Dr. Tingting was comical, but I didn’t laugh.

When others mocked my misery, my weakness, my wretched life, I knew how much it hurt.

I desperately wanted to kill the wolf—even in a dream, just once.

The maid stayed with me for days, feeling the weight of it all.
Wiping tears, she said: “Zhixia, you’ll never suffer again.”

My ears twitched.
If I remembered right, she’d said that before.

Exhausted, I pulled the blanket over me, asking as usual: “When I wake, can you let me go?”

Dr. Tingting replied as usual: “If you leave, you can’t go to school.”

She didn’t know the full story.
School was my dream, but so was killing the wolf.
I’d find a chance to try again.

But…

What I wished for never came true.

On the fifth day, the wolf appeared at the hospital!

I dove under the blanket.

His heavy footsteps shook the floor as he approached my bed: “Discharge.”

The maid shot up: “Wait, Young Master! Haven’t you read Zhixia’s letter?”

“Mr. Ye, you can’t—” Dr. Tingting snapped: “I won’t allow it!”

“Come to my house, triple your salary.”

“No way!” Dr. Tingting stood firm: “Your attitude will hurt her more, make her hate you!”

The wolf replied blankly: “She’s not that weak.”

Dr. Tingting’s cheek twitched, an idea forming: “How about you get a check-up too?”

I sensed he was plotting new ways to torment me.
No time like the present—if I provoked him, he’d kill me without holding back.
In a hospital this big, surely someone would handle my body!

I climbed out, standing on the bed.
All three stared.
I swung my fist at his face.
He dodged easily, unfazed.

Gritting my teeth, I slammed my right hand into his shoulder: “For tormenting me! You think I’m here because of who?!”

He didn’t budge.
My palm stung—he was like iron.

I couldn’t hit him hard enough.
Fine, I’d kick him to death!

I aimed a kick, meeting solid resistance.
Pulling back, I wobbled, nearly falling.
The maid steadied me from below.

He took my kick, body swaying slightly, but didn’t step back.

His mere presence was infuriating, terrifying.
He let me hit and kick without resisting or showing pain, his face blank—he didn’t take me seriously.
That was the real despair.

Could I ever avenge Grandma?

My legs gave out, and I collapsed on the bed.
The room fell silent.
A tear dropped onto the blanket with a soft plop.

The maid froze, hugging me, glaring at the wolf: “Young Master, you can’t do this!”

“Mr. Ye, please leave,” Dr. Tingting said. “Even if you stop paying, we’ll treat her for free.”

The wolf’s brow twitched, and he left.

Dr. Tingting watched him go, analyzing his thoughts.
I wiped my tears, sniffing back snot: “Sister, can I go for a walk?”

“Sure, I brought some of your clothes.”

“I want to go alone.”

The maid shook her head, smiling: “How can I buy you gifts if I don’t come? You’ll need help carrying things, right?”

No choice.
I changed, and Dr. Tingting shed her white coat: “I’ll join. I need some air too.”

Biting my lip, the maid took my hand, leading me out.
I glanced at the wolf sitting across the hall, putting down his phone to watch me.

I had no urge to fight him now—it wouldn’t satisfy me.
Only a knife would do, though with his build, it might bend.

I walked past, head down.
He followed.

His footsteps doubled my pressure.
I stopped.

The maid took a few steps, turning back: “What’s wrong, Zhixia?”

“I… I’m not going.”

Dr. Tingting looked at the wolf: “Mr. Ye, we’re going for a stroll. Rest for a bit.”

He stared, expressionless.

The maid nodded: “Young Master, I’m taking Zhixia to get some food. We’ll be back soon.”

He’s afraid I’ll run, leaving no one to play “family” with.

I shook off the maid’s hand, walking ahead.
She caught up, grabbing my hand again: “Zhixia, no rush.”

The hospital corridor was long, this floor the psychiatry ward.
I pressed the elevator button.
Dr. Tingting followed: “Zhixia, thought about where to go? There’s a park across the street—nice place.”

“The park, then,” I said casually.
Seeing the wolf, I didn’t want to die as much—I wanted to kill him more.

Crossing the street, the maid kept a hand on my shoulder.
I felt both women subtly gripping my arms, ready to hold me if I tried to break free.

At the park, vendors sold toys and skewers.
Kids played, and two frail-looking grandpas sat on a bench, chatting about their lives.

Something urged me to ask them a question.
Gathering courage, I approached: “Grandpas, have you lived happy lives?”

Their smiles froze, then returned.
One said: “Little girl, my life’s ups and downs could fill a novel. I wrecked my body young—don’t push yourself too hard.”

The other chuckled: “She asked about happiness, not your ramblings. I’d say I’m happy—grandkids galore, busy days, but holidays are a blast with everyone around.”

My eyes sparkled.
They didn’t sound lonely.
But I had no parents, no family—I was lonely!

My mood swung, but I bowed politely: “Thank you, Grandpas.”

As I turned to leave, one called: “Kid, how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Nice, still young.”

I watched kids with childhood memories, a twin brother and sister wielding bubble wands, circling their mom, faces glowing with innocence.

I sighed.
Dr. Tingting caught it: “Want to play? No need to be shy.”

“Come on, let’s buy some,” the maid said, pulling me to a toy stall, letting me choose.

I picked an old-fashioned bubble bottle with a palm-sized wand.
I’d seen them as a kid—dip it in, pull it out, and a breeze would make big bubbles.

“Two more.”

“Thirty yuan.”

So expensive!
The maid paid via scan, no haggling.

Dr. Tingting joined me on the soft grass.
I tilted the bottle, watching the liquid swirl, unscrewed the cap, and let some drip.
Waving the wand, iridescent bubbles streamed out.

Under a tree, a large bubble floated, reflecting my sorrowful, stunning face, hiding a shattered heart.

I blew gently, and the bubble quivered, riding the wind away.

Lost, I stared after it, wishing I could sprout wings and dance against the breeze.

A boy exclaimed, “Such a big bubble!” and jumped, popping it.

I gave a faint smile, dipped the wand, leaped, spun on one foot, and stood on tiptoe.

He popped another.
Playful, I blew bubbles high, but he kept catching them.

After several rounds, a gust carried one beyond his reach.
It floated far, and he gave up, waiting for the next.

I stopped, watching the bubble land, returning to dust, ending its life.

A breeze stirred my hair, and I smiled radiantly, a thought emerging: In the depths of despair, a sliver of hope remains.