Mianmian's smile was genuine. "We're family, aren't we? We take care of each other."
Yanhua's gaze dropped, and for a moment, her face softened into something fragile. But when she looked up again, her eyes darted once more toward the closed pots and sealed jars, a flicker of yearning that she quickly buried.
The sun dipped toward the horizon as Mianmian stepped out of her master's courtyard, suitcase in one hand, basket of spices in the other.
The cicadas cried in the trees, a chorus of summer farewell. She turned once more, bowing to the old wooden gate before pulling it shut behind her.
But inside the courtyard, Yanhua lingered. She had not returned to her quarters, nor spoken further. Instead, she stood beneath the plum tree, her fists clenched at her sides.
She had heard the words "These dishes are for you. Only for you."
