The sudden arrival of the Mo family's three unexpected guests made the atmosphere at the banquet a little strange, but it didn't stop the feast from going ahead.
Lester Liew gathered Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb, and together with Brandon Liew, accompanied the Mo family at one table.
Clara, meanwhile, stayed with the kitchen helpers until all the dishes were served, then slipped into a side table in the corner with them.
The village chief and clan head had wanted to call her over to the main table, but after a glance at the three members of the Mo family, the words caught in their throats. They hesitated, wanting to but not daring to insist, and in the end let her be.
Old Madam Mo looked at her four grandchildren with a pitiful gaze, her eyes lingering especially on the young twins who had never even seen their mother. As soon as the meatball soup was brought out, she immediately scooped a bowl each for Chad and Deb.
Adam and Ben exchanged glances with their father. All three looked restless, as if sitting on needles.
From the moment he had welcomed the Mo family into the house, Lester hadn't dared even a glance toward Clara. His eyes stayed down, his mind drifting far away, deaf to all of Old Madam Mo's sharp and sarcastic remarks.
Seeing him so impervious only made her dislike him more. Her resentment deepened.
Brother Mo and Sister-in-law Mo, however, were quite attentive to Adam and Ben, asking all sorts of questions about their daily lives—what they ate, what they wore, whether their stepmother beat them.
The earlier questions were easy enough to answer, but the last one startled the brothers so much they flinched. They instinctively glanced toward the corner table, saw Clara bent over her food without paying them any mind, and only then let out a breath of relief. Both quickly shook their heads and said they had never been beaten.
But Brother Mo and Sister-in-law Mo didn't believe them. That startled flinch, that unconscious look toward Clara—they assumed it meant the boys were too frightened of their stepmother to speak the truth, and their sympathy for them only grew.
Sister-in-law Mo patted their shoulders and sighed. "Poor things. Why are you so thin? Do you not get enough to eat at home?"
Ben blinked and blurted, "Huh? Do you get to eat till full every meal at your house, Auntie?"
After all, what family in the countryside could claim to eat their fill at every meal?
Well, their family actually could.
Sister-in-law Mo's lips twitched awkwardly, and she didn't answer. In her own home, only in the harvest season did they eat to satisfaction.
Chad, honest as always, proudly held up three fingers. "We eat three meals a day!"
Brother Mo looked over at Lester, testing him. "I've heard people say your family runs a workshop now, makes good money, and that you've gone back to the county school. I didn't really believe it before, but seems it's true?"
Lester gave a stiff nod, then rushed to explain before they could get the wrong idea.
"The workshop's real, and I really did return to the academy. But it was all Clara—she set up the workshop, and she sent me back to school."
For emphasis, he clapped his hands together and hunched his shoulders in a pitiful posture. "I—I'm just a freeloader, living off my wife."
The message was clear: don't you dare set your sights on his household's money. If it was money they wanted, he hadn't a penny to give.
He didn't believe for a second they had come just to see their nephews. If they cared, they'd have shown up years ago. Adam and Ben had never even had a single meal at their uncle's house.
Back when their birth mother was alive, whenever her family came, she was the one sending things back with them—not the other way around.
Lester might have been guilty toward his previous wife in the past, but compared to the Mo family's neglect, his failings were minor indeed.
Suspicion narrowed his eyes as he studied the three opposite him. Brother Mo flushed with anger.
"Who asked you to say all that? We didn't come here for your money. I knew you'd never amount to anything, a pile of rotten mud that won't stick to the wall. My poor sister—gone too soon, never lived to see a single day of these good times!"
His wife suddenly lowered her voice and asked Adam, "Did you set aside food for your mother before eating? You shouldn't just eat for yourselves. Your mother hasn't had her share yet. A proper household teaches its children rules."
Adam froze. Of course he knew the custom of setting aside food for deceased parents before eating—but this was someone else's banquet.
Old Madam Mo also turned her eyes on him. Adam panicked, dropped his chopsticks, and hurried to fetch a bowl. He scooped some meatball soup and set it on the table to "air" for his late mother.
Only then did Old Madam Mo nod in satisfaction, though the sorrow in her eyes only deepened. "My poor daughter, my poor grandchildren. Who knows how much suffering you've endured all these years…"
Lester's head throbbed. He quickly urged, "Eat, eat, before it all goes cold."
At last the Mo family dropped the subject of the dead.
Adam and Ben both sighed in relief. Finally, they could eat their long-awaited bite of meatball.
Deb, however, wasn't happy eating at that table. She wanted her mother.
Sliding down from the long bench with a swoosh, she scurried across the courtyard and plopped herself at Clara's side.
"Mom, I want to eat with you," she said, wide eyes shining with expectation.
Clara's mouth was full of broth, but she nodded and shifted over, lifting Deb one-handed into the seat beside her.
The little girl burst into a grin. She pointed at the dishes just out of her reach and whined, "Mom, I want that one. And that one. And oh, that shredded radish too."
Clara fed herself while also filling Deb's bowl, multitasking with ease.
Soon the girl's bowl was heaped, and she sat contentedly gobbling it down, quiet and well-behaved. She looked so tiny perched there, chewing without a sound, that the women at the table couldn't help adoring her.
One glance back at their own children—standing on the bench, squirming, refusing to sit still, playing between bites—and their teeth itched in frustration.
Mdm Zhou, seated nearby, looked at Deb with envy. "What a well-mannered girl."
Clara hummed agreement, still focused on her food.
Good manners weren't innate. Without patient, consistent correction, what child at that age could sit so obediently?
Mdm Zhou had watched with her own eyes as Clara's four children grew more lovable by the day, and she knew the hardship behind it. She cast a glance at the Mo family's table and, worried Clara might feel slighted, reached over to pat her arm in silent support.
Nothing at all like what Old Madam Mo and the others suggested.
Now she understood why people said being a stepmother was so hard. Discipline too strictly, and they say you mistreat the children. Don't discipline at all, and they accuse you of being heartless, unable to bear seeing your stepchildren thrive.
Whatever you do, it's always wrong.
Feeling the touch on her arm, Clara raised her head from her bowl, eyes calm and questioning.
Caught in that clear gaze, Mdm Zhou's comforting words stuck in her throat. She chuckled awkwardly instead. "Forget it. You eat more. You did the most work today—these dishes are all thanks to you. You should eat your fill."
Clara arched a brow. "You all eat too. There's plenty to go around."
And indeed there was. Knowing her appetite, Doreen had made sure their table was served twice the amount of everyone else's.
(End of Chapter)
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