Clara washed her hands clean, wiped her face, and only then stepped back into the house and sat down.
When she saw the heaping plate of greasy stir-fried pork belly on the table and the rice with crispy crust, her brows twitched slightly—but she said nothing.
Picking up her bowl and chopsticks, she simply said, "Let's eat."
As soon as Clara called for dinner, all five pairs of chopsticks from the father and sons lunged toward the plate of meat.
Lester had cooked up all the meat—one full kg of it. No vegetables, nothing to balance the dish, just pure greasy pork.
Clara took a bite with low expectations—but her eyes lit up. It actually had flavor!
After over a decade of surviving in a post-apocalyptic world, subsisting on rations and instant noodles, Clara wasn't picky at all. As long as something had taste, she was satisfied.
One bite of meat, followed by two big mouthfuls of rice—it didn't feel greasy at all. Even the crispy rice crust was delicious.
She devoured five bowls before putting down her chopsticks, wiped the corner of her mouth with contentment, and told Lester:
"Meals should be nutritionally balanced. Next time, throw in some vegetables."
Lester let out a breath of relief—she was satisfied. He quickly agreed.
They'd cooked white rice, but the four kids barely made it through half a bowl before they were full.
Lester managed a bit more—one and a half bowls—but even that left him stuffed.
Then they turned to look at Clara's appetite, which was easily four times theirs. The five of them were stunned.
It was only then that Adam and Ben realized—stepmother had been holding back her appetite this whole time.
Now that there was finally food in the house, she stopped being polite and ate her fill. After all, she had done a full day's worth of hard labor—eating more made sense given how much she burned off.
After dinner, Clara tilted her chin at Lester, who showed zero intention of moving, and said, "Clear the table. Also, boil more hot water. I want to soak my feet."
Lester's eyes widened. He had to serve her while she soaked her feet too?
But Clara had just eaten and was in a good mood. She asked, puzzled, "You do know how to boil water, don't you?"
Lester was angry but didn't dare show it. He got up with a long face to clear the table and begrudgingly went to boil water.
Adam got up to help, worried that his father might actually not know how to light a fire.
Before heading out, he handed Clara the 25 copper coins he got from selling straw sandals.
Meanwhile, Ben came over to ask if Clara could teach him and Ryder how to catch fish.
Fish were even trickier than rabbits—always just a blur in the water, impossible to grab.
Today, Ryder had seen with his own eyes how Clara, in between hauling stones, had managed to catch several fish from the river. The kids were practically drooling and wanted to learn.
But every time Ryder got close to the water, the fish darted away. The river wasn't even that deep during dry season, but it was still impossible to catch them.
Ryder was a little scared of Clara, so he didn't dare ask her directly and instead sent Ben to test the waters.
"You two want to catch fish?" Clara asked.
Ben nodded furiously.
Clara agreed. "If there's time tomorrow, I'll teach you."
"But let's make one thing clear: I'll teach you, but you're not allowed to go into the river alone. You must have an adult with you, or I won't teach you at all."
It was dry season now, and the water levels were low—no real danger. Plus, the riverside was full of people these days.
But come spring or summer, with the floods, it'd be another story entirely.
Knowing how superstitious the locals were, Clara added, "You'll have to swear an oath to the heavens. A simple 'yes' won't cut it."
Ben hadn't taken it seriously at first, but now that Clara even brought up oaths, he realized she meant business.
"I'll tell Ryder," he promised quickly.
Just then, Lester called from the kitchen to say the water was ready.
Clara got up and called the three children by her side to join her in the kitchen to wash their faces and soak their feet.
They had two basins in the house. Naturally, Clara used one all to herself.
Adam and Ben were good at helping their younger siblings. Clara poured hot water for them, and the four kids took care of the rest themselves.
Lester watched his four children line up in an orderly fashion to wash up like it was some strange spectacle, clicking his tongue in amazement.
Clara glanced at his unkempt hair and suggested sincerely, "You should really wash your hair."
The weather wasn't cold yet, but soon it would be—and without a hairdryer, long wet hair could easily lead to illness.
She wasn't worried about him, per se. She was worried about the medical bills.
Clara touched her own thick, dry, tangled bun of hair—her hair quality was awful. Might as well cut it all off and start over.
And once she had the thought—she acted on it.
She dried her feet using an old rag turned foot towel, poured out the water, left the basin under the eaves, and went into the side room. From the pile of random goods she had bought earlier, she pulled out a pair of scissors.
Snip, snip, snip.
Without the slightest hesitation, she lopped off her nearly calf-length, dry and brittle hair. What was left barely reached below her shoulders.
The chopped-off hair was tossed into the stove—and whoosh—up in flames it went.
The burst of fire made all five father and children recoil several steps. They stared at Clara's now-medium-length hair in absolute shock.
Everyone said your body, skin, and hair were gifts from your parents. To damage them voluntarily was a great offense against filial piety!
And she didn't stop at herself—she even waved them over, as if inviting them to join her in this act of rebellion.
Clara looked at their horrified faces and asked, confused, "Don't you want to cut it too?"
The five of them stared back in horror. Do we look like we want to?
Clara shrugged. "Suit yourselves."
At least she felt comfortable now.
It was late. After a full day of manual labor, even iron would get tired. Clara smiled slightly at the four siblings and said, "Goodnight."
She turned around and went back to her room, closed her eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
Lester immediately boiled another pot of water and gave his hair a thorough wash.
As if, somehow, this would prevent Clara from turning her attention—and scissors—on him.
He still had two doses of that medicine from the physician. After washing his hair, he used the residual fire from the stove to dry it while blindly smearing the salve onto his face.
Adam tucked the younger ones into bed, then quietly stepped out and squatted next to Lester, curiously asking:
"Dad, why did they only hit your face?"
". . . That's a long story. I'll tell you another time," Lester hesitated. He didn't want to talk about it.
Adam simply replied, "Oh," and helped spread the ointment evenly across Lester's bruises—offering a bit of comfort to his battered pride.
Father and son washed their hands and returned to their rooms to sleep.
But Lester couldn't sleep.
He kept tossing and turning, thinking about how Clara expected breakfast in the morning. What if he couldn't get up? But what if he could—and this became his new job forever?
Yet even if he wanted to leave, where would he go? He only had 300 copper coins—not enough to last long.
And now that there was white rice and meat at every meal, he was reluctant to give it up.
If he could eat like this every day, maybe being a stay-at-home husband wasn't that bad.
At least it beat farming under the sun!
As for Lester's moral compass—he didn't have one. Without hesitation, he stepped off the moral high ground altogether.
He tugged the blanket over himself and closed his eyes to sleep.
Though he'd once been a man who'd sleep till noon, fear for his life had him awake at the fifth crow of the rooster.
That evil woman Clara had said she wanted something soft for breakfast. Since there was flour in the house, Lester decided to steam some buns.
(End of Chapter)