Chapter 10: Building Dreams and Breaking Routines

  In life, we often stumble upon the unexpected—a stray thought, a sudden plan, or in my case, an extra occupant. It’s amusing how quickly life changes. One moment, you’re a solitary man tending to your courtyard tavern; the next, you’re building a room for someone who isn’t even paying rent. Is this what they call kindness, or am I just too soft for my own good?

  The morning arrived with a crisp breeze and a purpose—though purpose, like breakfast, is best served fresh. Today, mine was clear: Mei Yun needed a proper room.

  When she decided to stay, I thought it would be the occasional drop-in—a day here, a night there. But over breakfast, she shared snippets of her life: staying in her workplace when allowed, inns when affordable, or camping in the wilderness when neither was an option.

  “That’s no way to live,” I muttered to myself as she finished her meal, completely unaware that she had just secured herself a room.

  The first thing I did was scout the courtyard for a suitable location. The kitchen sat cozily in one corner, overlooking the spring-fed pond. On the other side, a small clearing near the stone pathway seemed perfect.

  I grabbed a piece of parchment and sketched the room’s layout: simple but comfortable. A single bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and perhaps a small window to let the morning light in. Nothing extravagant, but something she could call her own.

  To do that , the first step was gathering materials. Luckily, the tavern seemed to have a near-magical supply of wood, stone, and tools tucked away in storage. Was it strange that everything I needed was readily available? Probably. Did I question it? Not really. Life’s too short to argue with convenience.

  Construction, much like cooking, is all about preparation. I started by clearing the area, removing loose stones and leveling the ground. With a shovel in one hand and determination in the other, I dug shallow trenches for the foundation.

  “Did I always know how to do this?” I wondered aloud as my hands worked with surprising efficiency. It was as though my body remembered skills my mind didn’t.

  Once the foundation was set, I started by measuring the space. Using sturdy beams of aged wood, I laid the foundation. Each plank fit together seamlessly, as though the wood itself wanted to become a room. Strange, but I wasn’t complaining.

  I gathered stones from the courtyard’s perimeter, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle. Each stone seemed to find its place naturally, and before long, the base of the room took shape.

  As I began constructing the walls, Mei Yun approached, curious.

  “Do you need help?” she asked, her eyes darting between the half-built structure and my dusty hands.

  “Actually, yes,” I said, handing her a list. “Could you head to the village and pick up some rations? We’ll need them for dinner.”

  She hesitated, glancing back at the worksite. “Are you sure you don’t need assistance here?”

  I grinned. “I think I can handle stacking stones. You, on the other hand, might have a better eye for picking out vegetables.”

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  With a nod, she took the list and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the walls I was raising.

  The walls went up piece by piece, wooden beams forming the framework and planks fitting snugly between them. I decided to carve simple patterns into the wooden panels—nothing fancy, just flowing lines reminiscent of water ripples.

  I added a wide window overlooking the spring, thinking Mei Yun might appreciate the view. The glass, clear and smooth, slid into place as if guided by unseen hands.

  The window frame was the trickiest part. It needed to be sturdy yet delicate enough to hold the glass pane I found in the storeroom. After a few adjustments (and a near-miss with a falling beam), it fit perfectly.

  For the roof, I chose a simple design with curved tiles that complemented the tavern’s aesthetic. The tiles locked together like puzzle pieces, forming a sturdy yet elegant cover.

  Inside, I kept the decor minimal but refined. A single bed with a soft mattress, a wooden desk, and a small shelf for her belongings. A paper lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow that felt both welcoming and serene.

  By the time I stepped back to admire my work, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The room stood complete—a harmonious blend of simplicity and elegance.

  The interior smelled of fresh wood, and the carvings caught the fading light beautifully, casting soft shadows on the walls.

  “Well, that’s that,” I said, s I was admireing my work. The room felt… alive. Like it belonged here all along.

  After a day of heavy labor, my stomach reminded me that it needed attention too. The kitchen, as always, greeted me with its quiet charm. I decided on a hearty meal—something to replenish energy and celebrate the day’s accomplishment.

  I started by kneading dough for flatbreads, incorporating a pinch of salt and crushed herbs for flavor. The dough was pliable, soft under my hands, and after rolling it into thin rounds, I set it aside to rest.

  Next, I turned my attention to the stew. Mei Yun had brought fresh vegetables and a chunk of dried meat from the village. I diced the meat into bite-sized pieces, searing them in a pot until they released a rich, savory aroma.

  Adding chopped vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and a handful of leafy greens—I poured in spring water and let it simmer. A pinch of spices and a handful of crushed herbs went in last, their scents melding with the bubbling broth.

  As the stew cooked, I returned to the flatbreads, slapping them onto a heated stone. They sizzled and puffed up, their edges crisping to a golden brown.

  By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was filled with warmth and the comforting scent of a meal well-made.

  Just as I was setting the table, Mei Yun returned, her arms laden with more herbs. “You’ve been busy,” she said, glancing at the newly built room.

  “Not as busy as you, it seems,” I replied, nodding toward the herbs. “But first, let’s eat. You’re officially the first employee of this not-yet-open tavern, so it’s only right to take care of you.”

  We sat at the table, the steaming stew and warm flatbreads between us.

  “This smells amazing,” she said, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the stew.

  The first bite brought a subtle smile to her face. Unlike the wide-eyed amazement of her earlier meals, this time her reaction was subdued—almost as if she had grown accustomed to the quality.

  The stew was hearty, the flavors deep and satisfying. The meat was tender, the vegetables soft but not mushy, and the herbs added a freshness that balanced the richness. The flatbreads were crisp on the outside and fluffy within, perfect for soaking up the flavorful broth.

  As we ate, I couldn’t help but notice how natural she seemed, as if she belonged here. It was a strange thought, one I quickly dismissed.

  After the meal, we sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the crackle of the kitchen’s fire and the distant chirping of crickets.

  “You’ve done a lot today,” Mei Yun said finally, her gaze drifting toward the new room.

  “So have you,” I replied, nodding at the herbs she’d brought. “Looks like we’re both earning our keep.”

  She smiled, a quiet, thoughtful expression. “It’s… nice. Having a place like this.”

  Her words lingered in the air, and I realized she wasn’t just talking about the room or the meal.

  “Well, feel free to call it home,” I said simply. “You can work and stay ,no trouble.”

  Her smile widened, and for the first time, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before: gratitude.

  Sometimes, building walls isn’t about keeping peo

  ple out—it’s about inviting them in. And in that moment, I felt like I’d done just that.