for Aunt Tham?” “Why is there a group screenshot of the kitchen?” “Why are there detailed photos of donations every month?” “Who can get these things other than group administrator Diep Gia Ninh?” Headmaster Dinh's face stiffened. My father slowly stood up. “Is it really her?” K

no one answered. But that silence was heavier than the answer. My mother finally stopped. She squeezed the rag over the edge of the sink, turned around and looked out the door. Many people in the crowd bowed their heads. They all know the answer. But no one wants to be the first to say it. My mother doesn't cry. She just went to the wall and took down the wooden sign "One Bad Warm Kitchen". Behind the panel, a shallow clean streak was left on the wall. Even eight years of oil smoke could not reach that place. My mother hugged the wooden board and said softly: "From today onwards, no more cooking." Some people are impatient. "Miss Hua, it's not possible. My patient will have radiation treatment tomorrow and won't be able to eat outside." “Uncle Co, can you two sneak in a meal?” “We won't say, no one will know.” My mother raised her head. Her eyes were very tired. “Someone already knows it all too well.” "In the future, we will find a hospital cafeteria and find regular nutritious meals." “Stop looking for us.” Mot Te Warm Kitchen was opened by my parents eight years ago. At that time, the back door of the oncology hospital was still a row of old, dilapidated bungalows. Patients' families are crowded into rented rooms of more than ten square meters. The hallways are filled with rice cookers, small charcoal stoves, and the smell of tobacco. Many patients after chemotherapy cannot swallow food ordered from outside. Too much oil. Salty. Vegetables are too hard. Some people's appetite can only swallow a mouthful of clear soup, some people have a bitter taste in their mouth, and just want to drink some porridge with the taste of home. At first, my mother only went to the hospital to take care of her neighbors. She saw an old woman squatting on the side of the road, using a small electric pot to cook noodles for her husband. The wind blew and the pot overturned. Noodle water filled the ground. The old woman sat on the ground crying, saying her husband had not eaten all day. After my parents came home, the two of them discussed all night long. The next day, they rented an abandoned shoe repair shop in the alley behind the hospital. Buy a kitchen. Install water tank. Prepare pots and bowls. Paste a piece of paper: Using the kitchen costs one cent. Salt oil, soy sauce, vinegar, take your own. After use, please wash thoroughly. They never thought they would do anything big. Just wanted to give the patient's family a place to cook a hot meal. At first there were few people. After that, there were more and more people. Some people came from far away, some people were just diagnosed, some people sold their homes to come for treatment. My father is in charge of keeping records and cleaning gas tanks. My mother was in charge of teaching them how to cook for the sick. After surgery, if you can't eat solid foods, cook rice water. If you have an ulcer in your mouth, make soft, warm steamed eggs. If white blood cells are low, remind them to ask a doctor and not to supplement indiscriminately. If someone's house ran out of rice, my mother would take it from her house. If someone's family couldn't pay one yuan, my father immediately drew a dot in the book, making it look like he had already paid. I advised them. “Dad, Mom, you two aren't collecting money like this, you're obviously paying it yourself.” My father smiled gently and said: "Make up for it." “It's already so difficult for people to treat the disease.” My mother was speechless. “Mom is retired, free time is free time.” But I know, she doesn't have any free time. Every day she gets up at five o'clock. Going to the market early to buy vegetables is almost over. Boil water, wipe the table, and sterilize pots and pans. At 10:00 p.m., we still have to close the door, clean up the trash, and check the gas valve. During these eight years, her hand joints have become deformed. Diep Gia Ninh appeared at that time. Her mother, Tham Boi Tran, after gastric cancer surgery, had more than half of her stomach removed. At first I couldn't swallow anything. Drinking hospital nutritional powder causes vomiting. The porridge at the restaurant is too thin, two sips causes acid reflux. Diep Gia Ninh squatted in front of the kitchen door, crying until her eyes were as swollen as walnuts. My mother saw it and asked her: "Can your mother drink rice water?" Diep Gia Ninh shook his head. “I don't know how to do it.” My mother doesn't talk much. She used low heat to cook a pot of rice water, decanting the rice grains, leaving only the smooth layer of water on top. Steam half a bowl of soft eggs again. Let Diep Gia Ninh slowly feed her mother spoon by spoon. That day, Aunt Tham drank less than half a bowl. Diep Gia Ninh immediately bowed to thank my mother. “Aunt Hua, if it weren't for you, I really wouldn't know what to do.” From then on, she came almost every day. Sometimes she had to go to work, so she put down the ingredients and said: "Aunt Hua, today my mother wants to drink radish soup, please help."

Please watch the fire." At one point, she went home to get her health insurance papers and immediately asked my father: "Uncle Co, please help me bring food to the door of the boarding house." My parents never refused. When aunt Tham's second chemotherapy reaction was at its worst, Diep Gia Ninh collapsed to the point of wanting to give up. My mother sat with her in the alley behind the hospital through midnight. My father also took several thousand yuan donations from everyone in the kitchen group, plus two thousand yuan he put in himself, and put them in an envelope to give to her. Diep Gia Ninh cried and said: "Uncle Co and Aunt Hua, you two are the noble people in my and my mother's life." My mother remembered those words for a long time. Until later, it turned into a da.a.o. The fourth day after the kitchen was sealed, Diep Gia Ninh arrived. She was wearing a light-colored coat and very light makeup. In hand carry a box of supplements. It's not like apologizing. More like visiting a sick person. My mother was in the kitchen arranging pots and ladles to move from the Kettle Kitchen to the house. My father opened the door. Seeing that it was her, he did not move away. “What's the matter?” Diep Gia Ninh's eye sockets immediately turned red. “Uncle Co, I want to see Aunt Hua.” I came out of the house. “Why meet her?” “See how cruel she is after being denounced by you?” Diep Gia Ninh's face turned pale. “An Nhien, you misunderstood me.” "I'm not making a malicious accusation, I'm just reporting the problem." I laughed out loud. “Dirty and messy?” “Embezzlement of donation money?” “Are these also a reflection of the problem?” Diep Gia Ninh bit her lip. “The kitchen is truly unlicensed.” “Leaving oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar, sharing pots and pans, complicated people coming in and out, these are all risks.” "There's also a donation box. People's money goes in and out. After all, there should be public records, right?" I stepped forward and pressed closer. “Every month's books are posted on the wall, can't you see them?” “Where did the thousands of yuan to save your mother come from? Have you forgotten?” An awkward look flashed across her face. But very quickly he straightened his back. "It's because everyone trusts Uncle and Aunt Hua that it's even more standard." “Charity cannot be based on emotions, nor can donations be based solely on conscience.” My mother came out of the house. In her hand she still held an old soup ladle. That's the ladle Aunt Tham most often uses to scoop up rice water. My mother looked at Diep Gia Ninh. Don't scold. Don't argue. Just ask: "Whose kitchen was it in when your mother was able to eat for the first time after surgery?" Diep Gia Ninh's eye sockets became even redder. “Aunt Hua, I always remember.” My mother asked again: "Your mother has mouth ulcers after chemotherapy. It hurts so much that she cries when she drinks water. Who is the one who tries to give her warm porridge little by little?" "In the middle of the night, I have a fever. There is no one to take care of me. Who will take care of me until morning?" "You said you didn't have enough money to pay for the next round of treatment. Who took the money from the donation box and the money from your house to give it to you?" Diep Gia Ninh's hands trembled.