Chapter 3: The Ceramic Pot on the Bed
Chapter 3: The Ceramic Pot on the Bed
At six fifteen the next morning, Nhã Phương woke to the sound of something breaking.
She sat upright.
For one confused second, she didn't remember where she was.
Then she saw the dark curtains.
The carved wooden ceiling.
The enormous bed.
The room that still didn't feel like hers.
Minh was asleep beside her.
“What was that?”
He opened his eyes.
“What?”
A second sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Then a woman's voice.
“Mrs. Huỳnh!”
Nhã Phương's heart sank.
She threw on a robe and opened the bedroom door.
A maid stood outside.
Her face was pale.
“Madam Huỳnh wants you downstairs.”
“Why?”
The maid swallowed.
“She says something is wrong with your room.”
Nhã Phương looked behind her.
Everything seemed normal.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
Before she could say anything else, Madam Huỳnh's voice echoed from the staircase.
“Don't pretend you don't know.”
Nhã Phương turned.
Her mother-in-law was standing there.
And in her hands was a broken ceramic flowerpot.
Nhã Phương stared.
“What's that?”
Madam Huỳnh lifted the pot.
“This.”
“I've never seen it before.”
“It's in your bedroom.”
“No.”
“You're saying I'm lying?”
“No.”
“Then explain it.”
Nhã Phương looked at Minh.
He had come out of the bedroom.
He looked at the pot.
Then at his mother.
“What happened?”
Madam Huỳnh's expression hardened.
“This was placed on your bed.”
Minh frowned.
“Why would it be?”
“Ask your wife.”
Nhã Phương's face went cold.
“I didn't put it there.”
Madam Huỳnh laughed softly.
“So now things appear in your bedroom by themselves?”
“I don't know where it came from.”
“Perhaps you should ask your own conscience.”
Nhã Phương stared at her.
“What are you accusing me of?”
“Disrespect.”
The word landed heavily.
Madam Huỳnh pointed toward the bedroom.
“Do you know what this pot represents?”
“No.”
“It was a gift from your grandfather-in-law.”
Nhã Phương looked at the broken ceramic.
“So?”
“So it is not an object for you to treat carelessly.”
“I didn't touch it.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Madam Huỳnh stepped closer.
“You've been in this family for barely two weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And already you have rearranged my household, questioned my staff, challenged my decisions, and now destroyed something that belonged to the family.”
Nhã Phương's hands curled inside her robe.
“I didn't destroy anything.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
Madam Huỳnh looked at Minh.
“Your wife is becoming very difficult.”
Minh rubbed his forehead.
“Mother, it's too early for this.”
“Then ask her to apologize.”
Nhã Phương looked at him.
“Minh.”
He met her eyes.
His expression was exhausted.
“Phương…”
She understood.
Again.
Just apologize.
Just make peace.
Just endure.
She turned toward Madam Huỳnh.
“If the pot was broken, I'm sorry.”
Madam Huỳnh smiled.
“Better.”
But Nhã Phương noticed something.
A tiny smear of white ceramic dust remained on the older woman's sleeve.
Fresh.
Not from the bedroom.
From somewhere else.
Nhã Phương said nothing.
Not yet.
Breakfast was silent.
Minh barely touched his food.
Nhã Phương drank tea.
Madam Huỳnh sat at the head of the table as though nothing unusual had happened.
After several minutes, she spoke.
“Phương.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“You need to learn the difference between living here and owning this house.”
Nhã Phương lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You have become too comfortable.”
“I'll be more careful.”
“You should be.”
Minh finally looked up.
“Mother, can we stop?”
Madam Huỳnh turned toward him.
“Why?”
“Because you're making a simple mistake into a family issue.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“A simple mistake?”
“Yes.”
“So you believe your wife.”
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
Nhã Phương looked at him.
For the first time, he had chosen her.
Even if only slightly.
Madam Huỳnh smiled.
“Good.”
Then she stood.
“Let's see how long that lasts.”
She walked away.
Nhã Phương watched her disappear.
Something had changed.
Not enough.
But something.
That afternoon, Nhã Phương returned to the bedroom.
She inspected everything.
The sheets.
The carpet.
The nightstand.
The wardrobe.
Nothing.
Then she noticed the bed.
The ceramic pot had apparently been placed directly in the center of the mattress.
Whoever had put it there had wanted it found immediately.
It hadn't fallen.
It hadn't been knocked over.
It had been placed.
Carefully.
Intentionally.
Nhã Phương crouched beside the bed.
A tiny fragment of white ceramic remained beneath the mattress.
She picked it up.
Then she noticed a faint smear of soil.
Not garden soil.
Potting soil.
She stood.
There were no plants in their bedroom.
She opened the door.
A maid passed by.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes, Madam?”
“Who cleans this room?”
“Usually me.”
“Did anyone enter this morning?”
The maid hesitated.
“Madam Huỳnh came in before you woke.”
Nhã Phương's eyes narrowed.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
The maid nodded.
“I saw her.”
Nhã Phương thanked her.
She closed the door.
Then she stood completely still.
Her mother-in-law had entered her room before sunrise.
Placed the pot on the bed.
Broken it.
Then waited for Nhã Phương to discover it.
Why?
Not because of the pot.
Because of the reaction.
She wanted Nhã Phương confused.
Embarrassed.
Defensive.
She wanted to establish that even inside her own bedroom, she was being watched.
Nhã Phương's expression hardened.
The game had begun.
That evening, another incident occurred.
A vase appeared on the floor outside the bedroom.
It was expensive.
Antique.
And apparently cracked.
Madam Huỳnh arrived within minutes.
“You broke this too?”
Nhã Phương stared at her.
“I didn't touch it.”
“It was outside your room.”
“I know.”
“Then explain.”
“I can't explain something I didn't do.”
Madam Huỳnh looked at Minh.
Again.
The same look.
The same expectation.
Minh sighed.
“Mother, perhaps someone moved it.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then perhaps we should ask the staff.”
Nhã Phương immediately said:
“Yes.”
Madam Huỳnh looked at her.
“You want to question them?”
“I want the truth.”
The older woman's eyes narrowed.
“Be careful.”
“I'm always careful.”
The words were polite.
But there was steel underneath them.
Madam Huỳnh stared at her.
Then walked away.
Minh remained behind.
“You're provoking her.”
Nhã Phương looked at him.
“No.”
“You are.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“She is provoking me.”
He said nothing.
“There's a difference.”
The next morning, something even more ridiculous appeared.
A large ceramic cooking pot.
Placed directly on their bed.
Nhã Phương stared at it.
Minh stared at it.
Neither spoke.
Finally, Minh said:
“What is that?”
“A pot.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
He looked at her.
“Mother?”
“Probably.”
He rubbed his face.
“This is absurd.”
Nhã Phương walked toward the bed.
The pot was clean.
Empty.
And sitting on a folded white towel.
She picked up the towel.
Underneath it was a note.
She unfolded it.
Three words.
KNOW YOUR PLACE.
Minh read it over her shoulder.
His expression changed.
“This isn't funny.”
“No.”
“This is harassment.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the door.
“I'm talking to Mother.”
Nhã Phương stopped him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this time I want to know who else is involved.”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed at the note.
“This isn't her handwriting.”
Minh frowned.
“You're sure?”
“I've seen enough of her writing.”
She turned the paper over.
“There is no signature.”
“So?”
“So whoever did this doesn't want us to know.”
Minh stared at her.
“You think someone else is doing this?”
“I think your mother wants us to think she's doing it.”
That possibility unsettled him.
“Why?”
Nhã Phương looked at the ceramic pot.
“Because if she wanted to humiliate me, she wouldn't need to be this theatrical.”
That night, Nhã Phương stayed awake.
Minh slept.
She sat in the darkness, listening.
At 1:13 a.m., she heard footsteps.
Slow.
Quiet.
Someone stopped outside the bedroom.
The door handle moved.
Nhã Phương didn't move.
The door opened two centimeters.
Then stopped.
A shadow appeared.
She remained still.
The person slipped something through the opening.
Then walked away.
Nhã Phương waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then she got out of bed.
She opened the door.
On the floor was another object.
A porcelain teapot.
And beneath it, a folded note.
She picked it up.
This time, there were five words.
YOU WILL NEVER BELONG HERE.
Nhã Phương looked down the hallway.
Empty.
She quietly followed.
The footsteps had disappeared.
But near the staircase, she noticed something.
A silver bracelet.
She picked it up.
She knew it.
Madam Huỳnh wore it every evening.
Nhã Phương's heart sank.
Was this proof?
Or another trap?
The next morning, Nhã Phương placed the bracelet on the breakfast table.
Madam Huỳnh looked at it.
Her face changed for less than a second.
Then it returned to normal.
“Where did you find that?”
“Outside my bedroom.”
“You're accusing me?”
“No.”
“Then why bring it here?”
“I thought you might have lost it.”
Madam Huỳnh picked it up.
“Thank you.”
She put it on.
Then continued eating.
Minh looked between them.
“What is going on?”
“Nothing,” Nhã Phương said.
Madam Huỳnh smiled.
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
Nhã Phương understood.
This was no longer a battle between two women.
Someone was using their conflict to create something much more dangerous.
Suspicion.
And suspicion could destroy a family faster than hatred.
That afternoon, Nhã Phương visited the security office.
She wasn't supposed to.
But she had learned something from years of working in corporate environments.
When people wanted to hide the truth, they rarely controlled every record.
The security manager looked uncomfortable when she entered.
“Madam, is there a problem?”
“I need access to yesterday's hallway footage.”
“I'll need Madam Huỳnh's authorization.”
Nhã Phương smiled.
“Then call her.”
He hesitated.
She waited.
Finally, he pulled up the footage.
The hallway appeared on screen.
1:13 a.m.
A figure emerged from the servants' corridor.
Nhã Phương leaned closer.
The person wore dark clothes.
Their face was hidden.
They approached her bedroom.
The video stopped.
The screen flickered.
Then resumed twenty seconds later.
The person was gone.
Nhã Phương stared.
“Who has access to this system?”
The security manager swallowed.
“Several people.”
“Names.”
He hesitated.
Then quietly said:
“Madam Huỳnh.”
“Minh?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Who else?”
He looked at her.
“One person.”
“Who?”
The manager lowered his voice.
“Mr. Tuấn.”
Nhã Phương froze.
Minh's younger brother.
The charming one.
The harmless one.
The man who always joked at the dinner table.
She looked back at the screen.
“Show me his movements that night.”
The manager opened another file.
At 1:08 a.m., Tuấn left his bedroom.
At 1:12, he entered the east corridor.
At 1:14, he returned.
Nhã Phương stared.
Then she noticed something.
At 1:15, Madam Huỳnh entered the same corridor.
Five minutes later, Tuấn entered her office.
Nhã Phương leaned back.
“So they were together.”
The manager nodded.
“Apparently.”
She stood.
“Don't tell anyone I asked.”
“Yes, Madam.”
That evening, she confronted Minh.
“Your brother was in the hallway last night.”
Minh looked up.
“What?”
“I checked the security footage.”
“You did what?”
“He was near our room.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you accuse him?”
“No.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because I think someone is deliberately creating conflict between me and your mother.”
Minh stared at her.
“You think Tuấn is involved?”
“I think we need to stop assuming Mother is the only person behind this.”
He became quiet.
Then he said something she hadn't expected.
“Tuấn has always hated Mother.”
“Why?”
“He thinks she took control of the family after our father died.”
Nhã Phương frowned.
“Could he be trying to undermine her?”
“Maybe.”
“Or me?”
Minh didn't answer.
Nhã Phương looked at him.
“Which one scares you more?”
“What?”
“Your mother being cruel to me…”
She paused.
“Or your brother using that cruelty to destroy your family?”
Minh stared at her.
For once, he had no easy answer.
Late that night, Nhã Phương returned to the bedroom.
The ceramic pot was gone.
The room was spotless.
No notes.
No broken objects.
Nothing.
She stood beside the bed.
Then she noticed a small envelope beneath her pillow.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Madam Huỳnh standing beside an unfamiliar man.
The picture was old.
At least twenty years.
On the back, someone had written:
ASK HER WHO HE IS.
Nhã Phương stared at the photograph.
The man beside Madam Huỳnh was young.
Handsome.
And strangely familiar.
She turned the photograph over again.
Then looked toward the door.
For the first time since entering the Huỳnh family, she wasn't thinking about surviving her mother-in-law.
She was thinking about the possibility that someone had deliberately brought her into this family.
Someone who knew exactly what secrets waited behind its polished walls.
And someone who wanted Nhã Phương to discover them.
She slipped the photograph into her drawer.
Tomorrow, she would ask Madam Huỳnh one question.
May you like
Who was the man in the photograph?
And she already suspected the answer would change everything.
