The day I saved him was my best chance for revenge.
Now, I’d brought this upon myself—lifting a rock only to smash my own foot.

The wolf’s grip tightened.
My face flushed red as I glared at him, my legs kicking futilely in the air.
My windpipe squeezed shut, I couldn’t breathe.

I’d made no sound—how did he know I’d come to kill him?

The maid grabbed his hand: “Young Master! Let go, she can’t breathe!”

“Second time.”
The wolf’s grip tightened further.
My eyes rolled upward, my face swelling with blood, consciousness fading.

Memories of Grandma caring for me flashed like a slideshow.
Soon, I’d see her again.
I didn’t know if I’d go to heaven or hell, but death meant no more worrying about meals.

What a pity—I couldn’t avenge Grandma or make the wolf feel the agony of losing someone dear.

The maid pried at his hand: “She’s just scared!”

The wolf’s eyebrow twitched, and he released me.
I collapsed onto his soft bed, clutching my throat, gasping.

Had I escaped death again?

I curled up, eyes closed, silent, dodging the wolf’s life-threatening gaze.
If he shot me suddenly, not seeing it would keep me from fear.

“Young Master, rest first.”
The maid, her emotions complex, carried me back to my room.
Seeing my attempt at death fail, I pleaded desperately: “Let me go, please. He’ll kill me.”

The maid paused for two seconds, muttering: “Paranoid delusion?”

I was horrified—this wasn’t delusion.
I knew what the wolf had done.
He killed Grandma, and I knew I couldn’t kill him.
If he realized who I was, I’d be dead next time.

The maid shed her long dress, wearing only a thin undergarment, and slipped into my bed: “Pardon me, sleep quietly. You’ll be fine.”

She gently held me.
I flushed, feeling her warmth, a sense of safety washing over me, stirring strange emotions.

This was my first time being held by a girl, my first embrace in years.

The last person to hold me was Grandma.
For five years after, I slept alone, faced danger alone, friendless.

I pulled away, turning my back, silently shedding tears of grievance.
I had nothing, no means for entertainment like others.
Crying was my only release.

The maid whispered: “Little Zhixia, can I ask you something?”

Her tone was gentle.
I nodded, still facing away.

“Do you hate men?”

Most who’d hurt me were men.
The rice shop owner, a man, was kind, letting me buy on credit.

There were occasional good people, but bad ones outnumbered them.

Seeing my silence, she added: “Pretend you didn’t hear.”

I nodded again, the soft pillow rustling.

The maid shivered, then quietly reached out, one hand on my stomach, the other under the pillow, holding my neck and waist, pulling me against her.

With someone beside me, I didn’t want to cry loudly.
Despair weighed on my heart, making my chest tight.

This world cared nothing for feelings.
My heart was scarred, thinking the ad shoot would be my way out, only to nearly fall into another trap.

This mansion was an even deeper pit.

I sniffled, feeling a needle in my heart.
The first two days as a girl, I saw hope.
By the third, only helpless despair remained.

Sure no trouble would follow, exhaustion took over, and I slept.

By 10 a.m. the next day, I woke groggily.
The maid, back in her work uniform, sat upright in a chair, reading.

She greeted me warmly.
I stood and bowed back.
Without her intervention yesterday, I’d be buried now, wouldn’t I?

She told me to wash up, then kept chatting with me.
Her warmth felt genuine, or maybe it was my imagination, but I felt closer to her.

At lunch, she coaxed me to eat.

In the dining room, the wolf was already waiting.

She pushed me to sit, saying I didn’t need to fear—just apologize, and it’d be fine.

I sat silently.
Apologize? Impossible.
He killed Grandma—why didn’t he apologize to me?

I stayed mute for over ten seconds.
The wolf, seeing no apology, twitched his lips: “No food, no water, no leaving for two days.”

The news hit hard.
The maid, knowing I hadn’t eaten last night, pleaded for me to at least finish this meal.

The wolf refused her, set on punishing me.
No food or water for two days.

I clutched my aching chest, accepting it, and left the table.

The maid followed, urging me to apologize.
I shut her out with a dark expression, lying on the bed to conserve energy.

Grandma’s death constantly reminded me not to forget my hatred.
I wasn’t a revolutionary martyr, but the principle was the same.
This time, my resolve was rightly placed.
Saving the wolf was my life’s greatest regret—pure self-inflicted trouble.

I wiped a tear.
Two days? I was good at starving.
I’d survived three.

An afternoon passed.
The maid, worried since I hadn’t eaten yesterday, checked on me regularly.

Weakness spread through my body, my stomach growling in protest, roaring for food.

I didn’t mind—it was normal.

Sleeping conserved energy best.
I woke at night, starving.
Desperation sparked survival instincts.
I remembered the bathroom faucet, jumped up, and drank tap water.

I drank a lot, temporarily sating my hunger, then lay back down to save strength.

Water didn’t fill me.
It digested fast, and after two bathroom trips, my stomach was empty again.

I didn’t dare drink more tap water to curb hunger.
Grandma said it had bacteria, and if my body couldn’t fight them, it’d be serious.

During the fasting, my mind wandered.
Living this painfully, wouldn’t death be better?

Grandma was gone.
Every wish I had included her.
Five years of belief crumbled—I’d been deluded, refusing reality.

I fell asleep again in the latter half of the night, “smoothly” passing the first day of fasting.

The next noon, I woke from a nightmare.

I turned over, soaked in sweat, my head heavy, forehead burning, body weak.
My once-pink lips cracked, my heart racing.

Aside from my forehead, I was freezing.
Thick blankets didn’t help.
The misery made me want to bash my head against the wall.
I’d starved before, but never like this.

Driven to desperation, I could beg anyone for help—except the wolf.
Never him, even if it meant death.

The maid, somehow knowing, burst in with a bottle, as if she foresaw my collapse.
She touched my forehead, telling the wolf at the door: “It’s burning! If we ignore this, she’s in danger.”

Sweat clung to my skin, the sheets damp with warm perspiration.
My body was losing water every second, nearly drained dry.

As the wolf approached, he heard my pounding heartbeat, like an engine, yet his face stayed blank.
He reached to touch my forehead.

With my last strength, I slapped his hand away, cursing fiercely: “You’re torturing me! If I die… I’ll haunt you as a ghost!”

The maid, ignoring propriety, tried pouring the bottle’s contents into my mouth.
Resolved to die, I refused to yield, clamping my lips shut, eyes closed, ready for death.

I’d eaten diner scraps meant for pigs to survive.
I could lower my dignity to compete with pigs, but I wouldn’t beg the wolf.
This was my last shred of dignity, my final resistance.

The maid, suppressing her urgency, rubbed my cheek: “Zhixia, be good, drink this. I’ll make you dessert later.”

I still refused.
The wolf’s eyes narrowed, his hand seizing my throat, lifting me high.
I flushed red: “Get… away!”

The maid seized the chance, pouring the sweet liquid—sugar water—into my mouth.
I choked, swallowing it.
When it was gone, the wolf dropped me heavily, my bones feeling like they’d shatter!

The maid watched him, then me.
After a while, my heartbeat slowed.
The sugar water, like a coolant, calmed me.

She set down the empty bottle, standing before the wolf: “Young Master, her health is poor. Let this go.”

The wolf frowned at me: “Don’t forget, killing you is easier than crushing an ant.”

He left with that harsh remark.

I ignored him, gasping.
The maid helped me sit, leaning me against the headboard, feeding me water, wiping my sweat: “Zhixia, have you drunk tap water?”

I nodded.

“Tap water leaches minerals… nutrients from your body.
You’re already malnourished, and drinking it on an empty stomach—your body can’t handle it.”

I listened to the complex explanation.
Grandma only mentioned bacteria in tap water.
I thought scavenging in trash made me resistant.
I’d sipped from public restroom taps when thirsty, usually fine.

Maybe I drank too much.

The maid used alcohol to wipe my body, saying it’d cool me down.
She thoughtfully blended meat and vegetables in a juicer, feeding me bit by bit.

When she fed me, the wolf stood at the door, watching from afar.
I couldn’t read his mind.
His eyes always looked murderous, yet he didn’t kill me, though he said he could at any time.

For two days, I ate liquid food, somberly swallowing the maid’s medicine.
The wolf occasionally glanced at me, silent.

My heart never settled, unable to fathom his intentions.

By the third day, my fever broke.
The maid switched me to normal food, relieved to see me recover: “Zhixia, behave, and the Young Master won’t hurt you.”

I sneered inwardly, ignoring her.

On the fourth day, I moved cautiously through the house.
The vast mansion held only us three, with many empty rooms.
Unless necessary, the wolf didn’t speak to the maid, eating her food mechanically.

I avoided him, turning back or detouring, because he was terrifying.
He’d killed twice before my eyes: first Grandma, then the shop owner.
I might be next.

In such danger, I couldn’t relax and enjoy this privileged life.

I had to escape.