"Thank you for your concern. Bye."
After hanging up the phone, the man leaned against the hospital corridor wall and let out a deep sigh.
That was... his ex-girlfriend calling. They started dating shortly after he entered university. Later, due to a house fire, the man incurred massive debts to cover high medical expenses and had to take a leave of absence to work and repay them. Not wanting to burden his girlfriend, he broke up with her, refusing to answer any of her calls and cutting off contact.
Recently, his ex-girlfriend heard that he had paid off a significant portion of his debt and thus called after a long time to inquire about his current situation.
Can I start over? the man couldn't help but wonder when he saw the caller ID. That's why he answered the call this time.
If that fire hadn't happened, if his parents and sister hadn't ended up in the hospital, he and his ex-girlfriend should have been a couple envied by many. They had even fantasized about getting married after graduation. However, that fire had incinerated all beautiful possibilities, forcing him to confront the harsh reality of tragedy and abandon any illusions about his future.
Don't forget, he was still in the process of repaying his debts. The only difference was that the debts were consolidated, and he only had one person to pay.
Putting aside his fantasies, he claimed that he had met a kind employer during his part-time job, signed a long-term contract, and received a substantial sum of money at once.
"It wasn't a dangerous job, was it?" she asked.
"No," he thought for a moment and decided to tell the truth. "I'm just a chef, responsible for three meals a day, and on call whenever needed. Sort of like a 24-hour personal assistant."
"A long-term contract... how long?"
"..."
A lifetime. It was akin to a contract of servitude, but for him, who was desperate, it was an equivalent exchange.
Telling the truth would only bring more trouble, so he lied and said it was a ten-year contract.
His ex-girlfriend seemed to want to say more, but he preempted her, claiming he was busy with work and needed to focus, thus ending the conversation.
Upon returning to the apartment, a pair of women's shoes was placed by the entrance. After more than a week, it seemed the employer, no, the young lady, was back.
The man quickly changed his shoes and carried his shopping bag. As he didn't see anyone, he walked in while speaking at a slightly louder volume to confirm, "Young lady, have you returned?"
There was a movement by the sofa. First, a hand appeared resting on the back of the sofa, followed by a silver-white head. Like the sun rising above the horizon, the young lady's head emerged from the silhouette of the sofa's backrest. Her chin rested on her hand, and she stared intently at the man.
The young lady always seemed to lack energy, her eyes devoid of spirit, only widening when she concentrated. Her fluffy, silver-white, slightly curly hair cascaded over her shoulders and back. Apart from her blue eyes and pale pink lips, everything else was white. She resembled a white cat lying there, observing the intruder in her territory.
Indeed, this was her territory. She was the master, and the man was the servant.
"Welcome back," the man bowed his head subserviently. "I wasn't home because I didn't receive your message. I just returned from the supermarket."
As usual, the young lady remained silent, not speaking.
"Do you need anything now?" the man asked, carrying the shopping bag in both hands. "Otherwise, I'll put away the ingredients I bought first."
The young lady shook her head and retreated below the sofa's backrest. From the man's perspective, she was completely out of sight.
With the young lady's sub-card being his sole source of income, the man did not attempt to spend recklessly, treating his work diligently. The shopping bag contained daily necessities, ingredients, and some essential living items.
While putting away the items, the man passed by the bathroom. The lingering steam indicated that the young lady had taken a bath after returning.
The man remembered the bathroom mirror. If someone drew on a fogged mirror without deliberately wiping it clean, faint traces of the previous drawing would still be visible the next time it fogged up.
The exceptionally reclusive and silent young lady had quietly drawn a simplified cat's head on the mirror. When he accidentally discovered the doodle, he was greatly surprised.
The cat's head also had a smiling 'w'-shaped mouth. It was worth noting that, let alone smiling, the young lady had never displayed any distinct facial expressions.
"..."
Perhaps the young lady was just not good at expressing herself? The young lady was likely outwardly cold but inwardly warm. Her job offer, which initially sounded extravagant, was actually very lenient in its requirements. Apart from the three meals and snacks, she hardly asked for anything else. Compared to the compensation she provided, it was practically charity.
Although it felt presumptuous, the man felt a pang of pity for the young lady.
The young lady was reclusive because no one around her seemed to care about her. She didn't seem to lack money, but money wasn't the only important thing...
He hoped she would smile, or at least be a little happier.
Walking back to the living room, before he could speak, the young lady heard his footsteps. She was again perched on the sofa's backrest, raising one hand, with a card held between her fingers.
To ensure the food he prepared matched the young lady's preferred taste, they had refined many recipes together and recorded them on cards, similar to how students use flashcards for vocabulary. The front of the card had the name of the dish, and the back contained the recipe.
The young lady's modifications went beyond mere seasoning differences. Sometimes, her ideas extended beyond the man's knowledge, proposing approaches that started with the food's raw ingredients. It turned out her novel ideas were generally sound and could indeed lead to delicious new creations.
For example, she wanted to change the recipe for "youtiao" (fried dough sticks), which traditionally used flour, butter, and eggs, to one using yeast, flour, alkali, and salt.
In reality, the young lady didn't have extensive culinary knowledge. Initially, she mentioned yeast, flour, and salt, but not alkali. After the yeast fermented the dough, the dough would develop a sour taste, resulting in an unappealing finished product. The man experimented and eventually thought of using alkali to neutralize the sourness. Moreover, adding alkali made the fried dough sticks puffier, a delightful surprise that made his day.
Changing the ingredients meant adjusting the preparation method as well.
Originally, "youtiao" were made by extruding the dough through a decorative piping bag, forming striped long strips, which were then fried in oil and sprinkled with sugar or cinnamon, or dipped in chocolate or coffee. They were a classic delicacy with a century-old history.
The man was unaware that what he considered "youtiao" was actually called "Churros" or "Porras" in the "real world," whereas the "youtiao" the young lady desired, despite sharing the same name, had a different, traditional Chinese preparation method.
Since the young lady's culinary knowledge was only partial, the man had to invest considerable effort in perfecting it, spending a large portion of his time each day on trial and error. Fortunately, there weren't many dishes that required such extensive ingredient modifications, allowing the man to manage.
The card the young lady held at that moment was for "Fried Yogurt."
This was a simple dessert made by quickly flash-freezing fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt with a "fried ice" machine, similar to ice cream.
The man recalled that the only modification involved trying numerous combinations of fruits and nuts. The young lady's favorite pairing was strawberries, apples, sweet oranges, almonds, and raisins, drizzled with a spoonful of nata de coco.
"Okay, I'll make it right away," the man turned and went into the kitchen.
Listening to the sounds of the man bustling in the kitchen, Mò'ěr sī (默尔丝) lay on the sofa, closed her eyes.
The clinking of bowls and plates, the sound of peeling fruit, the crunch of crushing almonds, the tearing of yogurt packaging... these everyday sounds were identical to those in the "real world." Mò'ěr sī remembered her mother in the "real world," who also made similar sounds while busy in the kitchen.
However, she couldn't casually make requests to her mother or specifically ask for what she wanted to eat. If anything was slightly inconvenient for her mother, she would get angry, regardless of whether it was related to food. It could be the cold or hot weather; she would curse while preparing meals.
At those times, Mò'ěr sī's heart would clench, regretting her momentary gluttony and becoming the target of misplaced anger.
As her self-control gradually improved, Mò'ěr sī learned to be patient and ate whatever her mother prepared.
"..." Only recently had she finally had the opportunity to eat whatever she pleased, without worrying about the other person finding it troublesome or being in a bad mood.
She couldn't achieve this at the Zoldyck household. It wasn't just Kikyo's restrictions; after all, those chefs were the Zoldycks' chefs, not Mò'ěr sī's alone. She didn't have the audacity to ask those chefs to repeatedly adjust the taste just for her; it would be too demanding—who did she think she was? She didn't have that right. It would surely annoy them.
Despite learning patience, Mò'ěr sī's self-control was still limited. Whenever her mother made something she liked, she would be particularly happy, lean close to the stove, rest her head on her mother's shoulder, and watch her mother cook. Her mother would find her bothersome, and she would end up eating a lot. When her mother was in a bad mood and brought up past grievances, she would say, "You're so picky; you eat so little if something isn't quite to your liking."
Mò'ěr sī wanted to say that she ate little of the dishes, but she finished the rice in her bowl... a very powerless defense. Silence was better; she just had to endure it.
The kitchen was particularly hot in the summer. To prevent cooking fumes from filling the house, her mother would close the kitchen door and stand inside as if in a sauna. Consequently, her mother's mood would generally turn very, very bad, and she would bring dishes to the table with a look of annoyance. In the worst-case scenario, she would complain that the food was unpalatable while eating and even throw the dishes directly into the trash. Mò'ěr sī silently watched her do all this.
"If it weren't for you, I would have just eaten something simple by myself; there would be no need for all this trouble," her mother complained more than once.
Her mother said that if she lived alone, she would just make do with steamed buns every day. Mò'ěr sī said that when her mother didn't want to cook, she could also eat steamed buns with her. Her mother immediately retorted, calling it utter nonsense.
"Mom, how exactly should I answer you? Tell me. No matter what I say, you'll be unhappy."
"I don't need you to fawn over me!" her mother became unhappy again. "Stop putting on that pitiful act! It's annoying just looking at you!"
"..."
Mò'ěr sī often thought that it was fortunate her mother only cooked lunch once a day, breakfast was bought outside, and leftovers from lunch were eaten in the afternoon. Otherwise, life would have been even more unbearable.
Due to the effects of her brain surgery, those memories that might have brought tears to her eyes no longer felt as painful. They seemed as mundane as someone without similar experiences watching someone else's life unfold.
Aren't these just trivial matters? You were too fragile, too sensitive.
To remember each one so clearly, your mind must be truly dark.
"Young lady," the man's voice drew closer. "This was just made. Please enjoy."
Mò'ěr sī opened her eyes and sat up from the sofa. The man placed the bowl on the table in front of the sofa. As it was a cold dish, water droplets from the condensation in the air would form on the bottom of the bowl, so he had placed a placemat underneath to absorb the moisture.
Seeing that Mò'ěr sī made no further move and merely watched him, the man smiled modestly and cautiously asked if she had any other instructions.
Mò'ěr sī shook her head.
Nothing in particular. It was just that the man's unwavering patience and consistently fawning attitude made Mò'ěr sī understand more profoundly that money was indeed the most reliable thing.
Money could buy almost everything in the world and would never deceive or betray her.
Without money, this man wouldn't be humbling himself here.
With money, with lots and lots of money, she would give half to her mother and then separate from her. Her mother always said that if she won the lottery, she would live alone, wanting no more husband or children; she had had enough.
One day, her mother asked, "If there is an afterlife, do you still want to be mother and daughter?"
Mò'ěr sī thought about the lottery and many other things, and confidently replied, "No, I don't want to be human in the next life either. Being human is too tiring."
Her mother seemed a little disappointed, and perhaps a little relieved, saying, "That's true, being human is too tiring."
Mò'ěr sī knew she hadn't given her mother the answer she most wanted to hear. Instead of uttering something inappropriate, it was better to end with silence.
Despite observing keenly for so many years, she was too foolish to ever truly guess her mother's real thoughts. Therefore, keeping silent was the best option.
The fried yogurt was delicious, prepared with meticulous attention to ingredient costs and combinations, refined over many attempts.
It's so good. She could continue to eat her favorite dishes whenever she pleased, with every detail decided by herself, without having to consider anyone's feelings or face anyone's displeasure. Breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner – all of it.
It's good to have money.
After eating half of it, Mò'ěr sī handed the bowl to the man and shook her head, indicating she didn't want to continue.
It was common for her not to finish her food, and the man took the bowl as a matter of course. To Mò'ěr sī's surprise, the man suddenly asked if she wanted to try playing board games, mentioning that there were many two-player games that were quite fun.
Mò'ěr sī tilted her head in confusion.
Given the young lady's reclusive personality, it was unlikely she had ever played games with anyone. The man continued, "Because I had a pleasant experience, I wanted to recommend it to you. Uh, if you could be happy, I would be... honored."
"..." She blinked and nodded.
The man's eyes lit up, and he eagerly brought out a pre-prepared list of board games. Mò'ěr sī had no idea what he was so happy about. She held the list blankly; the descriptions of the various game types and rules made her head spin.
"Ah, that's right, are you a beginner?" the man confirmed Mò'ěr sī's reaction. After months of interaction, he could distinguish between a definite and negative response. He immediately put on an encouraging smile. "I can recommend two introductory games first. I've played them... with others and found them enjoyable."
The man had been fond of board games since high school. When talking about his hobby, with no one to stop him, he became carried away and talked non-stop.
After all, he was a spirited university student. The hardships he had endured were limited, and he hadn't entirely shed his student-like demeanor. He easily forgot to suppress himself, transforming back into his original self, a cheerful young man discussing his hobbies with a good friend.
"...I'm sorry, I got too excited," he said, his face flushing as he realized it afterward.
Mò'ěr sī watched him quietly, neither nodding nor shaking her head.
"Then let's play," Mò'ěr sī wrote on the paper.
"Okay!" the man nodded excitedly. "Then I'll go buy them right away!"
"No need to rush to buy," Mò'ěr sī wrote on the paper. "Let's go directly to a board game cafe to play."
"Okay!" the man nodded repeatedly. "You're right! What if the games I buy aren't fun? It would be a waste of money."
"Let's get ready and leave," Mò'ěr sī wrote on the paper.
"Okay!"
Mò'ěr sī remained silent and only played two-player games. Even so, she truly found a few board games enjoyable and thus bought them, playing them occasionally with the man at the apartment.
No matter who won the game, the man was always happy, especially when Mò'ěr sī won. He would praise Mò'ěr sī incessantly for being amazing.
Mò'ěr sī couldn't understand the man's thoughts. Perhaps it was to please his employer? she couldn't help but wonder.
So, Mò'ěr sī asked him if there was anything personal he wanted to buy, something a bit expensive that he was hesitant to mention.
He tried hard to prove that wasn't the case.
Mò'ěr sī became even more bewildered. When she offered him cash directly, he desperately refused.
"I just want you to be happy!" the man, at a loss for words, brought the conversation back to the beginning.
"..." Mò'ěr sī frowned for the first time.
Unsure of how to ask the real question, she consciously moved her facial muscles, adopting an expression resembling "trouble."
Seeing Mò'ěr sī's expression for the first time, and it being a negative one, the man seemed deeply affected. He gritted his teeth, breaking down his final defenses, and clenched his fists. "Because... because I like you!"
"..." Mò'ěr sī's mouth slightly opened in an expression of "surprise."
"No, I don't mean 'that' kind of 'like'." The man quickly negated it. "I mean... the ordinary 'like' between people. It's not a confession. I... I'm very grateful for your help, so I hope you can be happy..."
At that moment, Mò'ěr sī received a message on her phone. She picked up her phone, which had been discarded in the corner of the sofa. The message was from Hisoka, a rematch invitation with the desire to clear his name.
After replying, "I have other matters to attend to these days," she put down her phone and wrote on the paper: I know, people like me for either money or looks.
"...That's not it!" the man immediately retorted. Perhaps unable to think of a sufficient reason, he blurted out, "You... you are a very kind person!"
"..."
Mò'ěr sī waved her hand, signaling him to stop talking.
"If you have the chance to understand you better, I believe others will like you too," the man said sincerely.
Mò'ěr sī shook her head, picked up her phone, which had received another reply, and left the sofa.
Her reply "I have other matters to attend to these days" to Hisoka was not a dismissal. Calculating the time, it was almost three months, and she had to report back to Kukuru Mountain.
After telling the man, "I need to go home for a while," Mò'ěr sī changed her clothes and went out.
This time, returning to Kukuru Mountain, there were more Zoldyck family members at home than during the previous visit. Besides Kikyo and Kalluto, Silva and Illumi were also present. The seating arrangement at the dining table had been adjusted. Silva, of course, still occupied the main seat, while Kikyo sat next to Mò'ěr sī. Kalluto and Illumi sat opposite them.
The Zoldycks practiced portioned dining, with each person enjoying their own meal. Kikyo, seeing Mò'ěr sī's lack of enthusiasm, couldn't help but repeatedly place food onto Mò'ěr sī's plate. Kalluto, witnessing this scene, nearly choked. In his memory, Kikyo was the most concerned about Mò'ěr sī's figure management and strictly controlled her diet. How could her attitude change 180 degrees so suddenly?! What had happened at home?!
The others remained much calmer, ignoring Kikyo's behavior, which deviated from normal dining etiquette.
Fortunately, Kikyo's act of placing food did not exceed the limit; she had not lost her composure. Before filling Mò'ěr sī's stomach, she stopped. She knew Mò'ěr sī's appetite well, which relieved Mò'ěr sī.
Kikyo's enthusiasm was so high that staying overnight at Kukuru Mountain before leaving seemed unavoidable. Mò'ěr sī was mentally prepared for this.
However, a question Silva asked as he excused himself from the table disrupted Mò'ěr sī's expectations.
"Mò'ěr sī, there's a mission that might require your assistance. Are you interested?" Silva asked.
"..." Mò'ěr sī nodded and followed him.
Kalluto, at the bottom of the Zoldyck food chain, acutely sensed the shift in atmosphere and, with no desire to linger, immediately left the table.
The remaining two Zoldyck members by the table, Kikyo and Illumi, gazed in the direction Silva and Mò'ěr sī had walked away, paying no mind to Kalluto's unusually swift departure.
Illumi put his hand into his pocket and fiddled with the one-jen coin.
"Damn it. Finally, I could..." Kikyo complained. For no apparent reason, she suddenly said, "Illumi."
"Hm?" Illumi looked at Kikyo.
"...Nothing." Kikyo snapped back to attention. Calling Illumi's name just now seemed to have been an act of habit.
From appearance to personality to Nen ability attributes, Illumi was her most similar son, especially in looks, as if carved from the same mold. Whenever Kikyo had a need, she would always think of this son first.
For example, when Killua was disobedient, it was always correct to ask Illumi to help discipline him—Illumi was intelligent and calm, a competent eldest son, and a qualified professional assassin.
As for her, she was a mother who easily softened. She loved Killua too much to be strict with him personally. This was not good; it would cause Killua, a precious heir to the family, to go astray.
As for Mò'ěr sī... Ah, her poor Mò'ěr... For various reasons, it was not possible, and she could no longer consult with Illumi.
"Ah... Mò'ěr sī... Mò'ěr sī..." Kikyo murmured as if constantly chewing on something, creasing her skirt.