I struggled with what little strength I had, hitting him, but he just laughed softly.
"Teacher, how can you hit a student?"
As his sweaty weight heaved above me, I could only hope it would end quickly.
But when I thought it was over, the door opened again.
A wiry, sharp-eyed old man walked in.
He was the village chief—Dalton's father, Vance.
Vance closed the door behind him, looked my body over, and complained.
"Son, didn't we agree you'd wait for me?"
7
From that day on, I never escaped Dalton's house again.
They locked me in the pigpen, stripped me naked, fitted me with a modified donkey's muzzle, and fed me nothing but the same crude husks the pigs ate.
At first, I dared to scream for help during the moments when the muzzle came off for meals.
But every time, I was beaten half to death.
So I learned.
I stopped fighting. I stopped crying out. I curled up in the corner of the pigpen and learned to coexist with the pigs.
Gradually, I became what they called me—livestock, a pig, their "People's Teacher" only when they wanted to play.
Those days carved themselves into my bones. I couldn't forget them if I tried.
Even after I was rescued, I still dreamed of those scenes every night.
8
When I reached this part of my story, I was taking deep breaths between sentences.
Detective Shaw took careful notes. He handed me tissues and asked gently, "Are you certain your memory is accurate?"
I paused, meeting his serious gaze. A wave of indignation rose in me.
I gripped the bed and snarled, "How could I misremember? What reason would I have to misremember?"
Only then did I realize—a nurse had been standing outside the entire time, trying to come in each time I gasped for air, but Detective Shaw had stopped her.
My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the headboard and raised my voice. "You're working for Dalton, aren't you! You want to change his testimony! No... you're going to send me back there!!"
Detective Shaw looked startled and actually stepped back two paces.
He held up his hands and said, "Don't be afraid. Dalton is dead."
9
"What?"
Now I was the one who was scared.
"There was a fire. Dalton and his father died inside the house. You were found during the rescue operation."
I steadied myself. "And?"
"There were knife wounds on both their bodies."
Detective Shaw fixed me with a serious stare. "Trying to cover up knife wounds with a fire is a remarkably clumsy method."
I fell silent for a long time, then looked up and asked again, "And?"
"So..." Detective Shaw repeated his question. "Are you truly certain you haven't misremembered anything?"
"I haven't! I didn't see anything!"
My voice carried an edge of anger.
But then Detective Shaw produced a photograph.
In the photo, I was smiling, lying next to a naked, sleeping Dalton.
10
My hands began to shake as I held the photo.
"Think harder, Teacher Sable."
Detective Shaw's tone was gentler now—the "interrogation" atmosphere had faded.
He leaned closer, guiding me patiently. "In this photo, your relationship with the deceased doesn't seem so simple."
The image in the photograph was tearing apart my memories, piece by piece.
Like... waking from a dream.
After a long while, I set the photo down and lowered my head.
"That day, I saw them. How they died..."
"Then let's start from the beginning—from your relationship with Dalton."
"I didn't lie."
"Go on."
"Dalton... did rape me."
"Continue."
11
The wildflowers I used to brew tea weren't ones I picked myself.
Dalton had given them to me.
That was his opening move.
He said mountain people weren't as fancy as city folks. Even their flowers were practical.
I admit—when I first arrived, Dalton's rustic charm fooled me.
I kept teaching, counting down the days until summer break, while fending off Dalton's advances.
I even started thinking Dalton wasn't so bad.
He was handsome, seemingly honest, and—importantly—rich.
Thanks to his father's maneuvering, he owned four apartments in the county seat.
If we married, maybe I could bring him to the city.
Until something happened that made me realize everything Dalton had done was just sweet talk.
In the net Dalton had cast, I was just a slightly more novel fish.
The other fish I discovered was Hazel, Fawn's older sister.
12
Hazel and Fawn were both my students, in a sense.
Hazel had just finished her college entrance exams and was volunteering as a tutor at the village school.
In her free time, she'd ask me about life in the big city.
So Hazel was my oldest student in the village.
What I taught her was how to survive in a big city.
Perhaps I taught her too much.
A big city has so many ways to spend money. And if you have none, life is so much harder.
So Hazel turned her gaze back to this tiny mountain village.
In the village, there was one person who could ensure she'd never have to worry about survival.
I saw them that day.
Under the stars, by the fields. Dalton, holding Hazel's hand, strolling lazily.
They weren't arguing. I didn't intervene.
13
I thought, of course—Hazel was only eighteen.
She was young, pretty, and caring. This was her world.
That evening, I confronted Dalton.
I told him to stop contacting me. I was going back to the city—I couldn't stay here forever.
But Dalton lost his temper.
He said, "You think you can just leave? I've spent all this time on you and got nothing, and you want to ditch me?"
That was the first time I heard him swear.
We argued for maybe two or three exchanges. I wanted to end it and walk away.
But Dalton grabbed me and hurled me onto the bed.
14
Really...
I should have called the police right then.
15
This time, Detective Shaw was attentive to my emotions.
He didn't contradict me. He set down his pen and asked, "Why didn't you call the police?"
"I... I rejected his 'compensation.'"
I smiled bitterly. "Forty thousand. He said he'd give me forty thousand and told me not to call the police. He said it was an accident."
"Who'd believe that? Or did I really need the money? After all, I'd already chosen to come teach in the mountains." I spoke quietly. "But I should've pretended to accept the forty thousand, then gone to the police."
16
That day, I flatly rejected Dalton's plea.
I said forty thousand was nowhere near enough, that it wasn't what I wanted.
I said I would make sure he went to prison.
But when I tried to yank my arm free from Dalton's grip, the door opened—and I ran straight into Vance's chest.
He looked like he'd been waiting outside forever, stepping forward and forcing me backward into the room.
From behind me, Dalton's mocking voice: "How about eighty thousand, then?"
"Teacher Sable, this time, you'll be keeping my dad company."
I whipped around. Dalton was sitting on the bed, casually flexing his wrists.
"I secretly took photos of you just now. From that angle, you don't exactly look like you're resisting."
"It won't be long before the school's buzzing with rumors about you."
"In those rumors... you might have done that kind of work. Let me think—maybe you're also a bit crazy. To keep you from harming the students, I had to take you away from the school."
"Hmm... from the classroom, or from the dorm? Though whether anyone saw you matters anymore, does it?"
Dalton held out his phone. My heart skipped a beat.
The angle was incredibly deceptive—it looked like I'd consented.
I lunged for the phone, but he pulled it away. All I heard was Dalton's cold voice.
"Forty thousand, eighty thousand? Are you really worth that much?"
"You're only fit to be livestock. Our livestock."
17
That day, I ran for my life.
They tackled me to the ground.
Covered my mouth, pinned me by the pigpen, and violated me again and again.
By the end, I was too weak to move—like a rag doll. They carried me inside and locked me in Vance's room.
The room. The yard. The pigpen.
I longed for the city, for my apartment, even for the cramped staff housing with its resident spiders—anything was a thousand times better than this.
But reality was cruel. In the days that followed, it was sometimes Vance, sometimes Dalton.
Until one afternoon, when Vance was pinning me by the pigpen again—
Dalton walked into the yard, leading Hazel by the arm.
18
By then, I'd been in despair for a long time.
But the sight of Hazel reignited my hope.
Even though I'd been beaten unconscious countless times for screaming for help.
This time, I knew it might be my only chance.
So I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Hazel! Save me! Please—"
The next second, Vance's slap knocked me to the ground.
In my blurred vision, I saw Hazel—trembling in her blue sneakers—walking toward me.
Looking up, I saw Dalton pushing her forward.
I saw Dalton whisper something in Hazel's ear.
Then Hazel's trembling body gradually grew still.
The calmer she became, the more I despaired.
Finally, Hazel spoke in a small voice.
"I'm sorry, Teacher Sable."
"I want to spend my life with Dalton."
"Think about it... be my mother-in-law."
19
In that instant, I lost all sensation.
My chest held nothing but fury.
It drew out the very last ounce of strength in my body.
Amid Dalton and Vance's laughter, I lunged forward and grabbed Hazel's leg.
With her cry of surprise, I hauled myself up.
Dalton closest to me froze for a second—unsure whether to help Hazel or stop me.
I think I know why he hesitated: I didn't run for the gate. I ran into the house.
He should regret that.
Inside was the kitchen. I remembered—there was a meat cleaver.
I didn't think twice. I grabbed it and charged back out, colliding with Vance coming after me.
One strike—aimed at the heart.
Vance clutched his chest and crumpled to his knees.
Behind him, Dalton rushed in and froze.
Dalton let out a strange yelp and tried to turn, but I was already on him, swinging the cleaver down toward his waist.
By the time Dalton hit the floor and turned back, my second strike had landed on his throat.
In the mountain fields, the wind blew, and soft rain fell.
I felt free for the first time.
I walked toward Hazel on unsteady legs.
She was terrified, backing away slowly.
But I was so drained—my body had nothing left.
The blade only grazed her face.
When Hazel screamed and fell, my reason finally flickered back.
She lay in the pigpen, covered in mud, her crying mixed with pig grunts.
That tiny shred of reason kept me from killing again.
I said, "Go."
Hazel blinked, scrambled up, and knelt before me, bowing over and over.
Between bows, she kept saying she was sorry, that she'd been so wrong.
In my head, only one thought remained.
Right. I was a teacher.
I'd taught her sister. I'd taught her.
When I was being slandered, Fawn might have joined in.
When I was being violated, Hazel chose to become an accomplice.
I really wasn't cut out to be a teacher.
"Hazel, do one last thing for me."
"Don't call the police."
Hazel nodded frantically.
After she left, I went to the kitchen, took a burning piece of wood, and set the house alight.
Then I walked back to the pigpen.
If all went well, I thought.
I would become a rescued, innocent victim.
20
"That's everything, Detective Shaw."
By the end, my voice had gone calm.
"So in the end, she did call the police, didn't she?"
"Being a teacher—I really failed at that."
But Detective Shaw just gave a bitter smile.
"I thought you genuinely couldn't remember before."
He sighed softly, sounding almost helpless. "I didn't expect you'd also have the energy to... fabricate a self-exculpating plan?"
I frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
After a long pause, Detective Shaw seemed to find the right words. He tapped his head and said:
"Teacher Sable, you suffered severe trauma. Your temporal perception may be a bit off. Think harder. Think again."
I was losing patience and cut him off. "What exactly do you want me to think about? I killed someone! I remember it! I'll go to prison, okay?"
I tried to hold back tears, but my voice cracked anyway.
I said, "Why should I go to prison? You think I wanted to kill? I was the victim!"
But Detective Shaw just sighed again.
His tone grew gravely serious.
"Then think—were you really... a victim?"
"Were you really humiliated by your students?"
"Were you really locked in a pigpen?"
"Teacher Sable, listen to me."
"You're a good teacher. The students never humiliated you. You were never locked in a pigpen."
"You were teaching every day."
"Even on the day you were found in the pigpen—you were teaching."
"Many witnesses can attest to that."