Zhou Jiuyu’s consciousness surfaced once more from chaotic darkness into clarity. Whether dreaming or waking, the world before his eyes always felt unfamiliar—at first. But within moments, memory rushed back.
The bathroom door opened. Wisps of steam curled out, followed by a sheer black-stockinged foot stepping silently onto the rug.
“Young master, I’m done,” Nan Mengling said.
She emerged wearing the slip dress Zhou Jiuyu had bought her, sheer black stockings hugging her legs. Her expression was cool, yet carried a trace of quiet obedience.
Without missing a beat, Zhou Jiuyu slipped the disc into his shoulder bag, pulled out a fruit candy, and tossed the bag casually into the room’s corner—as if it meant nothing. All that mattered was the candy in his hand.
“Eat this first. Later, when I get to… savor you, I prefer strawberry flavor.”
“But… there’s only one candy? How?” Nan Mengling, her thoughts innocent, tilted her head in genuine confusion. *Does he want to split it?*
“Naturally,” Zhou Jiuyu teased, tearing the wrapper open. He pinched the candy and offered it to her lips. “You eat the candy. I’ll savor *you*.”
Exactly as he’d expected, she nestled close, took the candy into her mouth, and let her tongue play with it. A flicker of delight lit her eyes. “Sweeter than real strawberry… Young master, try it too?”
Zhou Jiuyu braced to accept the half-eaten candy—then froze. She slightly parted her cherry-red lips. Her tongue peeked out just a bit, the white strawberry candy resting atop it. As if fearing it might fall, she curled her tongue gently; the candy rolled softly against her crimson tongue.
*Damn it—why make strawberry candy white?!*
His vision blurred. He ached to lean in.
*But this is her first kiss. She’s so naive… can you really trick her?*
*And… it’d be yours too.*
“Keep it. I don’t like candy,” he muttered, turning away.
“Then… will the young master continue… playing with Mengling’s feet?” Her stockinged toes flexed and curled. The flesh-toned skin peeking through the mysterious black fabric sent another jolt through him.
He narrowed his eyes. “I saw your browsing history, *this* young master did. Don’t think I don’t know your little schemes, you cheeky girl.”
Nan Mengling met his gaze, calm. “I left it there for you to see.”
Stunned silence struck Zhou Jiuyu.
*She broke my script.*
“Young master… play with Mengling’s feet?” Her voice stayed flat. Yet those black-stockinged feet now resting on his thigh shattered his composure.
“Don’t think these feet can tempt me,” he said stiffly.
“Be gentle, young master. Mengling wants pleasure, not pain,” she said, expressionless.
“Hey now… who’s the young master here?” he huffed.
“Then rest your head here,” she said, patting her absolute territory. The black stockings dug into her fair thighs—a sharp contrast. Her small hand patted softly; the firm muscle quivered. That tremor sank straight into Zhou Jiuyu’s chest.
“…You’re learning,” he murmured.
He stared into the abyss—unable to refuse, yet didn’t lie down. He simply settled sideways against her lap and closed his eyes.
Nan Mengling held perfectly still.
Time slipped by. Seeing him asleep, she gently shifted his head to the pillow. Her black-stockinged feet padded soundlessly across the carpet to the room’s corner. She opened his bag, took a strawberry candy, unwrapped it, and let sweetness crinkle her eyes shut. Then—she pulled out the disc. Muted the TV. Slid the disc in. Lights stayed on; no sudden change would wake him.
She wasn’t foolish. Just simple.
Simple ≠ naive. She wasn’t easy to fool—but even if fooled, what could she do?
She felt like a puppet: her mother’s, her master’s… the young master’s.
Moved by strings. Hoping for kindness. Trying to earn it.
She’d wished—*please, don’t abandon me again*.
But it wasn’t a wish. It was a plea. A prayer.
Because puppets don’t get choices.
Hugging her knees, curled by the bed, she watched the steamy silent drama on screen. No matter how graphic, she sat motionless—silent, expressionless.
Zhou Jiuyu quietly opened his eyes.
*She looks like a delicate doll. Obedient. Sweet.*
But dolls aren’t people. Nan Mengling was human. He’d never seen her as a toy to control… nor as a full adult.
Her body was mature. Her mind, still a child’s.
Yet even trapped, she held a quiet shred of dignity—unseen by her, but *there*. Like now: secretly watching the disc behind his back.
*The real fear… she won’t survive the final truth. The cruelest piece.*
He felt like a father watching his child walk to school alone—wanting her to grow, yet trailing silently behind. Not at peace until she reached the end.
The most dreaded moment arrived.
Nan Mengling inserted the last unmarked disc. She’d already watched seven or eight—her mother and master tangled in illicit acts—face blank. No one knew if it was rage or numbness.
The player swallowed the disc. The final act began.
Lust rippled across the screen. Sword God and her mother played master-servant. Then—her father burst in, kitchen knife raised, shouting at the collar around his wife’s neck. Rage exploded. He swung.
A head rolled.
Naturally, not the Sword God’s.
Her father’s.
Nan Mengling’s expression froze. *“Avenge your father.”* Her mother’s mantra. Her master’s lesson. All a farce. A joke.
Her gaze went hollow. Light vanished.
The screen continued. The true climax came *after* the beheading—a second peak, a haunting refrain.
Her mother’s face: ecstasy trembling to the soul.
Her master’s face: ice-cold indifference after murder, after using the widow, discarding her. Walking away like it meant nothing.
How could someone be so cold? How could a wife…?
Zhou Jiuyu swallowed hard. *Please don’t break.*
The TV drama ended. The room’s silence should too.
He moved to comfort her—
“Stop pretending to sleep, young master.”
Zhou Jiuyu’s eyes flew wide. His mind went utterly blank.
