Meanwhile, back at the old Walter Liew family home.
Old Walter Liew sat on the doorstep, cradling a bowl of bitter tea with a few tea leaves floating at the top. He squinted toward the east end of the village.
Soon enough, two figures—one big, one small—came running over.
"Grandpa! All the straw from our field has been stolen!" the boy shouted before even reaching the steps, face flushed with anger.
Old Walter Liew's eyes, narrowed from the bitterness of the tea, sprang wide open. "Stolen? Who the hell did that?"
"It was all taken by Eldest and Second from Third Uncle's family! Someone saw them hauling it back and forth, several trips!" Logan Liew said, fuming.
Old Man Liew narrowed his eyes again. Oh, in that case—no big deal.
Logan and his nephew panted heavily as they stopped at the doorstep, two steps below Old Man Liew, who remained perfectly calm, sipping his bitter tea like nothing had happened.
Eight-year-old Ryder Liew spoke up urgently, "Grandpa, you promised me a new straw mattress this year!"
Logan added, "You know what they said? That what belongs to you belongs to their father, and what belongs to their father naturally belongs to them. They said taking what's theirs is only right and proper. I was so mad! I'm going to take our straw back. You're my father too, so I'll take what's mine—also right and proper!"
"Yeah! Let's take it back! I need a new bed—my old straw mattress is damp and half-eaten by mice!" Ryder echoed.
The two of them rolled up their sleeves and were just about to storm off into the village.
Old Walter Liew quickly swallowed his mouthful of bitter tea and shouted, "You two, stop right there!"
They didn't listen until he raised his voice again, angrier this time. Then they reluctantly turned around, both looking wronged and disgruntled.
"Your mom's already made dinner. Come in and eat first," Old Walter Liew called them back and went inside, looking as if he had no intention of pursuing the matter.
"Dad!" Logan couldn't hold it in any longer. "Did you leave that straw in the field on purpose for them to steal?"
He had his suspicions. Normally, all their rice stalks would be cut and brought home right away to dry—everyone knew better than to leave it out for those sticky-fingered villagers.
But this year, his father insisted on leaving an entire mu of it in the field, saying they were busy harvesting wheat first and could come back for the rice later—it wouldn't spoil.
Now it was obvious—he wanted Third Brother's family to take it!
And judging by how the old man didn't even bother denying it, the guilt was written all over his face.
Logan's temper flared. Furious and hurt, he stomped after Old Walter and started shooting him.
"There's not even enough straw for our own beds! Ryder's mattress is half-eaten by mice! Winter's coming—how's anyone supposed to sleep on that? Even if you don't care about me, he's your eldest grandson! Don't you feel bad for him at all?"
Logan's mouth ran like a machine gun, sharp and relentless, giving no room to interject.
Old Walter tried to hold it in—but failed.
He suddenly turned around and raised the tea bowl in his hand, ready to hurl it. "You brat! Is this how you talk to your old man? It's my land! I'll do whatever the hell I want with it! Who the hell are you to question me?!"
But Logan stood his ground. "Dad, how can you be so damn biased?! What's so great about Lester Liew anyway?!"
Old Walter's eyes bulged. "Great? He's not great—he's completely useless! I regret the day I brought that little bastard into this world!"
Then he added, "And you, Logan Liew, you ungrateful wretch—talk back to me one more time, and I swear I'll beat the disobedience out of you!"
He raised his tea bowl, ready to smash it over Logan's head, but the rest of the family rushed in to separate them just in time, saving Logan from a bruising.
Old Walter sat fuming in the main hall. His second wife, Madam Zhang, tried to soothe things—motioning to their youngest son to get inside before he started arguing too, while gently patting Old Walter's back. She sighed and said,
"I know you're worried about your third son. But seriously, of all the people to provoke, he just had to provoke Billy Lin."
She paused before adding, "Still… it might actually be a blessing in disguise. Billy Lin's the sort who never drives people to death over a debt. At most, they're sent to the manor or the mines to work off what they owe. After all these years of loafing around, maybe it's time that rascal got a taste of hardship. It might just knock some sense into him."
An ordinary stepmother wouldn't dare say such a thing—afraid the old man might think she harbored ill will toward his children.
But Zhang had been part of the Liew family for sixteen years now. The eldest son, Brandon Liew, had been old enough to fend for himself when she arrived, but she had raised the younger two, Caleb and Lester, with her own hands. Her kindness was deep—deeper than blood. She wouldn't wish hardship on Lester unless she genuinely cared about his well-being.
As for the straw in the field—Mdm Zhang had already figured it out. She simply chose to keep silent.
Winter was coming, and over at Lester's place, there was only a newlywed wife who barely knew her way around. If they hadn't left some straw for her, how would she survive the cold?
But even Zhang was angry. Those two boys, Adam and Ben, raised by Lester, were downright rude. They never greeted anyone, never said thank you even when given things.
They'd taken the straw without so much as a word to their grandfather—sneaky and shameless.
Did they really think the old man would just watch them freeze to death?
And then there was Clara—their new mother. Forget the kids not knowing better—she was a grown woman. Yet in the two days since Lester got into trouble, she hadn't once come to visit.
"Could it be… she's hoping Lester dies out there and never comes back?" Zhang accidentally blurted out her thoughts.
Old Walter's heart skipped a beat. He slowly turned to his wife. "She wouldn't… would she?"
Zhang broke out in goosebumps. She remembered their first meeting—Clara had looked delicate and timid. Didn't seem like the cold-hearted type.
But then again… she was a refugee from the northwest. A lone girl who had managed to travel all the way to the Central Plains. That wasn't something just any woman could do.
She must've seen all sorts of dangers—what if her heart had turned to stone?
Oh no.
Zhang and Old Walter exchanged a glance, both filled with a growing sense of dread.
Just then, the daughters-in-law called them for dinner. With winter wheat planting underway, the men had been working hard, so the daughters-in-law made an extra effort to cook something good.
Normally it was just thin porridge with coarse cornbread, but tonight they'd added a big bowl of egg and loofah soup.
Brandon's son, Ryder, and Caleb's five-year-old daughter, Rosie, each cradled their half-bowls of soup and slurped loudly, savoring every bite.
The rest of the family was cheerful too—good food taking the edge off their exhaustion.
Only Old Man Walter and Zhang had no appetite at all. As the fragrant soup sat before them, they couldn't stop thinking about Clara. What exactly was she up to right now?
The more they thought, the more anxious they became. Zhang finally put down her bowl and instructed her grandson, who had just finished his soup.
"Ryder, go over to your Third Aunt's house and see what they're doing. Come back and tell me."
Ryder nodded obediently, but before leaving, he remembered the straw and turned to Logan. "Uncle, are we still going to get our straw back from Third Uncle's place?"
Logan was too busy spooning another half-bowl of soup, eating it with cornbread like he was chewing through his enemies. He didn't even look up.
With no answer, Ryder could only head off alone toward the far end of the village.
(End of Chapter)