"Did you eat her?"

Zhou Ruiyang’s words hit Liu Dacheng like ice water. "Eat... eat who? The sparrow?"

It wasn’t that he was playing dumb—he just found Zhou’s tone unnerving.

As if he weren’t asking about a bird, but a person.

Zhou’s usual smile vanished. His face darkened as he slowly advanced.

Each heavy footstep thudded like a drumbeat—*thud*—making Liu’s heart race.

Liu stumbled backward, fear spreading like wildfire through his veins.

He couldn’t explain why this young man terrified him so deeply, why his own heartbeat now pounded *thud-thud-thud* in his ears.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the sound was Zhou’s steps or his own pulse.

Panic seized him. He turned to flee—

—but Zhou closed the distance in an instant. A kick sent Liu flying.

Though Liu was a burly laborer, the strike felt like being hit by a truck.

Before he could scramble up, Zhou pinned him down, hands clamping his throat.

"Hel—help! Ghhk—!"

Choked cries died in his throat.

Hours ago, he’d been hunting sparrows. Now he was the prey.

"Go apologize to her!" Zhou growled.

To him, Mujin the sparrow was still human—a dear friend.

He owed her justice.

"*Mmmph!*" Liu’s eyes bulged.

In their reflection, Zhou’s brows were knotted, fury burning in his glare—like a storm about to break.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

A child’s wail cut through the tension.

Zhou turned. A little boy stood trembling in a bedroom doorway, tears streaming down his face.

"Who are you? Don’t hurt my daddy!"

The boy’s cries gave Zhou pause.

*This man has a family too. To him, it was just a sparrow. A mistake—not a death sentence.*

The thought cooled his rage.

Seizing the hesitation, Liu gasped out: "I know who you mean! That talking sparrow? She’s alive!"

"Alive?" Zhou froze.

"Yeah! I tried to kill her, but when she spoke, I—I—"

"*What did you do?!*" Zhou roared.

Liu flinched. "I... sold her."

Zhou’s grip loosened.

"Sold?"

······

Mujin had no idea where she was.

After Old Liu and "Brother Zhang" struck a deal, she’d been shoved into a black-cloth-covered cage and loaded into a van.

After a bumpy ride, the cage was lifted. A roller shutter rattled open, unleashing a cacophony of birdcalls.

*Coo-coo—*

*Chirp-chirp—*

*Quack-quack—*

The noise drilled into her skull.

Soon, Brother Zhang set her down. The cloth was yanked away.

Cages hung from ceilings, crowded floors, and cluttered tables—every inch of the tiny shop packed with birds.

*This must be the pet market,* Mujin realized.

Startled by the midnight disturbance, the birds flapped wildly, shrieking in protest.

As a sparrow, Mujin caught their meaning:

*Who is this intruder? Why’s she ruining our sleep?*

A lump formed in her throat.

*I didn’t ask to be here! I just want my cozy nest back...*

"Sleep here tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll have a new home," Brother Zhang muttered, crouching. He paused, then added, "Right—gotta feed you. Can’t have you dying before I get my five thousand yuan back."

He fiddled in the shop, then slid open the cage door.

First, a bowl of water. Then, a pellet of birdseed pinched between his fingers.

Starving, Mujin hopped forward eagerly, beak wide open.

*Survival first. Pride later.*

But Brother Zhang yanked his hand back.

"*Nǐ hǎo*," he enunciated clearly.

Mujin blinked. *Since when does he speak Mandarin?*

Then she understood—he was trying to *train* her. Rewarding speech like a pet.

Indignation flared. *I’m not some dumb bird!*

*Better starve than be humiliated!*

···Five minutes later···

"*Nǐ hǎo! Nǐ hǎo!*"

The sparrow chirped obediently, snatching the seed from his fingers.

*Ugh... I’m still hungry.*

"Smart little thing. Never seen a bird learn this fast," Brother Zhang chuckled, patting the cage. "Prime merchandise. Time to call buyers."

He pulled out his phone—then cursed.

"Damn it! Phone’s dead. Worst timing." He pocketed it and headed for the door.

Mujin chirped frantically.

*Hey! I’m not full!*

The roller shutter slammed shut, plunging her into darkness.

*He only fed me enough to stay alive. Starving birds are easier to train.*

*That monster!*

For the first time in her pampered life, Mujin understood true hunger.

At least the water bowl was full. She wouldn’t die—just ache.

She’d faced hunger before. Her old solution?

*Sleep.*

Sleep until morning. Sleep until the emptiness faded.

Perching on the wooden rod, she tucked her head under her wing.

Exhaustion from the day’s chaos melted into warmth.

Slowly, her thoughts drifted...

...and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.