Chapter 1

It was dinnertime again.

My mother-in-law was very capable and had made three dishes and a soup.

They were all mild local dishes.

I liked spicy food.

But there was not a single dish on the table that made me want to eat rice.

So I carefully took a jar of chili sauce out of the drawer.

My mother-in-law glanced at me.

Then she turned her head and muttered to my wife in dialect.

My wife’s expression suddenly changed.

“Put the chili sauce away, the smell is too strong.”

After saying that, she put a piece of boiled meat into my bowl.

“Eat this, it’s healthy and nutritious.”

I screwed the lid back onto the chili sauce and threw it into the trash.

I understood that we had different tastes.

When you lived with family, you had to compromise and be tolerant.

I tried to convince myself to fit in with them.

But the boiled meat in my bowl tasted like wax.

Eating it made me want to throw up.

My wife and mother-in-law started speaking dialect again.

My head buzzed.

It had been three years, and I had learned how to get through mealtimes.

I counted the grains of rice in my bowl.

I looked at the view outside the window.

I studied the color of the floor tiles.

At last, I endured dinner.

Since I had not eaten enough, I secretly went downstairs and ate a bowl of spicy sour noodles.

While scrolling on my phone, TikTok pushed me a food video.

It was the four dishes and one soup my mother-in-law had made.

But the caption was a complaint:

My live-in son-in-law doesn’t like eating these, young people are so picky.

It felt like a thorn had pierced my heart.

The comment section was full of heated scolding.

“What kind of son-in-law complains when his mother-in-law cooks for him!”

“He’s an out-of-towner, so if he can’t get used to local food, let him cook for himself!”

...

My mother-in-law replied to them in dialect, and I could understand every word on its own.

But when they were put together, I could not understand what they meant.

After finishing my spicy sour noodles, the first thing I did when I got home was brush my teeth.

My wife did not like the smell of spicy sour noodles and said it stank.

I had to clean my mouth thoroughly.

When I passed the kitchen, I wanted to prepare breakfast for myself for tomorrow.

But the flour I had bought had all been thrown away by my mother-in-law.

Before throwing it away, she did not explain a single word to me and instead said a long string of dialect to my wife.

My wife translated, “Locals like eating rice and aren’t used to pasta or bread.”

I once lost my temper at them and said, “Can you speak standard English?”

My mother-in-law gave a stiff smile.

“Sorry, my daughter and I have spoken this dialect for decades.”

I began to reflect on myself and wondered if I was the one being unreasonable.

To fit into this family, I learned to cook in the first year after I married in.

I made local dishes.

But when the food was served, my mother-in-law and wife did not seem very excited.

They commented on my cooking in a flood of dialect.

I grew anxious and said, “If it tastes good or not, at least tell me!”

My wife translated, “My mom is praising you for being hardworking and thoughtful, and she says you did well.”

But my mother-in-law only took one bite before spitting it into a napkin.

Then she threw the napkin into the trash.

After that, she never touched her fork again.

I could not understand their dialect, but I could understand the meaning.

My cooking tasted bad.

From then on, I never entered the kitchen again.

Before bed, I took a few antidepressants.

My wife saw the bottle and asked with concern, “What medicine are you taking?”

I lied, “Vitamins.”

I could not let her know about my illness.

My wife believed me.

As part of her routine, she pulled me into bed and prepared for our once-a-month sex life.

But when she leaned close to me, she clearly smelled the spicy sour noodles.

I had not scrubbed myself clean enough.

She pushed me away and said, “You went out to eat junk food again?”

“You don’t appreciate the nutritious meals Mom makes, and that hurts her so much.”

My ears buzzed, and their dialect filled my mind.

The auditory hallucinations came back again.