Chapter 1 — The Fluffy-Haired Vixen and the Cold-Faced Professor

I used my mother's identity card to take on a nanny job to earn money. My boss, Thang Duc Chau, glanced at my resume and furrowed his brow. You are already forty-three years old? I desperately fabricated a story on the spot. Yes, indeed! I am forty-five years old now, and my eldest daughter is already seventeen or eighteen! Little did I expect that later, when I arrived at the university to resume my studies, I would lift my head only to crash straight into Thang Duc Chau. After class, he cornered me against the wall in a secluded corridor. Forty-five years old? A daughter? And you are still attending university? I gave a dry cough and said, Teacher, could it be that you have mistaken me for someone else? A dangerous glint flashed across Thang Duc Chau's eyes as he offered a smile that did not quite reach his lips. I happen to find your provincial accent rather charming, though. I muttered under my breath, Teacher, please do not curse me into failing my exams.

Following the conclusion of the national university entrance examinations, my entire family began to agonize over the tuition and living expenses required for both myself and my younger brother. We were a pair of fraternal twins, and from childhood until now, every joy and sorrow had been experienced twofold. Yet precisely because we both gained admission to university at the same time, the financial burden of tuition and daily living costs doubled as well. Both of our parents were manual laborers lacking formal educational degrees, having toiled away for decades just to scrape together a meager savings. Last year, our paternal grandmother fell gravely ill and had to spend several days in the intensive care unit, which practically depleted seven or eight tenths of the funds we had set aside for our education. By now, the family had borrowed from everyone who could possibly be asked, yet a significant monetary deficit still remained. My younger brother resolutely declared that he would spend the two summer months working in a factory to earn extra living expenses. I intended to seek employment as well, but my father stopped me, saying that a cement factory was simply not a suitable place for a young woman like me. At that moment, a sudden flash of inspiration struck my mother. She mentioned that she was currently working as a nanny outside the home, that her employer was quite easygoing, and that the household happened to need two flexible workers. Since one person earned a slightly lesser wage, she wanted me to take her place. I agreed without a moment's hesitation, took my mother's identification card, slipped into her worn-out clothes, and set off for the city.

Arriving at the upscale residential complex where my employer resided, I timidly pressed the doorbell and stepped inside. The person who opened the door was a slender young man carrying a somewhat cold and distant aura. His skin was fair, his facial features refined, and he exuded the scholarly, elegant temperament of a true academic. He looked me up and down and asked, You are...

To convincingly masquerade as my mother, I had intentionally permed my hair into a stiff, old-fashioned curl, donned a pair of bulky, thick-rimmed spectacles, and thrown on one of my mother's wrinkled floral blouses. I spoke with a thick, heavy provincial accent. Hello there, young man, I am here for the job interview. Hearing my heavily accented rural speech, the young man named Thang Duc Chau froze slightly. He picked up my mother's resume, scanned it thoroughly, and then stared back at me. You are... forty-three years old? In truth, my mother and I bore a striking resemblance to one another, both possessing tall and slender frames; the only difference was our age—I had just recently passed my twentieth year. Before coming here, I had even purposefully gone three whole days without washing my face so that I might appear more like a proper mother figure. Yet could it be that I still failed to conceal the youthful vitality radiating from my features? I flusteredly blurted out, Young man, what are you talking about! I am forty-five years old this year, and my daughter is already seventeen or eighteen! I hurriedly raised my voice. Young man, what on earth are you saying! I am forty-five years old this year, and my daughter is about to take her college entrance exams! Thang Duc Chau fell utterly silent. He stood frozen for a few seconds before finally stepping aside to let me enter. Someone must have briefed you in advance, correct? Your primary responsibilities will be cooking two meals a day and taking care of some light cleaning. I nodded vigorously. Understood, I understand completely! My mother had instructed me meticulously. Thang Duc Chau's constitution was delicate, and he suffered from all sorts of peculiar allergies, meaning he was strictly forbidden from eating food prepared outside. Having just returned from abroad with his parents living elsewhere, his family wanted to find someone skilled in the culinary arts to look after him. I only needed to visit his apartment every afternoon, prepare two meals, and tidy up a little bit, while he could simply reheat the food himself in the evening. Overall, the job was exceedingly straightforward. Seeing that I readily accepted the terms with ease, Thang Duc Chau smiled and said, Very well, then that is settled. What should I call you from now on? My mother's surname was Luu. I replied, You can just call me Sister Luu! Thang Duc Chau hesitated for a brief moment before saying, Sister Luu.

At noon, I stepped into the kitchen and utilized the high-end, allergy-safe seasonings stocked in his pantry to whip up a plate of wood ear mushrooms and shredded chicken tossed in a savory vinegar sauce, accompanied by a piping hot pot of fluffy white rice. For dinner, I prepared tender eggs simmered with shrimp and almonds, paired with a sweet-and-sour spinach salad sprinkled with walnuts. When I returned the following day, I sensed that Thang Duc Chau had shed much of his initial coldness and was beginning to warm up. Sister Luu, your cooking is truly incredible! Every single dish is an absolute masterpiece! Naturally, children from impoverished backgrounds learn to be resourceful at an early age. I had known how to cook since I was a little girl, whereas my younger brother only knew how to cause trouble. Sometimes the two of us would secretly hoard a few stray coins, sneak off to a local diner to sample delicious dishes, and then return home to try and recreate them. If not for this culinary proficiency, my mother would never have dared to let me work this nanny job in her stead. On the second day, I cooked a comforting pot of pork ribs braised with stuffed tofu alongside minced pork rice bowls, and he ate with such intense focus that he could not even lift his head. This pastry smells wonderful, and the soup is simply out of this world. I felt an immense sense of achievement, leaned in closer, and teased him playfully. Little Thang, you certainly know how to appreciate good food! The soup is actually the true essence of the dish!

People often say that to capture a man's heart, one must first capture his stomach. If that adage held any truth, I had long since used my culinary skills to thoroughly conquer Thang Duc Chau. For over a month now, I would spend my mornings working at his apartment and my afternoons returning to the cramped rented room I shared with my mother, living a life that felt remarkably poetic day after day. When we had first met, Thang Duc Chau appeared rather aloof, but once familiarity set in, he turned out to be endlessly talkative. He would chat about his work, share amusing anecdotes from his time studying abroad, and occasionally pepper me with questions. How many children are there in your family? Is working away from home exhausting? How are your children's studies progressing? I improvised seamlessly along with my persona, casually fabricating replies. Both of my children have entered university! My daughter is exceptionally brilliant in her studies! I have to work hard right now to secure her tuition fees! Hearing this, Thang Duc Chau smiled warmly and even sighed with emotion. A whole family striving together is truly wonderful. Once the children grow up and become independent, you can finally take a well-deserved rest early on. I burst into laughter. You certainly know how to sweet-talk people! Thang Duc Chau replied earnestly. These are my true feelings. As long as loved ones remain by one's side, that in itself is true happiness. Noticing a trace of melancholy flicker across his features, I could not resist asking, And what about you? Where are your parents? He paused for a moment before answering. The truth is... my parents divorced when I was very young. Afterward, my mother remarried and went to live with my stepfather. So he came from a single-parent household. I let out a soft sigh. Did your stepfather treat you well? He remained silent for a long moment. It was passable, I suppose. But he also has children of his own. Lately, my mother has been terribly busy organizing the wedding for my stepbrother, swamped with preparations. Caring for a stepchild while neglecting one's own flesh and blood—listening to this simply made my heart ache with sympathy. Seeing me fall quiet, Thang Duc Chau added softly, Do not look at me like that, I am quite alright. In the future, I will forge a home that belongs entirely to my own. When he uttered those words, his tone carried an inexpressible hint of sorrow. I hurried to offer words of comfort. You certainly will. With a handsome face like yours, finding someone who loves you will be a breeze. Thang Duc Chau finally broke into a smile. Yes, I suppose it should be easy enough.