“Will you wash my mother’s feet?”
For the first time in her life, she didn’t know how to answer a question.
Wash… feet?
This phrase was so unfamiliar and distant to her.
Yet, when faced with Lisbeth’s blue eyes—so similar to Tulia’s, carrying scrutiny and challenge—Sophia didn’t feel offended at all.
This was the first test she had to pass, given by Tulia’s most important family member.
Forget about washing feet—if it would appease Tulia, make her accept her again, Sophia would even try to pluck the moon from the sky without hesitation.
So, under Lisbeth’s cold gaze, this former haughty noble of the Kingdom didn’t hesitate—no, she responded with solemn resolve, giving a nod.
“Yes.”
Her answer was just one word.
Lisbeth’s expression didn’t change. She simply nodded lightly.
“Alright.”
She turned and headed straight for the bathroom. Her brisk movements made it clear—she intended to get on with it immediately.
Sophia watched as she brought out a wooden Footbath Basin, placed it in front of the sofa, and then stood aside, arms crossed, giving Sophia a look that said, “Let’s see what you can do.”
Sophia took a deep breath.
Alright, first step: fetch the basin.
She walked up, imitating Lisbeth’s manner, and picked up the wooden basin—which felt light as a feather to her.
And then… what next?
She stood there, holding the basin, frozen, mind blank.
Water? Where’s the hot water? What about towels? Where are those things?
This noble, who even had someone else brew her Tea, was now utterly lost. Her willingness to do something and her actual ability to do it were two completely different matters.
“The basin’s there.” Lisbeth, emotionless like an instructor, pointed at the bathroom. “If you want hot water, you can use ‘Warm Water Art,’ right?”
“…Yes.” Sophia’s cheeks flushed a little.
She—one of the Kingdom’s top mages—actually needed someone to instruct her on how to heat water for washing feet?
She carried the basin, shuffling awkwardly into the bathroom, and clumsily filled it with water.
Then, she extended a finger, channeling her magic, trying to cast the most basic life spell she’d only seen in elementary magic textbooks.
But her magic control was lacking (she’d never imagined needing to control her power so “precisely”), so the water either instantly froze or boiled over.
“Bang!”
With a faint pop, the wooden basin cracked, unable to withstand the sudden temperature change.
At that very moment, Tulia—hiding at the Kitchen doorway and peeking through the gap—was about to burst from holding in her laughter.
—Oh my! Idiot! Such a big idiot! She can’t even manage Warm Water Art!
Watching Sophia flail about in such a mess, Tulia felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction, as if an old grudge had finally been avenged.
Seeing Sophia steeling herself to get a second basin to continue her “experiment,” Tulia realized she couldn’t just watch anymore.
If she let this go on, all their basins would be destroyed by this fool.
She cleared her throat and, pretending to know nothing, stepped out from the Kitchen.
“What are you two doing? Why’s there such a ruckus in the bathroom?”
“Mama!” Lisbeth immediately turned back, reporting seriously, “Aunt Sophia said she wants to wash your feet. But she doesn’t seem… very good at it.”
Sophia walked out of the bathroom, holding the leaking basin, red hair still dotted with droplets of water. For the first time, the face that never changed even with a mountain collapsing showed a trace of embarrassment—almost a plea for help—directed at Tulia.
“Oh my!” Tulia put on an act of surprise, taking the “heroically fallen” Footbath Basin from her. “Nonsense! Sophia is a noble, how could she do something like this! Mama isn’t tired today, so there’s no need.”
She gave Sophia an out, then turned and gave the “guest” a helpless smile belonging to the “Master” of the house.
“Dinner is almost ready, but I’m short a helper.” She lifted her chin at Sophia, using a matter-of-fact, commanding tone. “You can’t even handle a basin—at least you can cut vegetables, right? Come help me in the Kitchen.”
Sophia paused for a moment, then felt like she’d been granted amnesty.
Compared to battling foot-washing water—a struggle beyond communication—she’d rather hurry off to the Kitchen to be an assistant.
“Alright.” She replied instantly, quickly catching up with Tulia.
The atmosphere at dinner was, to say the least, strange.
Tulia’s movements were skilled, perhaps surprising even herself that she still had such muscle memory after so many years.
She didn’t make the roast chicken with its domineering aroma that she served in the restaurant, but instead prepared several exquisite, complex dishes buried deep in her memories.
—Herb-Seared Cod with Nightshade Sauce, Truffle Mushroom Soup, and a Borage Petal Salad.
She herself didn’t know why she made these.
Maybe she wanted to express something: “See, I still remember, but I don’t care anymore.” Or maybe, she simply wanted to see what expression that woman would show when facing these memory-laden dishes.
When the food was brought to the table, Sophia’s always-elegant actions paused, ever so slightly.
She looked at the familiar dishes on her plate, a storm of emotion flickering in her eyes that no one else could read. She picked up her knife and fork, sliced off a small piece of fish, and chewed it slowly.
A long while later, she set down her utensils, looked up at the expressionless Tulia, and, in a voice hoarse as a sigh, said, “The taste… hasn’t changed at all.”
Only Lisbeth seemed wholly uninterested in the strange undercurrents at the table. She wrinkled her nose in honest dislike, quietly pushed the salad—filled with more “leaves than vegetables”—a bit farther away, and focused solely on her bowl of Mushroom Soup.
The meal ended in silence.
When Tulia got up to clear the dishes, Lisbeth stood up first.
“Mama, I’m done eating. I’ll go make the bed.”
She paused, then turned to Sophia and, in a tone as serious as declaring a new family rule, announced:
“Aunt Sophia,” she pronounced each word distinctly, “your room is the Guest Room at the far east end of the second floor. Tonight, you are not allowed anywhere near Mama’s bedroom.”
These words were less a request from a child and more a final ultimatum from a family member to an “outsider.”
Tulia felt secretly delighted, barely restraining herself from giving Lisbeth a thumbs-up.
Sophia, hearing this, not only didn’t get angry—she immediately stood up from her seat, even showing a trace of gentle, accommodating smile.
“Of course.” She replied crisply. “I won’t disturb Tulia’s rest.”