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In the room stood a woman with a flirtatious smile, and when she looked at me, the indifference in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. I clutched the fastening of my sheer garment tightly, my fingertips turning white from the pressure, as if I were holding onto the dignity I desperately wanted to protect.
The smiling woman approached me step by step, her cold gaze intensifying. I trembled and instinctively took a small step back, avoiding her eyes. She reached out and lifted my chin, saying, "This little face is quite tender! You better serve our master well, or you'll regret it." With that, she tossed her silk shawl over me and turned to push the madam out of the room.
I could hear her teasing voice fading away: "Oh dear Foster Mother, are you sending this little girl to steal my business? Have you stopped caring for me?" The madam laughed and scolded her, "You ungrateful thing! If Foster Mother didn't care for you, would this wealthy gentleman be interested in you? It's just that he wants something fresh!"
The woman cooed sweetly, "I know Foster Mother thinks of me. Please go rest; I'll keep watch here." As their voices gradually faded away, I looked at the sheer shawl draped over me. Perhaps it was just a trick of the mind, but I felt a slight sense of safety. How ridiculous! Finding comfort in a mere shawl in such a place.
Before I could dwell on my thoughts any longer, I heard a greasy and nauseating voice say, "Come on, give me a smile." He reached out with his sweaty hand towards me. Instinctively, I recoiled but was blocked by the closed door behind me. He continued to advance toward me, and in my panic, I darted around the room. When he lunged at me, I grabbed a wine jug from the table and smashed it over his head.
The servants stationed at the door rushed in at his shout, and soon after, the madam entered as well. Seeing the chaotic scene, she slapped me hard across the face, leaving it stinging with pain. I tried to rush out the door but was pushed to the ground by the woman who had draped the shawl over me earlier.
"Don't be ungrateful; this is your blessing! Foster Mother is taking care of you by letting you serve here. Others would kill for this opportunity!" Her voice dripped with disdain and sarcasm. Because of my resistance, the madam ordered someone to beat me before locking me away.
After a day of hunger, the door swung open, and in the light stood the woman who had draped a shawl over me. A bowl of food, emitting a strange odor, was thrust into my face, and I instinctively knocked it over.
"Not eating? Then don't blame us for being rude," sneered the woman who had come with her, as she forcefully pinned me down and shoved the food into my mouth.
I struggled desperately, but her strength was overwhelming, and I had no choice but to swallow the nauseating food.
Watching my pathetic state, the woman coldly mocked me, saying, "Ha! You think we're disgusting? We think you're foolish. I once resisted too, but in the end, I had to beg Foster Mother for a way to survive. As long as you're alive, there's hope. You haven't signed a contract selling yourself yet; you still have a chance. But here you are, seeking death and suffering—it's what you deserve."
At that moment, I felt a spark of determination. Yes! I hadn't signed a contract; I was dragged here to pay off a debt. If I ran away, they wouldn't dare report me to the authorities.
If I just died like this, my brother would surely take the money and disappear. Wouldn't that mean I would have died for nothing?
No, I couldn't die. I had to live and escape. I needed to confront him and ask why he treated me this way.
Thus began my pretense of compliance. At the brothel owner's suggestion, I practiced my manners and speech every day.
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