When Linh Follows the Trail What She Encounters Leaves Her in Complete Shock! #lytutieu
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Hello everyone. I hope you’re having a wonderful day. Tell me in the comments what time it is right now where you live. That morning, the old house seemed enveloped in an almost unreal calm. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and shone on the table where the banana jam Tutieu had prepared days before rested. But beneath that apparent tranquility, something dark was beginning to brew. Uri had left early to tend to the farm and meet with Bet to discuss starting their new business, while Tutieu, unsuspecting, ventured into the woods with her basket to gather fruit, as she did every day. What neither of them knew was that every step she took brought Lin a little closer to the truth. After following the trail of a missing motorcycle, Lin decided to find, at all costs, the hiding place where Uri was keeping Tutieu safe. And that’s when something unexpected happened, something so terrifying that it forced her to flee the woods in panic. Thus began a morning that, though seemingly peaceful, was destined to change everything. The morning dawned serene in the old mountain house, that small refuge where Uri and Tutiu had found temporary peace far from the conflicts that surrounded them. Fresh air drifted in through the half-open window, mingling with the sweet aroma of the banana jam your uncle had made days before. On the wooden table, two cups of tea steamed as she carefully opened Muey’s jar, proud of the result. “Try it,” she said with a shy smile, offering him a spoonful. Uri tasted it slowly, letting the sweet, slightly caramelized flavor spread across his palate. “It’s delicious, like everything you make,” he replied sincerely. Tutiu lowered her gaze, blushing, but the warmth in her expression spoke volumes. Those quiet moments shared in silence were a treasure for both of them. After so many threats, escapes, and sleepless nights, being able to sit together and enjoy something as simple as homemade jam felt almost like a luxury. After breakfast, the day began to separate them. As always, Uri had to return to the farm to check on the animals and prepare for his meeting with Piet, with whom he had been planning the first steps of his new business for weeks. The idea of starting his own business wasn’t just a job necessity; for him, it symbolized independence, a new chapter, a future where he would no longer have to live under the shadow of family control or the business conflicts that had marked his past. Before leaving, Tutiu placed a small jar of jam inside his backpack. “Take it with you,” she told him, “so you’ll have something sweet while you’re working there.” Uri took it in his hands as if it were a precious gift. “I’ll treasure it,” he replied with a smile. They said goodbye at the door. Tutieu watched him walk down the path that led to the valley, his backpack slung over his shoulder and the jar of Moiy carefully tucked away among his things. On the porch, the two small dogs circled her as if they sensed that the house became too quiet as soon as Uri left . Meanwhile, Uri’s walk to the farm was a reflection of his own life, a mixture of outward serenity and inner tension. With every step, his mind calculated the decisions he would have to make, the documents he would have to review, the risks involved in starting a business from scratch. But he was also thinking of her, how much he wanted to offer her a stable life, free from fears and worries. Once there, the bustle of the small town was surprisingly comforting. Amid vendors calling out prices, neighbors greeting each other, and tourists, he found himself surrounded by a peaceful atmosphere. Curious onlookers approached to smell the products, so Uri set up her stall and began selling. The palm fruits attracted more people than expected. They were fresh, unusual, and perfect for preparing traditional dishes. In just a short while, she had sold almost everything, but that wasn’t her only goal that day. While waiting for Viet to arrive to finalize the details of the company they were about to found together, Uri decided to make the most of her time by cooking. She took fresh vegetables, rice noodles, marinated meat, and some large rice leaves from her backpack. Purchased hours earlier, he set up a small portable cooking station in a quiet corner of the market, where the noise barely reached. He was about to prepare one of Tutiu Focon’s favorite dishes. As he heated the pan and chopped the vegetables, Uri couldn’t help but smile. He remembered the first time she had tasted the dish at her farm when he was learning to cook it, and the presentation had been a bit of a disaster. Even so, she had praised it warmly, and ever since, whenever he had the chance, he tried to improve the recipe. He carefully rolled each sheet of rice, placed strips of seasoned meat, crisp lettuce, fresh herbs, and a touch of sauce inside. The rolls were firm, moist, and vibrant . Like small gastronomic works of art, Uri stored them in a cooler to keep them perfect until they reached the house where Tutu was waiting. In the old mountain house, the morning unfolded with a serenity that sometimes seemed unreal to Tutu. After saying goodbye to Uri, who had left early for the farm and then the market, she prepared to continue her usual routine: gathering some vegetables and wild herbs in the area near the valley. These daily walks, though simple, were one of the few moments when she could breathe easy, forgetting for a moment the danger that still lurked in the shadows. The forest was quiet, the damp leaves crunching softly underfoot , and the murmur of the nearby stream accompanied the birdsong. She carried her basket on her back and walked calmly, choosing the freshest plants, observing the new shoots , and feeling the scent of damp earth fill the air. It was then that she heard a familiar voice. “You, Tieu, is that you?” She turned around and, to her surprise, recognized Trank, an old friend, someone who lived in one of the houses near the forest. They hadn’t seen each other for months, perhaps longer. And the coincidence left them both looking at each other with a mixture of surprise and joy. “Trang!” exclaimed Tutiu, approaching. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” They hugged briefly and immediately began catching up. Trang explained that she had been expanding her small plot of land, gradually transforming it into a true traditional garden with chickens, vegetable gardens, and an area dedicated to medicinal plants. It was a personal project she had long dreamed of, and it had finally begun to take shape. Tutu smiled at her words. She deeply admired people who, like her, had decided to leave urban life behind to cultivate something of their own, something born from the earth and constant effort. “Would you like to come and see it?” Trang suggested. “It’s only a few minutes from here. I have new plots of land, and I’ve been wanting to show them to you for a while.” The invitation took her by surprise. Since taking refuge in the old house with Uriu, she had always tried to keep its location a secret, but Trang was a trusted friend, someone who had no connection whatsoever to the conflicts surrounding her. Even so, just to be safe, he took out his phone and called Uri. “Hello, I met Trang,” he explained softly. “ She invited me to visit her farm. I’ll go for a little while and then come back.” Uri listened silently for a few seconds before answering. Although he trusted Trang, he knew the situation was delicate and that any move could be dangerous, but he also knew she needed those small moments of normalcy. “Okay, but don’t be too long,” he finally said. “And if you notice anything strange, come right back.” “I will, Anjung,” she replied with a smile he could almost feel through the phone. After the call, Tutu put his phone away and followed Trang along a narrow path that wound through the vegetation. As they walked, his friend told him stories about the place: the chickens that constantly escaped, the newly planted fruit trees, the pond she had built with the help of the neighbors. Every word conveyed enthusiasm, dedication, and a deep love for rural life. Meanwhile, far from imagining the peaceful morning Tutiu and Tranlin were experiencing, she remained consumed by her own suspicions. After When she recovered the motorcycle that had disappeared days before, mysteriously reappearing near Uri’s farm, her doubts transformed into a disturbing certainty. For her, it couldn’t be a simple coincidence. Uri was hiding something, and that something had a name: Tutiieu. With that idea firmly fixed in her mind, she began to trace Uri’s every recent movement. She remembered the times she had seen him leave in the direction of the forest, the strange routes, the vague excuses. Guided by a mixture of suspicion and frustration, she decided to follow the same path, convinced that she would eventually discover where the young woman was hiding. The path leading to the old house was narrow and damp, covered in dry leaves that crunched under Lin’s every step. As she walked, the light filtered through the trees as if the forest wanted to warn her that she didn’t belong there. But she pressed on, determined to uncover what she considered an unforgivable betrayal. When she finally spotted the small wooden house, her heart leapt. She was sure this had to be the hiding place. She took one step, then another, squinting , as if afraid Uri or Tutiu might appear at any moment. However , the house was completely empty. There were no signs of life, no voices, no movement whatsoever, only a profound silence that, far from calming her, made her even more nervous. Lin called out loudly. “Is anyone there? Tutiu. Uri.” No one answered. She approached the door, pushing it open carefully. The old wood gave way, revealing a dark and silent interior . She took a couple of steps inside, holding her breath as she observed the room: the table with simple utensils, the wicker basket in the corner, a few personal belongings that confirmed someone had been there recently. And just then, bam, the door slammed shut behind her with brutal force. Lin froze. The noise had echoed like thunder inside the small house. The wind whistled through the cracks in the structure, producing a hollow sound that echoed off the walls. Then, another creak, this time from the roof, made Lin’s skin crawl. “Who? Who’s there?” she stammered, her voice trembling. Silence answered her. Her breathing quickened. Her imagination began to play tricks on her: shadows that seemed to move, nonexistent footsteps, her own nerves pounding in her chest like a drum. The echo of the door resonated again and again in her mind, multiplying her fear. In a matter of seconds, she was convinced that the place was haunted. The next gust of wind rattled one of the windows. An object fell to the floor in some corner, just a spoon that rolled across the table. But for Lin, it was enough. “No, no, no!” she screamed, completely terrified. She ran from the house without looking back, stumbling through the roots of the woods, clutching her jacket with trembling hands, as she fled as if something invisible were chasing her. Only when she reached a clear path did she stop, panting, unable to believe what she had just experienced. Her fear was so great that for the first time she began to wonder whether she should continue her obsessive search or if it was better to give up. But the important thing was that, unknowingly, her panic had saved Tutu. Thanks to that misunderstanding and the terror that made her flee without looking back, the hiding place remained an absolute secret. Not a clue, not a suspicion. Uri and Tutieu remained protected, at least for now.
Dining and Cooking