In the summer of 2016, I went to a small mountain village to teach.
Later, when the police found me, I was locked in a pigpen at the village chief's house. I had to fight the pigs for scraps of food just to stay alive.
It was a dreary, rainy day. I was caked in mud, my mind hazy. I could hear voices shouting in the distance.
In the damp night, a police officer waded through the mud and carried me out of the village, lifting me onto an ambulance.
Later, I was admitted to a bare-bones hospital.
No air conditioning—only a creaking fan overhead.
I lay in bed, staring blankly for days, occasionally visited by doctors asking me psychological questions.
Until the officer who'd carried me stepped into my room.
His name was Detective Shaw.
He said he needed to know how I ended up in that pigpen.
I gripped the bedsheets and laughed bitterly. What good would that do?
My life was already ruined. I had no idea how to go back to the way things were. Even I felt like a pig!
I told him—in the past few days, all I could think about was how to die.
But Detective Shaw's voice stayed calm.
He said it wasn't true. I was a victim.
"If you've truly been hurt, speaking up isn't shameful."
"Concealing the truth only enables the abuser."
"Hey—you're a teacher." He said it matter-of-factly. "If one of your students were being bullied, you'd want them to speak up, wouldn't you?"
I froze. His gaze was steady and genuine, carrying some inexplicable weight.
I couldn't hold back anymore. I leaned against the bed and sobbed, gradually letting go of that self-destructive despair.
Through my tears, I whispered, "I swear, I'll never go teach in the countryside again."
"I'm listening."
1
My name is Sable. A few weeks after coming to the village, I already regretted it.
At first, it was fine—the mountain air was fresh, the students enthusiastic.
In my downtime, I'd pick wildflowers and brew tea.
The conditions were rough—even spiders kept appearing in my room—but I felt surprisingly at peace.
Until one day after school, I went to the village shop to buy some instant noodles.
By the fields, I saw a scruffy, long-haired young man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, gripping a girl by the arm.
The girl was wearing county high school uniform pants.
I couldn't help myself. "What are you doing? Let her go!"
The young man looked startled. He sized me up and said, "So you're the new Teacher Sable? You're pretty."
I was uncomfortable with his tone and asked cautiously who he was and what he was doing.
"Don't get the wrong idea, Teacher Sable. It's getting dark—I just wanted to walk her home."
His tone was casual, but the girl's eyes darted nervously. I eyed him with suspicion.
"Hey, I'm Dalton. My dad's the village chief here." He flashed a grin full of yellow teeth. "Trust me, it's fine."
I didn't want to engage further. I took the girl's hand and headed toward the village.
But Dalton slapped my back.
I turned. His face was inches from mine.
"Teacher Sable, don't you want a man to keep you company?"
"It's not safe out here in the mountains. And so... lonely."
He reached out and flicked my bangs aside.
I recoiled, stepping back several paces. "I can take care of myself," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.
I walked off quickly. When I glanced back, Dalton was still standing there.
But I caught it—a flash of cruelty in his eyes that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Teacher Sable, you should be careful..."
Dusk was falling.
The girl tightened her grip on my hand.
And my peaceful life began to rot from that moment on.
2
I taught elementary school Chinese.
After that incident, the classroom descended into chaos for no apparent reason.
The students chattered and paid no attention.
Some even drew pictures of me in their notebooks.
Days later, I couldn't take it anymore and snatched a notebook away.
At first glance, though the lines were crude, it was unmistakably a nude woman.
For an instant, I thought—they're drawing me.
I erupted in anger at the front of the classroom.
I told them if they didn't study hard, they'd never escape these mountains!
Unlike before, the students didn't cower.
The ringleader laughed, stomped on the notebook, and stared me down. The class fell into a tense standoff.
I froze, cold sweat running down my back.
I suddenly realized—I was in the mountains.
They were children, but the way they looked at me... was like looking at prey.
I don't know why, but I thought of the spiders in my room. And this village was a giant web.
3
That night, I thought for a long time and decided to visit my students' homes.
But most of the children were left behind by migrant parents.
I went door to door. The elderly barely cared about their grandchildren's behavior. Even the parents who'd stayed in the village sneered at me.
They all said the same thing—I wouldn't last, and they knew it.
That day, I slunk through the village with my tail between my legs.
Old folks by the road stared at me openly, gossiping in a dialect I couldn't understand.
From the tone alone, I knew it wasn't anything pleasant.
I couldn't figure out what had gone wrong.
Or was I just overthinking it?
But what happened next truly chilled me to the bone.
The next morning.
I was at my desk, grading the submitted dictation assignments.
When I reached a page in the middle, my whole body shuddered.
A character grid page, no assignment.
Just two large characters written over and over.
"SLUT."
4
No name on the paper.
I looked up. All the students were bent over their books.
I was terrified—too scared even to demand who'd written it.
But I couldn't believe a child could do such a thing.
After class, I called over a student I was close with.
Her name was Fawn, a sixth grader.
Her older sister was Hazel, the girl Dalton had grabbed by the arm that day—she was a senior at the county high school.
I asked Fawn if the students had something against me.
At first, she hemmed and hawed.
Her hands twisted the hem of her shirt—clearly nervous.
But finally, she nodded.
"It was Dalton."
She said timidly, "Dalton said that in the city, you did that kind of work..."
A bad feeling crept over me. "What kind of work?"
"Selling... selling your body."
5
Suddenly, everything made sense—why the students' attitudes had changed, why the villagers whispered about me.
Fury clouded my judgment. I ran to the classroom door and shouted at the cluster of playing students.
Why do you think of me that way? I'm your teacher!
Dalton is a thug!
After a stunned silence, a young voice shot back with anger.
"You're just here to trick us! You don't deserve to be a teacher!"
I didn't even have time to see which grade they were from.
Because the other voices drowned me out.
"You're a bad woman from the city! A crazy woman!"
"You're hiding from something, aren't you! You're not clean! You're scared the police will get you!"
"You'll just stay here a few weeks and leave!"
"You seduced people's dads! Dalton caught you!"
The room spun. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from collapsing.
Then the crowd parted, and I saw Dalton striding toward me from somewhere, flanked by several burly men.
My stomach dropped. I tried to run, but it was too late.
Dalton grabbed me without a word and dragged me out of the school.
He called out, "Don't worry, kids. This woman's lost her mind."
I was hemmed in by grown men. There was no escape.
If I struggled, fists rained down.
If I cried out, a slap split my lip.
I remember that stifling afternoon clearly.
The simple school building echoed with my screams, and not a single person came to help.
I didn't even see the principal before I was dragged off the grounds.
That was the beginning of my nightmare.
6
I was dragged to the village chief's house.
It wasn't far—a few hundred meters, maybe.
I only remember the ache all over, my shoes lost in the struggle, my feet bleeding.
When Dalton threw me onto the bed, I snapped back to reality.
He waved the other men out, then turned to me with a leering grin.
He said, "Teach me a lesson, Teacher Sable."
I was paralyzed with terror, crying and begging him to let me go.
But Dalton feigned surprise. "You really are crazy, aren't you?"
"I called you a crazy woman... so no one would let you run out and 'hurt' anyone else, right?"
In that instant, something venomous surged in me.
I scanned the room for a weapon—anything I could use.
Even if it meant dying together.
But Dalton was already on top of me.