Chapter 8 — The Brilliant Wife and the Mute CEO

During the first two weeks after the wedding, Úc Bách Chu admitted that he needed some time to get used to the fact that there was suddenly another person in the house, someone who was noisy in a way that he had never experienced in his twenty-nine years of life.

Xuân Lam was not the type of person who knew how to maintain good manners according to the standards he was used to seeing in upper-class women. She walked around the mansion with decisive steps, talked to the staff in a straightforward, matter-of-fact voice, and one day even rolled up her sleeves to help the head chef carry a heavy box of vegetables from the backyard to the kitchen without anyone's help, when a "mistress" was supposedly meant to sit and give orders.

At first, that made Bách Chu really uncomfortable. He was used to the almost absolute silence in the room at the end of the east row, used to the slow pace of life, somewhat gloomy but at least predictable. Xuân Lam's appearance was like a sudden whirlwind rushing in, disturbing everything in a way he had no control over, and for someone who had lost control of his body for a year, losing even more control over his living space made him even more frustrated.

One morning, he heard her laugh from the yard, a loud, comfortable laugh, not at all formal like the trained laughter of the ladies he had met at family parties. He frowned, tapped his finger on the wheelchair armrest, signaling Vệ Đình Long to close the window.

"Master, don't you like noise?" Vệ Đình Long asked, although in his heart he had already partly guessed his master's mood.

Bách Chu did not answer, just turned away. But a few minutes later, when the laughter stopped, he felt a strange emptiness in his heart, as if he had just lost something that he didn't even want to admit that he was looking forward to.

That initial discomfort gradually transformed into another feeling, starting from the tea party where he witnessed Xuân Lam interacting with the rich lady and with Gia Bân himself. He observed very carefully, from her eyes, her voice, to the way she stood straight without giving in to the insinuating sarcasm. That was the first time in a year that he saw someone dare to confront directly the very people who were silently oppressing him, without showing fear or needing anyone's patronage.

Then when Gia Bân was about to slap the working girl, Xuân Lam appeared at the right time, holding his hand tightly with such strength that Bách Chu, even though he had heard about her special ability before, still couldn't help but be surprised when he witnessed it with his own eyes through his room's window overlooking the backyard.

He realized that this woman was not afraid of anyone in this powerful and calculating family, including himself.

That made Bách Chu both surprised and a bit hurt, even though deep down he knew it was an unreasonable feeling. Over the past year, he has become accustomed to everyone around him, from relatives to employees, treating him with a gentle, cautious attitude, sometimes to the point of being fake, as if he were a fragile piece of porcelain that needed to be cherished.

Xuân Lam was completely different. From the first night, she had told him directly that she would not pity him, but would treat him like a normal human being, and she had kept that promise in a way that made Bách Chu both uncomfortable and unable to deny that this was exactly what he needed, even though he had never dared to admit it to himself before.

One afternoon, when Vệ Đình Long pushed the wheelchair to take him out to the garden to get some fresh air as usual, the two of them happened to encounter Xuân Lam, who was squatting beside an old apricot tree, holding a small hoe and plowing the soil, sweat beading on her forehead.

"What are you doing, ma'am?" Vệ Đình Long asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"I saw that the soil around the tree was too compacted, the roots couldn't breathe. Maybe no one had fertilized it properly for a long time," Xuân Lam replied, without stopping. "In my hometown, plants are like people. If you don't take care of them properly, no matter how much water you give them, they won't be able to live well."

Bách Chu watched her work, his eyes lingering longer than usual. He suddenly remembered that this apricot tree was planted by his grandfather himself nearly forty years ago, one of the few remaining souvenirs that he always cherished but had never had a way to take care of himself since he was in a wheelchair.

He tapped his finger on the armrest, signaling Vệ Đình Long to push the car closer. Xuân Lam looked up and saw him looking at her intently. She was a little confused for a moment and then regained her usual natural look.

"Do you like this tree too?" She asked, brushing her hands and standing up. "Mr. Ve told me that this is the tree his grandfather planted. The tree is old but still healthy. As long as you take care of it properly, it will bloom beautifully during Tet." Bách Chu nodded slightly, his eyes softened something rare. Xuân Lam looked at that expression, not fully understanding the deep meaning behind it, but she felt a slight change in the attitude of this silent husband, compared to the cold and distant look of the first days.

From that day on, Bách Chu began to pay more attention to what Xuân Lam did in the mansion. He saw that she was not afraid of anything, even the things that a "mistress" should not have to do, from helping workers carry heavy things, to standing up for vulnerable people who were being bullied. He also realized that behind her strong, straightforward appearance that was sometimes rough, Xuân Lam still had her own sophistication, shown through the way she took care of his grandfather's apricot tree, or the way she always kept a sufficient distance, not invading his private space even though they were husband and wife on paper.

One evening, when Vệ Đình Long was unexpectedly busy, it was Xuân Lam who pushed Bách Chu's wheelchair for a walk around the garden according to his evening routine. She didn't talk much, only occasionally telling a few trivial stories about life in the countryside, about the times she quarreled with some dishonest traders in the market, her voice was natural, as if she was talking to a friend, not a patient in need of comfort.

Bách Chu listened, occasionally tapping his fingers on the wheelchair armrest to express agreement or surprise, and he realized that this was the first time in a long year that he felt that a conversation, even though it was only one-sided with words, did not make him feel like he was a burden or a helpless person who needed to be pitied.

"You know, when I was little, I was often teased by the boys in the neighborhood because of my girly nature and always liked to follow my father to the slaughterhouse," Xuân Lam said, her voice relaxed. "But I don't care, whatever anyone says, as long as I don't do anything wrong, that's fine. Later on, when I grow up, it's my health and cutting skills that help me no one dares to bully me anymore. Life is sometimes very strange; the things people criticized me for in the past later become the things that help me stand firm."

Bách Chu tapped twice in a row on the handrail, a symbol that only Vệ Đình Long and now Xuân Lam could understand, meaning a deep sympathy. Xuân Lam looked at him, smiled slightly, did not ask anything more, just continued to push the cart amidst the faint scent of apricot blossoms in the night.

Passing by a row of koi ponds, she stopped for a moment, looking at the fish swimming around under the soft yellow light, then turned to him, her voice much softer than when answering in the living room. "Mr. Bách Chu, I don't know what kind of person you were before, how majestic you were when you were running the company. But I think, a person who once stood firmly in that position, is definitely not a weak person. You are only temporarily unable to speak or walk, but your head, the spirit inside you, I believe is still intact. Don't let yourself think that you are useless, because I see that you are not like that." Bách Chu paused, his eyes were a bit shocked. It had been a long time since anyone had said such words to him. They were not empty consolations, but rather a straightforward observation stemming from sincere observation. He bowed his head, hiding the emotions rising in his heart, just lightly tapped a single long beat on the wheelchair armrest, as a wordless thank you.

That night, after sending Xuân Lam back to her room, Bách Chu sat alone by the window for a long time, looking out at the quiet darkness outside. For the first time after a long year of living in despair and silence, he felt a faint ray of hope glimmering in his heart, not the hope of regaining lost power or status, but the hope that perhaps there was still something in his life worth continuing to strive for: a future with a straightforward, fearless country girl.