Chapter 3: Regarding the fact that Mr. Wolf is even more miserable than me, “Grandma”.

“Grandma, are you there? It’s Little Red Riding Hood. Mommy sent me to bring you cake and wine.”

Bai Linlin’s voice sounded thin and crisp outside the wooden door.

She finished speaking and held her breath, pressing her ear close to the door panel.

Inside, it was deathly quiet.

No coughing, no rustling of someone getting up, not even the sound of breathing.

Only an oppressive silence, mixed with the stale scent of old wood and dust drifting out from the house.

Now that she focused, there seemed to be something else underneath—a faint, metallic, muffled smell, like rust.

“Grandma?”

She raised her voice slightly and knocked again.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

Still no response.

She exchanged a glance with Lin Yan, who was still hidden behind the distant tree.

Lin Yan’s brows were tightly knit; the shotgun barrel remained steady on the cabin window. He gave her a “high alert” gesture.

Something was wrong.

In the fairy tale, at this point “Grandma” should at least call out from the bed:

“The door’s unlocked, come in, child.”

Bai Linlin drew a breath and, with her free hand, gently pushed the wooden door.

It creaked open a crack. Unlocked.

The rusty smell grew noticeably stronger.

She slipped inside sideways and let the door fall almost shut behind her.

The interior was much darker than outside—only a few thin rays of sunlight squeezed through the window gaps, illuminating dancing motes of dust in the air.

The living room was tiny: one table, two chairs, a cold fireplace.

Everything looked normal, yet excessively tidy—too tidy, lacking any trace of human warmth.

The smell of blood. It was coming from here.

Faint, but unmistakable, seeping thread by thread from the crack under the bedroom door.

Bai Linlin’s heartbeat began slamming against her ribs.

She set the heavy basket down as quietly as possible.

Then, on tiptoe, she inched toward the bedroom doorway.

The bedroom door was closed.

She reached out a finger and lightly touched it.

The door swung open another, darker sliver without a sound.

“Gra…ndma?”

Her voice trembled slightly as it slipped through the gap.

No answer.

She pushed harder.

The scene in the bedroom slammed into her vision.

An old wooden bed.

On it lay a “person.”

Covered by a quilt, wearing a nightcap, back facing the door.

The size… enormous. Far too large.

The quilt bulged unnaturally—definitely not the frame of a frail, sick old woman.

And beneath the nightcap, a clear tuft of gray-black, furry ear tip poked out.

Bai Linlin’s mind buzzed.

The script was right… and yet completely wrong.

The wolf was really here, disguised as Grandma.

But why wasn’t it moving?

Asleep?

Waiting for her to get closer before pouncing?

She froze in the doorway, not daring to take another step.

Her palms were slick with sweat.

“Grandma?”

She called again, voice even weaker.

“Are… are you okay? Mommy sent me to check on you.”

The gigantic “Grandma” on the bed remained utterly still. Not even the ear tip twitched.

Too quiet.

Only her own increasingly loud heartbeat and that persistent bloody smell.

Something was very, very wrong.

Gritting her teeth, she moved extremely slowly, inch by inch, to the side of the bed.

From this angle, she could see the side profile.

The nightcap was pulled very low, covering most of the face, but the exposed lower jaw was covered in coarse gray fur.

Around the mouth area, something seemed to have been hastily stuffed in.

Her gaze drifted downward to the quilt-covered body.

In the places where arms and legs should have bulged, the shapes were bizarre.

Not natural curves, but… several unnatural depressions.

A horrifying suspicion seized her.

Bai Linlin held her breath, extended her violently trembling small hand, grabbed a corner of the quilt—and yanked it down hard!

She clamped her own fist between her teeth to stifle the scream.

Under the quilt was not a complete wolf in Grandma’s nightgown.

It was indeed the Big Bad Wolf.

It wore the floral nightdress top, the fabric stretched taut over its powerful chest, two buttons already popped off.

But the sleeves hung empty.

Because both front limbs, from the elbows down, were gone.

The stumps were wrapped in thick, blood-soaked rags—sloppily bandaged, yet somehow the bleeding had been stopped.

Its hind legs, from the knees down, were likewise missing.

Same bloodstained wrappings.

It had been placed on the bed like a gigantic stuffed toy with its limbs torn off.

Only the faint, almost imperceptible rise and fall of its chest proved it was still alive.

Bai Linlin’s stomach lurched violently; her legs nearly gave out.

This wasn’t hunting. This wasn’t a game confrontation.

This was torture.

Who did this?

Perhaps her movement, or the sudden influx of light, disturbed the dying wolf.

Its heavy eyelids quivered, then laboriously cracked open a slit.

A pair of amber beast eyes.

But right now they held no ferocity, no greed—only turbid pain and boundless despair.

Tears quickly welled up and rolled down in large drops, soaking the fur on its face.

Its mouth was gagged with cloth; it could only produce the faintest, hoarse “hrr… hrr…” sounds.

It looked at Bai Linlin. There was no aggression in its gaze—only pleading.

She understood.

Those eyes were saying:

“Kill me… please… kill me…”

She stumbled back a step, her back hitting the cold wall.

Who did this to it?

Why?

Wasn’t the hunter’s quest to kill the wolf?

Lin Yan was right outside—if it was him, why hadn’t he finished it with a shot? Why this level of cruelty…

“Bang—!”

A deafening gunshot exploded from outside, shattering the room’s dead silence!

Bai Linlin jolted, snapped out of the horrifying scene before her.

Lin Yan had fired!

Something was happening outside!

Not the wolf? Then what? Who was Lin Yan shooting at?

She no longer cared about the barely-breathing wolf on the bed. She spun around, rushed out of the bedroom, staggered through the living room, and yanked open the cabin door.

The sight outside froze her in place again.

Lin Yan stood with the double-barreled shotgun raised, body taut like a drawn bow, barrel locked on the target ahead.

His face wore an expression she had never seen before—grim, and… faintly horrified.

He wasn’t aiming at any beast.

He was aiming at a woman.

She stood in the sunlight of the forest clearing, less than twenty paces from the cabin door.

Tall, curvaceous, somehow managing to make even Grandma’s dress look coldly elegant.

Long black hair simply tied back; a few strands fell along her cheeks.

Her face was beautiful—yet utterly expressionless. The delicate features seemed carved from ice. Only her eyes were bottomless, coldly fixed on Lin Yan.

She held no shotgun, no bow.

Only a knife.

A long knife.

The blade didn’t look like ordinary metal—it gleamed with an ominous black sheen.

On closer look, a faint, pale halo seemed to shimmer around the dark edge.

The hilt was dark; she gripped it without the slightest tremble.

The tip pointed slantwise at the ground. Sunlight struck it but reflected nothing—as if even the light was swallowed by the darkness.

Lin Yan’s shotgun was trained directly between her eyebrows.

The woman’s black blade, though motionless, radiated the posture of someone who could erupt at any second and cleave the hunter in two.

The air solidified.

Only the sound of wind through leaves remained.

Bai Linlin looked at the woman, then at Lin Yan standing like he faced a mortal enemy. Her mind went completely blank.

Who was this woman? Player? NPC? What was with that knife?

The wolf on the bed… was it her doing?

“Wait! Wait a second!”

Bai Linlin’s voice suddenly burst out—she hadn’t even realized she could shout that loudly.

Both people in the standoff instantly turned their attention to the tiny figure in the red cloak.

Bai Linlin pointed at the woman, her finger still shaking, but the words came flying toward Lin Yan.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Who is she?!”

“The wolf on the bed… was that you, or was it her?!”