Chapter 9 — The Price of Contempt

Some time later, one night my mother was sleeping and I was sitting on the balcony when I received a text message from an unknown number. The sender called himself Vien Chau. He said he wanted to change the number because he was afraid I wouldn't answer the phone. He just wanted to ask one last question.

"Obviously your mother has money and a house, why did she dress like that when she came to my house, why didn't she say anything from beginning to end? If she had said it, we wouldn't have..."

The text message stopped midway, but I knew he wanted to say that if he had spoken earlier, they wouldn't have treated him that way. I looked at the unfinished text and smiled slightly. I replied that my mother wore 20 yuan clothes to his house because she thought she was coming to help her daughter, not to be a guest, and did not say she had money because she thought that whether rich or poor, her daughter-in-law's family must respect her. I continued to write that she did not ask for any treatment, just to be treated like a normal person, but even that they could not do. Finally, I added a message that it wasn't that she should have spoken sooner, but that they should learn how to be human sooner, then added a final sentence that he didn't deserve to hear my mother's country accent. After sending, I blocked the number, deleted the contact, the night wind blew in, bringing with it the familiar smell of the old neighborhood, the sound of cooking food at night, the sound of the iron door closing, and the sound of the old lady next door calling her grandchild in a country accent. I closed my eyes, from now on my mother could say whatever she wanted, wear whatever she wanted, go anywhere in the neighborhood, no need to bow her head, no need to be silent, no need to pretend she was nothing. Half a year later, Tieu Nien turned two years old. On my birthday, I set up a table at home, full of dishes my mother cooked like braised meat, coke chicken wings, steamed fish, and a bowl of hand-rolled noodles that I always remember. The old neighbors all came, the small living room was full of people, adults chatting, children running around, all speaking with country accents, Tieu Nien stood in the middle of the room, her face covered in cake cream, grinning widely.

“Grandma, the cake is delicious.”

My mother sat down and wiped the boy's mouth, laughing and scolding him, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes dilated very clearly, the old neighbor even teased Tieu Nien, telling her what to say to her grandmother. Tieu Nien raised her head, her young voice said in a country accent that "grandmother is the best", the whole room burst into laughter and applauded, and my mother laughed until her body bent, her eyes sparkling. The whole room was filled with country accents, full of laughter, no one felt it was embarrassing. I leaned against the door frame, looking at the warm scene before me, what people call life, a very simple peace. My father passed away early, my mother raised me alone. Later, the old neighborhood was cleared and she was given three houses and enough compensation to live comfortably all her life. But she chose to come to my husband's house, just because she was afraid that I wouldn't be able to manage taking care of the children alone. She wore 20 yuan cloth clothes, carried millions of assets, slept in a storage room, washed dishes with cold water, and ate white rice and pickles for two years. In those two years, she never complained once, not because there was no way out, but because she couldn't bear to leave me. Now, she has returned to her rightful place, speaks her own voice, lives her life, is respected, remembered and treated kindly by those around her. I raised my glass, my voice light but clear.

“Wishing Tieu Nien a happy two years old.”

Then I looked at my mother and continued slowly.

"I also wish mom... from now on, every day will be as happy as today."

My mother held the glass, smiled until her eyes widened, and gently touched the glass to me, emitting a clear “ting” sound. Outside the window, the experimental school building stood quietly. Three years from now, Tieu Nien will wear her school bag and walk through that gate. Using the same "hometown address" that people once despised, using the same "native" status that they once criticized, using the path that my mother silently prepared for a long time, without speaking, without arguing, but never abandoning us. Even if Phuong Vien Chau knelt down and begged for all of these things, he could no longer have them. He was only a very small distance away from it, just the two words "respect", but he did not step over. Then for the rest of your life, don't pass by it again.