Old Walter Liew knew all too well that with so many sons in the house, if he didn't discipline them properly, the family would eventually fall apart. So when it came to raising his boys, he never hesitated to be strict—even ruthless.
But his third son? You hit him, he ran. You scolded him, and he'd turn right around and curse you out, finger pointed to your nose. What use was harsh discipline on someone like that?
It was enough to drive Old Man Liew to go white overnight from rage.
In his forties, he now looked like a man in his sixties, thanks to a full head of prematurely gray hair.
By the time Lester turned fifteen, Old Man Liew had all but given up on trying to control him. That was when Mrs. Liew had heard of an old saying: a fiery woman can tame even the wildest brute.
So, the old man figured—why not marry Lester off to a capable, sharp-tongued wife who could keep him in check? Once married, the two could live separately. The house would be peaceful again, and he could say he'd done his part as a father.
The couple poured all their efforts into selecting a wife for Lester and eventually chose Ms Moh, a tough and capable woman.
To everyone's surprise, Lester did seem to settle down a bit.
No one could have guessed that such a good woman would die in childbirth.
Old Man Liew was even more devastated than Lester. On the day of the funeral, he cried the whole way to the burial:
"Fate! This is my cursed fate! I don't know what kind of sin I committed in my past life against this boy Lester—but this life, he's here to bleed me dry!"
Now, recalling all of that, the old man feared Clara might one day abandon Lester's household and run off too.
"Clara," he said, "if things ever get too hard, just come back to the old house. We're still family—we'll figure it out together. Just don't try to shoulder everything on your own."
Clara had expected to be scolded or blamed. She hadn't thought Old Man Liew would say something like that. She was taken aback.
"I understand," she nodded.
The old man thought she'd gotten the hint and would come to him for money to buy Lester's freedom. He felt slightly reassured.
Brandon Liew and the other two brothers still held deep resentment toward Lester. Seeing Clara agree, they figured it wasn't their problem for now—the legitimate wife was still here. So they urged the old man to head home for lunch.
Old Man Liew looked at Clara and the four children, sighed deeply, cursed Lester for being such a disappointment, and led his sons away.
As they walked off, the four men threw meaningful glances at Adam and Ben—as if saying, Keep an eye on your stepmother.
Clara may look frail now, not someone who could run far, but given the state of their household, anyone might want to escape. Who could blame her?
Watching them disappear down the road, Clara turned to the four siblings standing at the doorway. "Are you hungry?"
They all nodded honestly.
After all that had happened that morning, even Clara's eight taro roots from breakfast had long been digested. She was hungry too.
She pulled out four still-warm taros from her pocket and handed them over. "One for each of you. It's not much, but it'll help tide you over."
Earlier, Clara had inspected their shabby house—two rooms, each with a wooden plank bed and some colorless old bedding. Forget about hiding money—even a mouse would struggle to find a corner here.
Luckily, they had a stove and an iron pot. The water jar was empty. No proper food, so they'd have to roast more taro.
Next to the stove was a small pile of firewood—just broken twigs, probably gathered by Adam or Ben from the foot of the mountain.
Clara found the flint, cleaned out the stove, and got a fire going quickly.
The four children stood behind her, eyeing their fragrant taros and gulping. In the face of food, they'd forgotten all about their scoundrel father being hauled off by creditors.
They had feelings, sure—but not that much.
Chad and Deb were still young and couldn't quite hide their instincts. They held the taro close to their noses, sniffing, licking their lips as they looked to their older brothers.
Adam watched Clara toss the taro-like lumps into the fire. When they were cooked, she pulled them out, peeled one open, and took a bite. Only then did he nod at his younger siblings.
"So good~" Chad took one bite and his eyes lit up.
"That's taro," Clara said. "It's supposed to taste that good."
Her voice startled them, and the four children froze with mouths full of food.
Ben's expression changed slightly. He'd heard from the villagers that taro was poisonous—it made people itchy, gave them weird illnesses, and could even lead to death from skin infections!
Clara had thought their cautious glances earlier meant they recognized it as taro. Turns out—they had no idea what it was.
She laughed lightly, then stuffed the rest of her taro in her mouth, stood up, and walked over to them with two more.
"Taro juice can irritate the skin if raw. Just wash it off with water. Cooked taro is perfectly safe. Don't worry—eat up."
She tossed the two taros into the ashes to roast and pulled out the cooked ones, placing them by the fire. Then she looked at Adam and jerked her chin. "Where's the bucket? I'll fetch some water. Let's get this place cleaned up."
Life had kissed her with pain, but she still sang in return.
There was no way Clara could sleep even one night in this filthy place.
Adam paused a second—maybe he hadn't tasted something this good in a long while. Then he finished the rest of his taro in two bites, went inside, and brought out a heavy wooden bucket from a dark corner.
These country kids were thin, but they'd been working since young. Hefting buckets was no trouble for him.
"I'll go with stepmother to fetch water," Adam told Ben.
Ben nodded. Their home might be shabby, but not all villagers were kind. Some folks bullied you all the more if they saw you down.
They used to have two buckets and a shoulder pole. But one day, while the siblings were picking wild fruit on the mountain, they forgot to bring them inside. When they returned, one bucket and the pole were gone.
Adam had searched every home in the village—no one had "seen" them. Nothing came of it.
Clara followed Adam toward the village well. Once she was out of sight, Ben rushed to the fire, grabbed the cooked taros Clara had left, and split them among Chad and Deb. He took one for himself too and reminded the younger ones, "Eat slowly, don't choke."
Chad and Deb stuffed their cheeks like squirrels, nodding eagerly. "Mm-hmm!"
Soon, the little pile of taros was gone.
Ben told Chad to watch the ones still roasting so they didn't burn, then sat by the door, leaning against the frame. One hand on his own stomach, the other rubbing Deb's round little belly.
The two looked at each other and giggled. It feels so good to be full.
Meanwhile, Clara walked behind her stepson in silence. She wasn't much of a talker, and Adam wasn't sure what to say to her either. So the two walked quietly toward the village.
The village had a well with sweet, clean water. Everyone used it for drinking.
For laundry and washing livestock, people went to the riverbank at the village entrance, where a small pool had formed from diverted river water. Cows, pigs, vegetables, clothes—they all got washed in the same place.
It was flowing water, so it's not filthy. But families that lived close to the village well rarely drank from the river.
After being cast out of the Liew ancestral home, Lester had built their house on a low hill at the northern edge of the village. They were upstream from the river, so getting water from there would have been quicker.
But Adam brought her to the well instead.
Clara didn't know her way around yet. It was just as well to follow his lead for now.
(End of Chapter)