Chapter 41: A beautiful yet fleeting day of rest

Jane trembled with excitement. She was certain they would be able to eat their fill.

“We have so much food.” Her younger sister wiped away her tears and turned to Jane with a filthy little grin. “It’s almost our turn.”

Feeling her sister’s small hand clutching tightly to hers, Jane’s gaze hardened. If she died, her timid little sister would surely be violated by those bastards, then die forgotten in some cold corner.

She had to live.

“No grabbing, no reaching out on your own. Your filthy hands will ruin the porridge.” The villager serving food cursed as he waved the stick in his hand. With the other hand, he scooped a ladle of porridge from a clay vat—watery, with only a sparse scattering of barley grains. Even dogs would have turned up their noses at it.

“It smells so good! So many grains!” Clara’s eyes went wide. She let go of her sister’s hand on her own. Porridge this thick was something you only saw during festivals.

Then the villager took a piece of black bread the size of an adult’s fist from a nearby wooden basket and shoved it into Jane’s arms with an impatient look.

“It’s still warm!” Jane swallowed hard and turned to leave with the bread.

“Wait.” Meg stopped her, took another piece of bread from the basket, and stuffed it into Jane’s arms as well. She gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’re missing one. You’ll be hungry tonight.”

The villager who had deliberately shorted her was clearly unhappy. “She’s just a useless little brat. No need to give her two loaves—one is enough to last her three days.”

If there was extra food left over, they could always steal some while the maid wasn’t paying attention.

Meg saw right through them. She immediately folded her arms across her chest and stared them down. “This is Lord Phield’s order. The lord has said it himself—every slave gets two loaves of bread and one serving of barley porridge.”

“Fine, fine. In the wealthy Bull Domain, adult slaves only get one loaf every two days anyway. Children get one every three or four,” the villager said sarcastically.

“But this is Nightfall Domain! Everything here is brand new!” Meg was genuinely angry now. Borrowing a phrase Phield often used, she emphasized each word forcefully, “Everything. Is. Brand. New.”

The guard maintaining order nearby frowned. The words Bull Domain always made them sensitive—Lord Phield had suffered humiliation there. He immediately shot the villager a “nuclear-friendly” look.

Cold sweat poured down the villager’s back. He shrank his neck and said, “You’re right. My mistake.”

Jane felt immensely satisfied, though she didn’t dare cheer out loud. She could only cast Meg a grateful look.

What she didn’t expect was that Meg smiled back at her.

“Did I imagine that?”

Such an elegant, clean woman—she actually smiled at her?

Dizzy with disbelief, Jane pulled her sister to a quiet corner. Without a word, she devoured one loaf of bread and licked the porridge she’d soaked it in completely clean. The wooden bowl could practically be reused immediately—it was polished to a shine by her tongue.

For the first time in a long while, the little girl felt full. Her belly, gaunt from long-term malnutrition, actually bulged slightly.

“Ah~ so tasty~”

Her sister, drooling, opened her mouth wide and was about to bite into the second loaf. Jane was startled and quickly slapped the back of her hand.

“You can’t eat that one. We have to hide it,” Jane said sternly.

“Ow…” Feeling the sting, Clara’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

“Don’t cry.” Jane rubbed her sister’s head, softening her tone. “These good days won’t last long. If we eat everything now and something urgent happens, we’ll starve to death. So be good—we’ll hide the bread and eat it when we’re about to starve.”

“Okay…” Clara handed the bread to her sister in a childish voice, pouting. “No sneaking bites.”

Jane didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her sister was sharper than she looked. She pinched Clara’s nose affectionately. “Alright, alright. I’ll definitely call you when we eat it.”

The sisters weren’t the only ones doing this. Most of the slaves hid their bread. To them, it wasn’t just bread—it was the continuation of life itself. Who knew what the noble’s orders would be tomorrow? Even if the lord wasn’t cruel and was willing to give food, the people carrying out his orders might not. The villagers’ behavior today was proof enough.

“Sister, what do you think the lord is like?” Clara hugged her knees.

“Uh… probably some beer-bellied guy with rotten teeth, all puffed up with arrogance,” Jane replied irritably, based on the image in her mind. After speaking, she glanced around warily. “Or a bearded drunk. Hmph—so hungover he even forgot to change his orders.”

Clara smacked her lips dreamily. “Don’t say that. Anyone who gives people bread is a good person.”

“Lunch break is over! Get back to work!” The guards shouted, herding the slaves back toward the fields.

Meg felt a little tired, but working for the lord made her happy. Humming a tune, she returned to the grand winery’s kitchen—she was ready for lunch too.

“Why are you all gathered here?” Meg asked when she saw several colleagues sitting around a table with serious expressions. She immediately leaned in.

Maids loved gossip.

“Meg, this is the lunch the lord bestowed on us. It’s called dry-pot beef. It’s very special. Usually, we only get food after the lord finishes eating, but this time he directly shared some with us.”

One of the main reasons the servants liked Phield was that he was very picky. Many dishes the cook made—like fruit stews, smoked fish, or mixed nut casseroles—Phield would take at most one bite of, and then the servants could happily enjoy the rest.

Sometimes there would also be steaks, goat’s milk, or even the most delicious venison. Just one bite of that was enough to keep them happy for an entire month.

By contrast, the servants didn’t like Ashina at all—because she never left leftovers.

Every time, Ashina would cheerfully eat every last bit of food, forming a sharp contrast with their beloved lord.

And she never gained weight.

“Uh… why does it look like this? Like dried-out dung. Or kind of like my aunt who was burned into a dried corpse in a fire,” Nina said bluntly. “And there’s no fruit, no sauce. How could this possibly taste good?”

Just as Phield reacted to dark cuisine, it was now the servants’ turn to break out in cold sweat. They had never seen or heard of such a dish before, and likewise assumed it was another bout of Phield’s whim-driven culinary disaster.

Mick shot Nina a glance, already planning to report her.

“Nina, you can’t talk like that!” Meg snapped, jabbing her with an elbow. “You’re insulting the lord’s gift.”

“Oh—oh! Sorry, sorry. You know what I mean. I respect Lord Phield the most,” Nina hurriedly said with an ingratiating smile. If the lord found out, he might marry her off to some ugly perverted old man. “I’ll clean your rooms extra well next time—please forgive my slip of the tongue.”

“At least… it smells really good.”

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