Chapter 2 — Survival Skills in High Society

For instance, the wisteria trellis at the back of the house is an ideal route for climbing onto the second-floor balcony. Another example: the security detail's nightly patrol schedule contains a blind spot between 3:00 and 3:15 AM, a fifteen-minute window devoid of supervision. I left the report on the desk in my father's study. That evening, when he returned, I used the micro-listening device hidden in the corridor to hear the sound of his frustrated, stifled breathing.

This is ridiculous! Does she think this place is a battlefield?

I calmly switched off the device. The reaction was exactly as I had predicted. To a flock of sheep, the presence of a sheepdog is inherently a threat. When Wen Kexin was discharged from the hospital after her recovery, Mother had specifically prepared an elaborate banquet to soothe her spirit. At dinner, the atmosphere was excruciatingly strange. Mother kept piling food onto Wen Kexin's plate, but her eyes, when they fell on me, looked as if she were gazing at a wild beast in need of domestication.

A family's most important quality is harmony, Mother hinted as she opened the conversation. Ziqin, you have just returned, so you must learn to be a bit gentler. A girl should not always be so aggressive and abrasive.

I remained silent, eating my meal at a leisurely pace. My silence seemed to be interpreted by them as weakness. My older brother, Wen Jingran, slammed his chopsticks down with a sharp clatter, his eyes peering sternly through his spectacles as he stared me down.

Wen Kexin is so gentle and innocent, yet why do you keep targeting her? Those crude, barbaric tactics of yours are truly uncivilized!

I swallowed my last bite of rice and wiped my mouth with a napkin. From the very moment they began to criticize me, I had been silently evaluating the most effective way to resolve the issue. Language? It was clearly useless. Therefore, I had to speak in a language they could actually comprehend. I raised my head and looked calmly at the righteous-looking Wen Jingran.

To the gym.

He paused for a moment, clearly failing to grasp what I was saying.

What did you say?

I said, to the gym, I repeated, then stood up. Did you not just call me crude and uncivilized? Then let me show you what that truly looks like.

A flash of anger at being provoked crossed Wen Jingran's face, but it quickly shifted into a look of condescending arrogance. He must have assumed I was preparing to back down or offer some kind of explanation.

Fine, let's see what kind of game you're playing.

He let out a scoff of derision and took the lead, walking toward the villa's private gym. My parents did not intervene, though they furrowed their brows, seemingly curious to see what I was actually planning. The gym was brilliantly lit. Wen Jingran shed his jacket, revealing muscles well-defined by regular training. He turned to warm up and then assumed the standard starting stance of a combatant.

Come on, let's see what kind of pathetic parlor tricks you learned in the sticks.

Before the words were even out of his mouth, I moved. With a single gliding step, I closed the distance, and my knee was already pinning his midsection. I had him "nailed" to the cold wall. The entire process took less than two seconds. Wen Jingran’s face turned crimson as he struggled violently, only to quickly realize he was held fast by a grip of iron, unable to move an inch. I leaned into his ear, whispering in a voice meant only for him:

The methods I use are those necessary for survival in places you have never even seen.

You do not even possess the basic ability to defend yourself; by what right do you use your ridiculous sense of etiquette to judge how I survived?

I let go. He slid down the wall like a pile of damp mud, collapsing onto the floor, clutching his throat and coughing uncontrollably, his face streaming with tears and mucus. My parents ran over at the sound of the commotion, arriving just in time to witness the scene. Mother let out a short, terrified gasp, reflexively clamping her hand over her mouth. As for my father—a man who always maintained a cold, stern expression—for the first time, he looked at me with eyes laced with fear. Wen Kexin stood behind them, peering at me with a fearful gaze. She finally realized: the usual petty tricks would no longer work on me.

Not many days after that incident, it was Wen Kexin's eighteenth birthday party. The entire villa was decorated like a fairytale castle, the guests had gathered in force, and the champagne tower sparkled with a brilliant, golden light. She wore a custom-made high-fashion gown and the diamond necklace our parents had given her, appearing like a true princess, basking in every well-wish and compliment. As for me, I wore a simple black formal dress, leaning against the shadows in the corner, looking like a ghost out of place in this setting. My foster father once said: the more extravagant and noisy a place is, the easier it is for darkness to take root. Wen Kexin walked among the crowd of guests, and eventually, she held two glasses of specially prepared juice, wove through the sea of people, and headed straight toward me. Under the stage lights, her smile was flawless.

Sister, I was not good in the past, and there were many misunderstandings between us.

She handed me a brightly colored glass of juice, her movements as intimate as if we were truly affectionate sisters.

Tonight is my eighteenth birthday; can we take this opportunity to clear the air?

Those around us began to look over, whispering among themselves.

Look at that, Kexin is truly generous.

That girl from the countryside really doesn't know her place; Kexin is even taking the initiative to make amends.