The door was slightly ajar, but when Madam Zhao pushed it, the hinges groaned as if it might fall off entirely.
She had not come to visit. She came to audit.
Madam Zhao stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The aroma of fried rice and wild mustard greens hit her like a physical wall. She froze, nose twitching.
"Mother," Zhao Chen said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. He looked caught between guilt and enjoyment.
Madam Zhao ignored him, her gaze sweeping the room. "What is this? Where did you get the meat?"
"There's no meat, Mother-in-law," Lin Yue said, her voice calm and level. She didn't bow her head. She didn't stammer. "Just leftover rice and the wild mustard greens harvested yesterday."
"Lies," the old woman hissed, stalking to the pot and peering inside with a wooden spoon as if searching for hidden treasure. "This can't be just greens. The smell... Oh! It's the lard I sent a month ago. You must have stolen something. It smells too good."
She scooped up a small clump of rice and brought it to her mouth, ready to declare it too salty or too oily.
The criticism died in her throat.
The rice was perfectly seasoned, each grain separate and golden. It carried a depth of flavor she'd never tasted before—not here in the mountains, not anywhere.
"You..." Madam Zhao stared at Lin Yue, her expression shifting from anger to something closer to greed. "How did you make it taste like this? You usually burn plain boiled rice, and now..."
She scoffed, but there was less conviction in it. "Did hitting your head in the storm awaken your understanding?"
"It was just a fall in the storm," Lin Yue said evenly.
Madam Zhao's lips pressed into a thin line. "Hmph. At least you'll be useful now."
She looked at the girl she'd dismissed for six months—weak, slow, worthless—and saw someone different standing before her.
"Don't let it go to your head," Madam Zhao muttered, turning toward the door. But she didn't walk with nearly the same confidence she'd had coming in.
Lin Yue watched her go, a small, cold smile playing on her lips.
The first wall had been breached.