"Phuong…"
Khang's warm, gentle voice called from a distance. He was well-covered, wearing a hat that revealed only two dark, sparkling eyes darting back and forth.
Fatty Bang nudged my arm.
"What are you spacing out for? Your family brought you lunch."
Khang walked over and pulled down the scarf covering his face.
"Grandpa said you'd be harvesting corn for a while, so I thought I'd bring some food over for you."
His big eyes blinked at me, his small face slightly flushed from the sun, as if to say, "hurry up and praise me."
I smirked.
"Thank you."
Khang clapped me on the shoulder and said casually:
"There's no need to be so polite with me."
After speaking, he smiled at Fatty Bang, who was trying to minimize his presence nearby.
"Hello, I'm Khang."
Fatty Bang replied with an embarrassed laugh:
"I know you. I've seen you a few times at Phuong's house."
Khang had brought a plate of stir-fried water spinach with garlic, a plate of cucumber salad, a plate of pork belly seared until crispy - the meat translucent, looking chewy and flavorful - and also a plate of fried eggs. He must have known Fatty Bang was with me, so he brought an extra large bowl of rice and invited him to eat as well.
Fatty Bang, knowing I wouldn't be formal, dished out some rice and squatted by the cart, eating heartily. The kids were also visibly happy. Khang teased them a little, and they all started playing together as a group.
After the meal, I packed things up. Fatty Bang took his younger siblings to continue harvesting corn. I looked at Khang, who was drenched in sweat.
"You should go home."
Khang's delicate eyebrows furrowed, and he said with dissatisfaction:
"Don't look down on me. I know how to do this kind of work too."
As if I didn't know him. He was probably bored at home and came out to find some fun. How could a kid who grew up in the city know how to farm? I'd be satisfied if Khang didn't mistake rice seedlings for chives.
Besides, not to mention the scorching sun, corn leaves could easily scratch the skin, leaving cuts that were both itchy and painful. With his skin being so delicate, how could he possibly do this work?
Seeing that I wouldn't yield, Khang didn't insist either, taking a step back to say:
"Then I'll help you move the corn."
Looking at his excited eyes, I couldn't bring myself to refuse and agreed. The boy jumped for joy, looking at me excitedly. Afraid he couldn't carry it, I intentionally put only a little corn in the carrying basket. He enthusiastically put it on his back. I saw his small face turn bright red, straining with all his might just to move the basket of corn onto the cart.
I was born strong, so I don't know the limits of an average person's strength. I had measured Khang's portion based on the strength of Fatty Bang's younger siblings, not expecting him to have such a hard time carrying it.
Khang plopped down on the ground, looking at me sulkily.
I rubbed my nose, trying to suppress the smile that was about to break out. In the distance, Fatty Bang was also trying to hold back his laughter. The kids didn't know what was happening; they just found his stifled laughter very funny and burst out laughing.
Khang's face flushed red. He turned his back to me and refused to answer no matter how I called him.
In truth, there wasn't much corn left. The weather had been too dry, and many plants had withered, resulting in less than half the usual yield. Fatty Bang looked worriedly at the amount of corn on the cart, wondering how long this would last them.
Khang ignored me, scooping corn into the basket himself to help me move it. He was so tired his face was flushed and his lips were a little pale.
My heart softened. I walked straight over, lifted him, basket and all, and placed him in an empty spot on the cart.
Without waiting for him to object, I said bluntly:
"You're too slow. You're wasting time."
Khang, who had been a little embarrassed, became angry upon hearing this and refused to look at me anymore.
Fatty Bang had also finished organizing his siblings and started pulling the cart with me. He took the chance when Khang wasn't paying attention to lean in close and say:
"This kid is like your little wife…"
He said, then chuckled.
Fatty Bang didn't see it, but I had already noticed that although Khang's back was turned, his ears were pricked up, listening to our conversation. Hearing him say "little wife," Khang let out a soft huff, and his ears quietly turned red.
Despite being as careful as possible, Khang's hands still got a few scratches. On his soft palms, a few marks suddenly appeared, looking even more pitiful.
Khang looked down at my stony face and chuckled a few times.
Grandpa handed me the medicine. I sighed and gave Khang's hand to him so he could apply the ointment. I don't know my own strength; I was afraid I would hurt him.
Khang thought I was angry and looked at me pitifully, his big, dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.
I couldn't stand seeing him like that, so I had to say:
"I'm not angry."
He huffed, pouted his lips, and mumbled:
"I don't believe you."
Grandpa watched his antics with amusement. Since Khang arrived, the number of times Grandpa laughed had increased.
I was vaguely aware of my own desire to ask him to stay, but I couldn't find the words. I've never been good with words, and besides, he had his own unresolved matters.
The next day, Fatty Bang asked me to go to town with him. He needed to buy some clothes and miscellaneous items.
I frowned.
"I'm afraid the town is already in chaos. It's risky to go at a time like this."
Fatty Bang had no choice. They were running out of supplies at home. If they didn't go this time, he was afraid they wouldn't be able to go later. I could see his predicament.
Khang, who had been quiet beside me, suddenly gave me a push.
"Let's go buy some things too. Bang is right, who knows when the next chance will be."
My heart sank, but I agreed.