I woke to the chirping of birds outside.
It was the next day, and I was still alive, wearing a beige spaghetti-strap dress.

A sudden urge hit me, and I rushed to the bathroom, only to find no pit toilet—just a modern flush toilet.

After relieving myself, I stepped out and realized how grand the room was.
European-style furniture, elegant and refined, stood before me.
A private bathroom—this was clearly a rich person’s home.

Something was wrong.
Where was that wolf-like man?
Didn’t he knock me out?
What time was it?
Was I late?

Anxiety gripped me, but I didn’t dare move rashly.
I twisted the door handle, then, like a startled lamb, slammed it shut again.
I saw him—the “wolf,” the killer!

Had I seen wrong?
Wasn’t he here to kill me?
Why was I still alive?

No, no, I must’ve been mistaken.
We had an irreconcilable grudge.
If it was really him, he’d have killed me already.

I opened the door again.
The wolf’s eyes blazed with murderous intent.
I yelped, falling on my backside, scrambling back: “I’m warning you! Don’t come closer!”

The wolf stepped into the room, knelt on one knee before me, and extended his thick palm, his face expressionless: “Be my sister. I’ll take care of you.”

“What?”
I was stunned, thinking I’d misheard.
The wolf remained stone-faced: “You saved me.”

His words hit like a thunderbolt.
It was him!
How could the person I saved be him?

I clenched my fists, rage burning inside.
Five years ago, he killed Grandma.
She was an ordinary woman, never offending anyone, always protecting me, begging for meat at the market for me while eating only vegetable scraps…

I couldn’t bear to remember.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face, anger trapped inside, unable to speak.

This man stole my happiness.
Grandma and I were like an old sheep and her lamb on the prairie.
He was the wolf who killed the old sheep, leaving me, the lamb, to survive alone for five years.

I stayed silent, curling into a ball, hugging my legs.
The wolf withdrew his hand, stood, and left.

I sat there dazed, my thoughts a mess, tears falling harder.
Why did I save him?

After a while, he returned with a bowl of noodles.
It smelled good, almost convincing.

I wiped my eyes, glaring at him warily: “Are you trying to poison me?”

His face remained blank: “No.”

An expressionless man was impenetrable—I couldn’t guess his thoughts.

I stared at the noodles, unable to trust him.
Grandma said wolves were cunning creatures, and he’d killed her!

The wolf tilted his head slightly.
I still didn’t take the noodles.

We stood at a stalemate until his phone rang.
He placed the noodles on the floor, saying: “Don’t go anywhere.”

He left, and I exhaled, scanning the room.
Moments later, I hid behind the balcony’s plaster railing, watching him drive off in a silver car I didn’t recognize.

I quickly grabbed the noodles and dumped them into the toilet.
I’d rather waste them than eat—there had to be poison.

I opened the door to escape, only to meet a maid holding a mop and bucket.

She caught my eye—she was beautiful.
I froze.
The maid bowed slightly: “Good morning, Miss. I changed your clothes last night. Please don’t worry.”

I looked down—oh, right, I’d forgotten about that.
As long as it wasn’t the wolf who changed me, I was fine.

I bowed back.
The maid smiled faintly: “Miss, did you enjoy the food I made?”

The noodles?
She made them?
I’d flushed them down the toilet!

It was my first time wasting food.
To cover my guilt, I said it was perfect.
Then the maid got a call, saying she had to leave.
She told me I could wander but must not enter any rooms.

I wanted to tell her about the ad shoot but didn’t dare, only nodding stiffly.
She drove off.

I wandered the house, uneasy in the unfamiliar space.
It was huge—dozens of rooms, at least.

At the ground floor entrance, I saw walls five or six meters high.
The gate was as solid as a prison’s, airtight.
Looking up, I saw trees—it seemed like the suburbs.

Barefoot, I ran to the gate, pushing with no luck.
It must be electronic, but after inspecting it, I found no buttons!

Frustrated, I slapped the gate, clutching my stinging hand, and slumped to the ground.
I recalled that night—the shop owner lying still, like he was dead.
Had the wolf killed him?

A phrase came to mind: “Keeping company with a lord is like keeping company with a tiger.”

What should I do?
Staying here meant death…

I circled the mansion.
There was only one entrance—no remote key, no way out.

I didn’t want to stay a moment longer but had to return.
Wandering the mansion, my stomach growled.
In the kitchen, I found a double-door fridge filled with ingredients, including a pack of pastries!

I sat on the floor, tearing open the package, devouring the sticky, chewy treats.

These were the wolf’s—they couldn’t be poisoned.
But I worried he’d notice I’d eaten them.
I put the package back carefully, ensuring no traces remained, and left.

Lost, I sat in the living room.
The image of Grandma with a bullet hole in her replayed in my mind.
I clutched my throbbing head, hating my cowardice from five years ago.

Kill him?
If I failed again, I’d surely die.

I hesitated, unable to decide.
Deep down, I was still that timid, fearful child.

Time crawled.
By noon, the maid returned.
I hid behind the entrance, timidly meeting her gaze.

She greeted me again.
I couldn’t hold back, wanting to mention the ad shoot.
Then the heavy gate moved, and a silver SUV with glowing headlights appeared in the opening.

The wolf was back!

Startled, I bolted, ignoring the maid’s confusion, and hid in my room.

I sat on the bed, hugging my legs, too preoccupied to enjoy the soft mattress, thinking of my next move.

Half an hour later, the maid knocked, her voice light: “Miss, come eat lunch with us.”

I didn’t respond, glancing around, then dove behind the bed.

She knocked again, and when no answer came, she turned the handle, found it locked, and used a key: “Miss?”

Clutching the mattress, I peeked out nervously.
She sighed in relief, offering a warm smile: “Please don’t worry. I won’t harm you.”

My stomach growled loudly.
I hadn’t finished last night’s braised rice, and this morning, I’d only eaten a few pastries.
I was starving.

But I didn’t dare eat here…

The maid stepped forward, her eyes flickering with thought, then retreated, smiling: “May I come closer?”

I blinked, nodding once.

She approached cautiously, watching my expression, then adjusted her skirt and crouched with a smile: “Miss, I’m Lin Yinyin. What’s your name?”

“Zhi… Zhixia.” I answered stiffly.

“Like the cicada’s ‘zhi’?”

“Gardenia flower.”

Her eyebrows curved, slightly surprised: “Such a unique name. Whoever chose it must be refined.”

I clenched my jaw, silent.

“May I ask, do you have family?”

I shook my head, tears welling.
The question stabbed me—my only family was gone, killed by the wolf’s gun.

The maid paused, then extended her hand: “I’m sorry… Let’s go eat.”

I pursed my lips, shaking my head.
Eating might mean sitting with the wolf—I didn’t dare.
But my stomach’s growling betrayed me!

The maid chuckled: “I won first place in a cooking competition. Want to try?”

That’s impressive!
Tempted, I whispered: “Okay…”

She took my hand, slightly rough, and led me.
My heart pounded—this was my first time holding a young woman’s hand, and she was beautiful!

I pursed my lips, my thoughts wandering.

At the staircase, she kindly warned me to watch my step.

We passed locked wooden doors and reached the dining room.

A short table was laden with exquisite dishes, foods I’d never eaten in my life.

Regret hit me instantly—I shouldn’t have come for the food…
The wolf was sitting across from me!

His shadowed, handsome face studied me quietly.
I couldn’t lift my head, gripped by fear.
Facing a single portion of steak, I clutched my dress, hands trembling, too scared to move.

The bloody scene from five years ago tortured me.
I hunched, shaking, fearing he’d pull a gun and put a hole in me at any moment.

My anticipation for lunch vanished.
I didn’t want to eat.
Fear crushed me, stealing my breath.

The wolf’s face remained cold: “I won’t kill you.”

The maid glanced at me, stood, cut a piece of my steak, and ate it herself, proving it was safe.

Their actions, one after another, convinced me—or maybe I was just starving.
I clumsily gripped the knife and fork, cutting the meat.
One bite, and the tender steak burst with rich juices under my tongue!

Heavenly!

Forgetting the wolf, I ate faster, tears spilling as I chewed.
This was my first time eating such a large piece of beef, leagues above diner scraps.

The maid slid a napkin toward me, concerned: “Zhixia, don’t choke.”

“Zhixia?” the wolf asked.

“Young Master, it’s the ‘zhi’ of gardenia.”

I stayed silent, wiping tears to clear my vision, and kept eating.
This was the wolf’s food—swallowing it meant swallowing humiliation and grievances.
But I’d started, and stopping meant starving.
Better to eat my fill.

The large steak only half-filled me.
The maid cut into a glossy, roasted whole chicken, adding more to my plate: “Take your time, there’s plenty.”

I ate uneasily.

The wolf kept watching me.
I didn’t know where to look.
When the maid whispered something to him, he finally looked away.

Seizing the moment, I found courage, dropped my utensils, and ran to my room.

I sat on the bed, hugging my legs.
Soon, the maid knocked, smiling: “Can I come in?”

I pulled her inside, shutting the door.

Back on the bed—my safe space—I sat.
The maid, warm and approachable, asked: “Zhixia, what school do you attend?”

“I can’t afford school,” I said urgently. “Can you tell me how to leave? I need to earn 300,000!”

Besides that, there was the 650 yuan!

“Leave?” she asked, puzzled. “Why leave? If the Young Master hadn’t arrived in time yesterday, you might’ve…”

She trailed off.
I knew the wolf saved me, but he couldn’t be that kind.
He knew Grandma raised me since I lived where she did.

I frowned, scared.
The maid sighed with a smile: “The Young Master sees you as his sister. This is your home now.”

The word “home” made me long for my old shack.
Though worlds apart from this mansion, I didn’t have to face the wolf there or live in fear.

The shop owner incident scared me—my old place wasn’t safe either, but that didn’t mean this was.

I crossed my arms over my shoulders.
I needed money to live independently and well.

“But… I…” I hesitated, heart twisting.

The maid smiled, waiting.

I gritted my teeth, blurting: “I need to go earn money! I can make 300,000!”

Her eyes showed doubt, her mouth opening slightly: “Can you tell me how?”

“Shooting… shooting an ad!”

“An ad? Can you elaborate?”

To leave, I told her everything.
She listened, first shocked, then serious: “I don’t recommend going.”

I froze, protesting: “Why not?”

She began a long lecture, vaguely describing the industry’s filth and darkness.
At first, I didn’t understand, but when she got more direct, I got it.

Mr. Qi was like the shop owner—after my body.
I had two choices: sacrifice my body for the 300,000 or protect myself.

I dreamed of rising above, but even after hearing the industry’s ugliness, I had to consider if this was my only chance.

Weighing pros and cons, I pictured vile scenes, gagging.
The maid patted my back: “There, there. That industry has no real good people—just personas for fans and audiences. Behind closed doors, it’s all scheming and power-sex trades.”

Her words made reason defeat greed.
The 300,000 was gone.

I’d tasted the world’s darkness and knew being bullied brought only misery.
Even with money, I wouldn’t be happy.

The saddest thing was false hope.

I trudged to the balcony, dejected.
The maid stayed, comforting me, saying the wolf would provide, so I needn’t worry about money.

Her words made me scoff.
The door handle clicked.
The maid and I turned.
The wolf’s shadowed eyes locked onto me!

My hair stood on end.
Instinct screamed to flee, but the door was the only exit.
I hid behind the maid in panic.

She glanced back: “Zhixia?”
Then, puzzled, at the wolf: “You don’t need to be afraid.”

How could I not?
Five years alone, bullied endlessly, made me sensitive to danger.
The wolf’s presence was terrifying, pressuring me constantly.

He approached, each step battering my fragile mental defenses.

He stopped before us.
I lowered my head, closing my eyes to avoid his gaze, pretending he wasn’t there.

“Look up.”

My body trembled, tears falling like a string of pearls.

His tone was a boning knife at my neck, commanding obedience.

Fearing he’d pull a gun, I complied, meeting his icy gaze with mournful eyes, praying he wouldn’t act rashly.

My heart lodged in my throat.
The wolf blinked slightly, repeating: “I won’t kill you.”

He left.
My back was soaked, my tension easing.
I closed my eyes, sighing deeply.

The maid smiled, explaining: “The Young Master looks fierce, but you can trust he won’t hurt you.”

I didn’t care who he was.
If I’d known his face under the mask, I’d have cheered as he was hacked to death!

Following her words, I recalled seeing the wolf last night and details after the shop owner fell.
Terror surged, chilling my spine.
I collapsed, unable to move.

“He killed someone…”
I muttered, dazed, my hair standing on end.

The shop owner was dead…

In the summer heat, this realization made me cold outside, burning inside.

The wolf saying he wouldn’t kill me was a lie, wasn’t it?
One day, when I wasn’t looking, he’d use some trick, and I’d die unknowingly, eyes rolling back.

He was a bad person.
Under the same roof, it was him or me.
Better to strike first before he could act!

But… his arms were as thick as my head.
Compared to my scrawny limbs, killing him was too hard.

When I stabbed him yesterday, he likely spared me because I saved him.
But I couldn’t swallow my anger—I wanted revenge for Grandma!

The maid bent to help me: “What shrimp?”

Realizing I’d slipped, I covered my mouth, silent.

She thought for a moment, then exclaimed: “Oh! The Young Master didn’t kill him. He’s in custody at the police station.
Per our country’s criminal law, he’ll get 3 to 10 years. You won’t see him again.”

I gritted my teeth: “When do I give my statement?”

She replied calmly: “There are other witnesses. We’ll let the police handle the rest.”

I couldn’t call her out.
I hadn’t gone to school, but I’d reported crimes and knew the process.
A case like this required a court hearing.
I knew who the wolf was—she was lying!

My resolve to kill the wolf strengthened.

The maid stayed with me all afternoon, asking about my past.
I barely answered.
She tried probing indirectly.

Her repetitive questions bored me.
I gave a faint smile: “I’ve been a beggar for 18 years.”

I don’t know what she gleaned from that, but she fell silent, finally stopping.

By evening, the wolf drove out, leaving me and the maid.
She said I was malnourished and made a lavish meal.

I sighed inwardly.
I used to get insulted begging at diners; now, eating was humiliating.

I didn’t indulge in the food.
The maid was with the wolf.
I’d made my plan: kill him tonight and leave.

I didn’t touch my chopsticks, appetite gone, my heart heavy with unease.

The wolf had likely killed more than Grandma and the shop owner.
Murderers weren’t good people.
He wasn’t Death itself—he had no right to take others’ ordinary happiness.

At night, the wolf returned.
I didn’t eat dinner.
I resolved to kill him, not caring if I went to jail.
I owed him nothing for his food.

If I succeeded, the wolf would die.
If I failed, the lamb would.

I sent the maid away, saying I wanted to be alone, avoiding the wolf by staying in my room.

At night, I sat on the windowsill, fighting sleep, lost in fantasies of Grandma.

The wolf’s room was next to mine.
A magazine I’d scavenged said 4 to 6 a.m. was when people slept deepest.
I’d missed the best chance to kill him two days ago—I couldn’t delay tonight.

I’d wait, patiently.

When the wall clock struck, I was ready.
I quietly opened my door, went to the kitchen, and grabbed the sharpest knife.
Step by step, I approached his room.

My heart pounded—I was about to do something guilty.
The knife burned like a furnace in my right hand, my palm sweaty, my feet sticking to the floor, making me wipe them repeatedly.

I carefully turned his door handle, silent, and saw a lump on the bed under moonlight.
The wolf slept soundly.

Revenge was at hand!

I held my breath, moving slowly, soundlessly.
The sleeping wolf didn’t sense his death approaching.

My face hardened, resolve set.
Jail was fine—there’d be meals, better than begging.
Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
I could’ve eaten my fill in prison!

As a beggar, I went hungry.
Here, facing gourmet food, I couldn’t swallow.
That was true torment.

At his bedside, my cheeks dripped with cold sweat.
I took a shallow breath: “Die!”

As I shouted, I stabbed down.
A thud—my hand couldn’t move forward.
The knife wouldn’t budge!

Something felt wrong—hard.
I lifted the blanket—it was a wooden dummy!

I froze.
Turning, I saw the wolf and the maid standing before me.
He gave me no chance to act, grabbing my throat and lifting me off the ground.

I was dazed!
The knife fell, tears streaming.
I closed my eyes: ‘Grandma, I failed.’