Chapter 5 — The Summer Contract of Western Beauty and Beasts

Nha Khanh woke up around noon the next day. The pale sunlight filtered through the old wooden window, illuminating the rustic tiled ceiling that was completely unfamiliar to her. She lay still for a moment, trying to regain her composure and see where she was. The room was simple, with discolored whitewashed walls, an old wooden cabinet in the corner, the smell of herbs and kitchen smoke wafting in the air - completely different from the soft carpeted bedroom, fragrant with high-end perfume that she had been familiar with for the past twenty-six years.

Memories of the rain, the wooden gate, and the feeling of being so exhausted that she could no longer stand came rushing back to her mind. Nha Khanh quickly sat up, still dizzy, looking around the room warily.

"Are you awake?" A deep, somewhat dry voice rang out from the door.

Nha Khanh was startled and turned around to see a tall man standing against the doorframe, with tanned skin, an angular face with sharp but not fierce eyes, calloused hands folded across his chest, revealing a long, faint scar across his left forearm - a trace of being caught on a barbed wire fence years ago. He wore a worn rough shirt and mud-stained jeans, exuding the sincerity and austerity of someone accustomed to farming.

"You... who are you? Where is this?" she asked, her voice still weak, trying to retreat slightly to the edge of the bed out of defensive instinct.

"This is Doi Suong farm, in Bao Loc." The man walked in, placed a bowl of hot porridge on the bedside table, his voice remained cold, not too friendly but not malicious either. "I'm Nhieu Bach Son, the owner of this farm. She fainted in front of my house last night, in the rain. Her fever was nearly forty degrees."

Nha Khanh was stunned, the fragmented memories gradually came together. She remembered walking a long way, remembered the torrential rain, remembered clinging to a wooden gate before passing out. It turned out that she was saved by a strange man.

"Thank you," she said, sounding somewhat shy, bowing her head slightly. "I... I'm sorry for bothering you."

"No need to apologize, just do what needs to be done." Bach Son replied curtly, his eyes glanced over her, a bit searching. "Let's eat porridge, we've been hungry all day. We'll eat later."

After he finished speaking, he turned around to walk out, but Nha Khanh quickly called back. "Mr. Son, may I ask... how far is it from the district center? I need to find a way... to contact my family."

Bach Son stopped walking and turned to look at her for a moment, his eyes as if he was considering something. "It's very far, it takes more than five kilometers to walk to the main road, but the traffic here is sparse. How did you get lost all the way here?"

That question made Nha Khanh pause. She couldn't think of a reasonable explanation, so she just bowed her head and mumbled. "I... I just need a place to stay for a few days."

Bach Son frowned, remained silent for a long time, observing the girl in front of him - tired look, panicked eyes trying to hide, trembling hands holding the bowl of porridge as if clinging to the only thing that still felt safe. His hunch last night was now even more certain: this girl was running from something, and perhaps, that something wasn't small.

"You should eat the porridge first, if you have strength then think about it," he said, without asking further questions, then walked out of the room, leaving Nha Khanh alone with a steaming bowl of porridge and a mess of thoughts.

Outside in the yard, Uncle Sau Lanh was feeding the chickens. When he saw Bach Son coming out, he immediately asked. "What's wrong, is that girl awake yet? Can you say anything?"

"I'm awake, but I haven't said anything clearly," Bach Son replied, his eyes looking far away at the green tea hills. "Maybe something bad is going on, but it's other people's business, I don't feel comfortable asking in detail."

"So are you planning on keeping her here too?" Uncle Sau asked, his voice a bit teasing.

Bach Son glanced sharply at Uncle Sau. "Don't talk nonsense. She'll get better and leave on her own. We're not a place to harbor long-term strangers."

But having said that, Bach Son still had some vague concerns in his heart. He thought about his own situation six years ago - he was also a person with a stable job, a happy little home in the city, until it all collapsed one fateful afternoon.

He used to be an agricultural engineer working for a large company in Saigon, married to Do Van Anh - the gentle, kind wife he had known since college. They had a simple but fulfilling life, then welcomed the birth of Tue An, the only daughter they both loved deeply. But three years ago, on a rainy afternoon, on the way to take Tue An home from school, Van Anh's car was hit by a truck that lost control. Van Anh did not survive. Tue An, then only four years old, sat in the back seat and witnessed the entire accident. Luckily, she only suffered minor physical injuries, but the mental trauma was unpredictable.

After his wife's funeral, Bach Son gradually realized that his daughter had changed - she became less talkative, afraid of loud noises, no longer looked directly into others' eyes, and often repeated certain actions such as arranging objects in rows and counting the number of steps when walking. After taking her child to the doctor many times, doctors diagnosed Tue An with autism spectrum disorder, which was probably latent before but manifested more clearly after the psychological shock from the accident.

At that time, Bach Son made a decision to completely change his life: quit his job, sell his apartment in the city, put all his savings and accident compensation to buy back a piece of deserted hill in his maternal hometown in Bao Loc, and started building Doi Suong farm from scratch. He believes that a quiet environment, away from the noise and crowds of the city, will be better for his daughter's development, and is also a way for him to somewhat ease the pain of losing his wife.

For the past three years, he has been alone as a father and mother, managing the fledgling farm, gradually stabilizing his life, although sometimes he is still achingly lonely during the long, quiet nights on the hills. He was used to not trusting strangers, used to shouldering everything himself, and didn't want anything to disturb the fragile peace he worked so hard to build for his daughter.

That's why Nha Khanh's sudden appearance made him both feel inconvenient and unable to help but feel sad thinking about his own difficult days. Even though he appears cold and tough on the outside, in his heart Bach Son still clearly understands what it feels like to face the storms of life alone, and that makes him, even though he doesn't want to admit it, still somewhat softer towards the plight of the strange girl staying in his house.

In the room, Nha Khanh finished her bowl of porridge, feeling the warmth spreading throughout her body, somewhat helping her regain some sanity. She looked around the simple room again, then looked out the window, where the green tea hills stretched as far as the eye could see under the gentle highland sunlight. A strange feeling rose in her heart — not exactly safe, but at least, this was the first place since the night of her escape where she felt like she could pause, breathe, and begin to think about her next steps.

Putting down the bowl of porridge, she was about to stand up and try to thank her again when she suddenly saw a small shadow standing in the door frame, silently observing her. It was a little girl about six or seven years old, her hair tied neatly on both sides, wearing a simple cotton outfit, her big round eyes looking at her without blinking but her face did not express clear emotions like other children who are often curious about strangers.

"Hello," Nha Khanh smiled softly, trying to keep her voice as gentle as possible, even though her body was still tired. "What's your name?"

The little girl did not answer, nor did she leave the door, just standing there, her eyes fixed on a certain point near Nha Khanh's left wrist - where there was a faint petal-shaped birthmark. Nha Khanh was a bit confused, but did not panic, just waited silently, not trying to get closer or forcing the baby to react.

At that moment, Bach Son turned around and saw his daughter standing at the door, so he was a little stunned and quickly walked over. "An, what are you doing here? Go out and play with Uncle Sau."

Tue An did not react immediately, just slowly turned her head, her eyes still lingering on Nha Khanh for a few more seconds before quietly turning around and walking away, without saying a word.

"Sorry for scaring you," Bach Son said, his voice somewhat shy. "She is my daughter, her name is Tue An. She... is not used to communicating with strangers like other children."

"It's okay," Nha Khanh replied, her eyes still directed toward the door where the little girl's shadow had just disappeared. "The baby is very cute. I'm not scared, just a little surprised because the baby looks at me so intently."

Bach Son did not say anything more, just nodded slightly and left, a little surprise flashed through his heart. Most strangers, when encountering Tue An's silent reaction and avoiding eye contact, appeared confused, and some even said words of pity, making him uncomfortable. But this girl reacted completely calmly, without the slightest bit of awkwardness or excessive curiosity. That was the first thing that made him, even for a very small moment, start to look at Nha Khanh with different eyes than before.

That afternoon, Nha Khanh lay down to rest for a while and then tried to sit up and walk out of the room even though her legs were still sore from the long walk the day before. She stood leaning against the door, looking out at the farm's large yard - rows of neat cow barns, a green tea garden in the distance, and a small vegetable garden that Uncle Sau Lanh was diligently tending. The fresh air, the sound of birds singing, the gentle lowing of cows echoing from afar, all created a strangely peaceful scene, completely different from the luxury but stuffiness of the villa she used to live in. Standing there, in a completely strange place, with no one she knew, not a penny to spare, Nha Khanh clearly felt the emptiness of losing everything for the first time in her life - but also for the first time, she felt the silence necessary to start thinking seriously about what she really wanted for the rest of her life ahead.