When Ryder Liew snuck over stealthily, Clara was in the nearly open-air kitchen preparing dinner.
Today, she had bartered a pair of straw sandals for a bundle of leafy greens and a single loofah gourd. It had been ages since Clara had tasted fresh vegetables—just looking at them made her mouth water.
She lit the fire and set the pot on the stove, poured in a ladle of water, and once it boiled, she tossed in the sliced loofah, followed by a handful of rinsed greens. A simple vegetable soup was underway.
It had been ten years since she last cooked. Back in the apocalypse, everyone lived off dry rations, and only boiled water occasionally for instant noodles. So by any measure, Clara's cooking skills were virtually nonexistent.
But when the pot started to bubble with steam, the four Liew siblings—Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb—stared wide-eyed and drooling as if Clara were brewing some heavenly delicacy.
There wasn't even oil, soy sauce, or vinegar in the house. Clara managed to dig out a small clay jar with a thin crust of salt crystals on the inner walls. She scraped it clean, rinsed it with hot water, and poured the salty brine into the pot—just enough to add a touch of flavor.
Scooping out a spoonful to taste, Clara was genuinely surprised. These farm-grown vegetables had a depth of flavor totally different from mass-produced ones. The soup was fresh, sweet, and surprisingly delicious!
"Mom, is it yummy?" Deb asked eagerly, swallowing her saliva.
Clara smiled and nodded at her, motioning for Adam and Ben to get the bowls ready. She divided the vegetable soup into five equal portions—one bowl for each of them.
On a cool autumn night, there was nothing more satisfying than a steaming bowl of vegetable soup paired with boiled taro. The warmth spread through their bellies, and for a moment, everything felt right.
"If only we could have soup and taro every day," Chad mumbled wistfully.
Adam patted his younger brother's head and told him to eat up and stop dreaming.
Ben rolled his eyes at Chad. "You're too easily satisfied. A bowl of veggie soup makes you happy? Not me. I'm going to eat white rice and pork belly in the future!"
Clara raised an eyebrow, half-expecting some lofty ambition—only to get that?
But honestly, given how people lived in Liew Family Village, a full bowl of white rice and a few slices of fatty meat was already considered a luxurious dream.
Take Old Walter Liew's family, for example. Even during New Year celebrations, it wasn't guaranteed they'd get a bowl full of rice and a couple pieces of meat.
After dinner, Clara told the older boys to help the twins wash up. Once that was done, they joined her to continue twisting straw rope.
The boys didn't have much strength yet, but with practice, the ropes they made could still be useful.
Clara picked up her homemade wooden stand and began weaving straw sandals by firelight.
Last time, she had made the simpler, open-toed kind—good enough for daily wear, but not practical for hard fieldwork. So now, she was working on full-foot sandals that would offer better protection.
They were more intricate and slower to make, but considering the market demand in Liew Family Village, Clara figured it was worth the extra effort.
And if she couldn't sell them here, she'd just take them to another village. Someone, somewhere, would buy them.
To be fair, quite a few villagers knew how to weave straw sandals, but few had the free time to do so. Right now, it was peak harvest season, and every household was busy racing against the weather—Clara had conveniently filled a niche.
As for the two acres of land that belonged to the Liew family? That could wait. For now, filling their bellies came first.
The taro in the mountains wouldn't be enough to last them through winter.
Thinking of that, Clara ignored the stinging in her palms and sped up her weaving.
The Liews lived not far from the riverbank, where the sound of flowing water was constant. Tonight, the moon was full and bright, its light shimmering on the rippling surface of the river.
The mountain air was calm and peaceful. Clara took a deep breath, her heart gradually settling with the quiet surroundings.
She really did love this environment.
She still couldn't sleep well at night—every rustle or breeze had her jolting upright, a leftover instinct from the apocalypse. But every time she reminded herself that she was no longer in that world, she felt a wave of gratitude.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a small figure stumbling toward the village along the moonlit path.
She had sensed him approaching even earlier.
It was probably one of Lester Liew's older brother's kids—Ryder, if she remembered correctly.
He had been hiding behind the low shrubs near their home. He hadn't come to talk to them or ask for food, just squatted there, watching them eat dinner. Then, once they finished, he quietly ran off.
Clara shook her head in confusion and lowered her gaze, resuming her sandal weaving.
Of course, it could also be that Old Walter Liew noticed the straw in the fields had gone missing and sent the boy to investigate.
But by now, all the straw had been woven into sandals—too late to do anything about it.
Aside from Clara, no one noticed Ryder's visit. Adam and Ben tucked their younger siblings into bed and then, with quiet maturity, sat down at the hearth to continue helping Clara.
By midnight, their heads were bobbing, struggling to stay awake.
Clara nudged them awake and told them to head to bed.
"Auntie, what about you?" Adam rubbed his eyes, concern written on his sleepy face.
"I'll sleep after I finish this one," Clara said, her hands still moving. "Go on now. Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, go gather more firewood from behind the mountain—we're all out."
She suddenly thought of winter and added, "Wake me up too. I'll go with you."
The brothers agreed, unable to hold out any longer. The moment they hit their pillows, they were out like lights.
By the time Clara finished weaving the fourth pair, the last flicker in the stove had died out.
She placed the four completed pairs of boy-sized sandals inside the house, bolted the door, and finally drifted into sleep under the faint moonlight.
It felt like she'd only just closed her eyes—her dreams still unfinished—when a gentle knocking stirred her awake.
"Auntie? Auntie?"
The brothers were calling from outside. Had her sleep been any deeper, she wouldn't have heard them.
"Coming," Clara answered groggily, sitting up from the not-so-comfortable bed. She patted her cheeks awake, put on her shoes, tied up her hair, grabbed a hatchet and some rope, and stepped outside.
There was an old, beat-up basket at home, which Adam already had strapped to his back.
To them, the forested hills were full of danger, so the boys never dared venture far. They only picked up fallen branches at the foot of the mountain—leftovers others didn't want.
On good days, they'd fill a basket. One would carry it while the other helped steady it, and that would be enough fuel for two days.
But they could never gather much at once, which meant they had no way to stockpile for winter like other households.
On their way to the mountain base, Clara asked curiously, "So how did you survive winter in past years?"
Ben glanced at Adam, then at Clara, and hesitated before admitting, "There's an old man in the village who sells charcoal. He sometimes leaves bits behind in the kiln. My brother and I would go collect them…"
"Collect?" Clara raised an eyebrow. "Sounds more like steal."
The boys immediately went quiet.
Clara gave them a serious look and said, "No more stealing. We'll gather our own firewood and stock up. There's no need for that anymore."
Adam and Ben froze for a second, then flushed with embarrassment and quickened their pace—clearly feeling scolded.
Clara smirked to herself. Seems like they'd regained some strength after eating well these past two days. Perfect—they could carry even more firewood back!
(End of Chapter)