Chapter 3 — The Sweet Taste After Criticism

Two days later, Kien and Tung appeared in front of Banh Nang shop at exactly nine o'clock in the morning, just as arranged via text message. Mai stood waiting behind the counter, holding a pad of paper with a list of clauses she had drafted the night before, looking like a lawyer preparing to enter the most important trial of her life.

"Good morning," Tung spoke first, his cheerful voice trying to calm the atmosphere, while Kien just nodded slightly, his eyes scanning the store as if continuing the "assessment" work from the previous time.

“Before we begin,” Mai said, placing the stack of papers on the table and pushing them toward the two of them, “I have a few conditions.”

Kien picked up the stack of papers and glanced through them, his eyebrows slightly furrowing with each line. “'Term one: all filmed content must be approved by me before posting, no exceptions.' This is quite reasonable.”

“Thank you for the recognition,” Mai replied, her voice still a bit thorny.

“'Term two: do not take close-up photos of any defective products as evidence, unless agreed in writing,'” Kien continued reading, this time the corner of his mouth curled up slightly, an expression akin to amusement. “Did you put 'in writing' here too?”

"I don't want there to be any loopholes for you to get around," Mai replied bluntly, crossing her arms.

“'Clause three,'” Kien continued reading, his voice faltering for a beat, “'call me Ms. Mai throughout the content, do not call me "shopkeeper" which sounds ironic.' This..." he looked up at her, "I think it's a bit redundant, but okay, I agree."

Tung stood next to him, trying to hold back his laughter at the gentle but dramatic argument between the two. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer and let out a soft laugh, causing both Mai and Kien to turn to look.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tung raised his hands, “because it looks like you two are negotiating peace at the national level.”

Mai glared at Tung, but couldn't help but laugh softly, the initially tense atmosphere eased somewhat.

“Okay,” Kien said, put the stack of papers on the table, pulled a pen from his pocket, and signed his name neatly at the bottom of the page. “I agree to all the terms, including the part about 'don't call the shopkeeper'. In exchange, I also have one condition.”

“Say it,” Mai narrowed her eyes, ready to defend.

“During the filming process, I had full authority to comment on the formula, process, and decoration — and you had to seriously experiment, not just listen to it and do it your way,” Kien said, his voice returning to his familiar seriousness. “If you don't really cooperate, this video won't make any sense, and your store won't improve anything.”

Mai thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But my mother's original recipe is not allowed to be touched, only comments are allowed on the process and presentation."

“Fair,” Kien replied, and this time, he held out his hand as a formal handshake.

Mai looked at that hand for a moment, then reached out to shake, although there was still some doubt in her heart about whether this handshake would really open a new, better chapter, or just the beginning of another storm.

“So where do we start now?” Linh asked, having been observing the entire "negotiation" scene with a look both funny and curious.

Tung took out a small notebook from his pocket and flipped to the page with the filming plan. “This week we will observe the shop's current working process, Take note of points that need improvement. Next week start applying the change, back on track in about a month. Finally there will be a 're-evaluation' to conclude the series.”

“One month,” Mai repeated, feeling like it was both long and short at the same time.

Kien began his "inspection" immediately, walking around the small kitchen, opening each drawer, examining the arrangement of ingredients, and even bending down to check the temperature of the oven with a small measuring device he carried.

“This oven needs urgent maintenance,” he said, without raising his head, “the displayed temperature is fifteen degrees off from the actual temperature, which is probably why the edges of your cake burned the other day.”

Mai stood there dumbfounded for a moment at that extremely reasonable explanation. “So... I'm not clumsy?”

“It's partly because the process isn't standard,” Kien replied directly, not holding back at all, “but the furnace contributes a lot. You need a separate oven thermometer to check periodically, don't completely trust the available display panel."

"Notes," Linh said, pretending to hold a pen and write in the air, making Mai unable to help but laugh, and the anger in her heart also eased somewhat.

In the afternoon, when Kien and Tung left to prepare the filming equipment, Mai sat back at the counter, looking at the list of points that needed improvement that Kien had meticulously noted down throughout the day — from how to preserve ingredients, to the process of cleaning tools, to even how to arrange the cakes on the shelves so that they were both beautiful and kept fresh longer.

“I have to admit,” Mai muttered, re-reading each line of neat handwriting, “this guy is unpleasant, but he seems to know what he's talking about.”

“Did you just compliment him?” Linh asked, pretending to be extremely surprised, clutching her chest as if about to faint.

“I'm just making an objective comment,” Mai replied, throwing her friend a look of both tears and laughter, although in her heart she couldn't deny that Kien's unlikability was accompanied by a devotion that she had never seen in anyone before, even in herself during the frantic days of selling and taking care of all the paperwork.

Ms. Nga, coming in from outside the door at the right time, heard the story, just smiled and said nothing. A mischievous light flashed through her eyes that Mai had not yet noticed, too busy with chaotic thoughts about the upcoming month of challenging cooperation.

“What's that guy's name?” Ms. Nga asked, sitting down in the chair opposite, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Kien, mom,” Mai replied, not looking up from her notes.

“Kien,” Ms. Nga repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “The name sounds decent. Does he have a wife or children?"

Mai suddenly looked up, startled. “Why did you ask that?”

"Just asking," Ms. Nga replied, her voice was calm but her eyes sparkled mischievously. "My daughter is twenty-six years old, she's always worrying about fruit and cakes, and I'm impatient."

"Mom," Mai moaned, her face turning red, "he and I are just working together, don't think too far ahead."

"No one thinks that far," Ms. Nga defended, but the smile on her lips couldn't hide her intentions at all. “I'm just asking for basic information.”

Linh, who was standing nearby eavesdropping, couldn't help but interject. “Uncle Nga is right, Mai, let me observe carefully for you. That guy Kien looks good, tall, speaks intellectually, but his mouth is a bit... toxic."

“Stop it now, you two let's go," Mai put her hands over her ears, even though she couldn't help but laugh at the excessive enthusiasm of both her mother and her best friend in "pairing up" right from the first day of cooperation before officially starting. "We just had a duel the other day, are you and mom planning to go that far?"

"Every love story begins with an argument," Ms. Nga philosophized, sipping tea as if she understood modern love life very well. “In the past, my mother and my father used to argue all the time, but in the end it was just love.”

Mai shook her head, not wanting to continue this conversation that risked going too far. She quickly stood up to pack up her notes, using the excuse of needing to prepare ingredients for tomorrow to avoid having to listen to more hidden teasing from the two most important women in her life.

But when she walked into the kitchen alone, folding each tray of dough in her hands, Mai couldn't help but think back to the moment of shaking hands earlier - a firm, surprisingly warm grip compared to Kien's usually cold appearance. She shook her head to dispel that idle thought, telling herself that she was imagining things too much, then focused back on her work, although there was still a feeling in her heart that was difficult to name, weaving somewhere between frustration and something more curious and interesting than she wanted to admit.

Late at night, when the shop was closed, Mai opened Kien's list of notes again, this time reading more carefully instead of just skimming through it in frustration. She realized that hidden behind those short, straightforward, almost emotionless lines, was a rare meticulous observation - he not only pointed out the problem, but also included specific suggestions to fix it, and even estimated the cost needed for each improvement item.

“This is definitely not the type of note someone just wants to have sensational content to get views,” she muttered to herself, closed the notebook, and looked out the window where the yellow streetlight shined into the quiet alley.

She texted Linh, even though she knew her friend was probably fast asleep by now: "I think this cooperation might be a real opportunity, not some trick." There was no immediate response, but Mai still felt lighter when she typed that thought out into words, as a way to convince herself that the decision to shake hands with "True Taste" today, despite many insecurities, was probably not necessarily a mistake.

Before turning off the light to go to bed, she glanced at her mother's recipe book placed neatly on the shelf, telling herself that no matter how much she improved the process, the soul of Banh Nang shop - that family recipe - would always be kept intact, no one had the right to touch it, not even the strictest food reviewer on social networks.