I've thought about it since—was Muzan's arrogance, cruelty, and cold-heartedness partly my fault?

  I understood his true nature so well, yet I still obeyed him, doing everything in my power to satisfy his desires.

  Was that why, after he became a demon, he took it for granted that the world should offer him everything?

  I've always remembered it vividly. That day I took him mountain climbing, we walked a winding, uneven mountain path.

  Mount Kyomei rarely saw visitors. The mountain path had never been specially maintained. Walking it took real effort.

  Not that it mattered to the Young Master. He rode up in a palanquin. The four bearers suffered.

  Letting the Young Master fall was no joke, but I promised them a huge reward in the head of the household's name and paid half upfront.

  Under such generous payment, there were indeed desperate men willing to risk it. They'd rehearsed on this mountain path for half a month. They could walk it with their eyes closed, knowing exactly where every stone lay.

  The Young Master was delivered safely to the mountaintop. The rest of us servants scrambled up behind in disarray.

  We couldn't fall too far behind. If the Young Master reached the summit and found no servants around, he'd likely be displeased again.

  Okoto didn't usually do heavy work. Her stamina couldn't keep up.

  If I brought her along, even I'd need considerable time to make it up.

  Whatever.

  I took the water canteens, folding stools, and pastry boxes they were carrying, strapped everything to my back, took a deep breath, and started pushing hard.

  Sigh. They say the wealthy life corrupts people, and it's true. After just half a year without farm work, carrying this little bit of stuff already felt strenuous.

  But my decade-plus of labor hadn't been for nothing. I arrived with this pile of things just before the Young Master stepped down from his palanquin.

  The Young Master stood atop the unobstructed peak, lifting his head slightly, gazing at the tranquil green sea below, then extending his view toward the magnificent architectural complex in the distance.

  That was the capital.

  Standing on this mountaintop, you could clearly take in the entire capital. Even the Imperial Palace became an insignificant corner beneath your feet, inspiring a sense of holding the world in your palm.

  At least the Young Master's expression showed he was quite satisfied with this commanding view.

  I busied myself spreading out the things I'd hauled up when I suddenly heard the Young Master call my name.

  His eyes were full of pleasure. He smiled and said to me, "You're quite good. You always satisfy me."

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  I didn't know if this counted as special regard, but after this trip, the Young Master did seem to view me somewhat as a confidant.

  When another brave soul finally came to treat the Young Master and predictably failed again, I was pondering how to help the Young Master vent his anger when he suddenly said to me, "Why not cut off his fingers?"

  I shuddered and looked at the Young Master's serious expression.

  Clearly, those tormenting methods had become child's play in his eyes. He was no longer satisfied letting these incompetent doctors suffer a little and leave unscathed.

  I'd whetted his appetite. The instigator was indeed at fault.

  I silently knelt down and said respectfully and earnestly, "Young Master, they all genuinely wish to cure you. Though incompetent, their intentions are not wrong."

  The Young Master's expression darkened. He stared at me coldly.

  Perhaps he thought his regard for me had made me forget my place.

  To wake up my brain, I received twenty lashes that day.

  Salt-soaked whips. Each lash landed precisely on my back, as if my spine would snap.

  If Ohagi hadn't had connections with the servant administering punishment, if Okoto and the others hadn't secretly pooled money to send over, I might not have survived those twenty lashes.

  When the whipping finished, I crawled out covered in blood.

  The Young Master watched me from his window. No one dared help.

  I knew he wanted to see me in a wretched state, so I calmly crawled out of his courtyard... Until I left his sight, Ohagi came running up trembling to meet me.

  I lay in the servants' quarters for two days, burning with fever one night. I survived only because the maids in my room cared for me.

  On the third day, Okoto came to see me and said awkwardly that the Young Master wanted me back on duty.

  Well then. His anger had subsided. He was willing to spare this dog's life?

  I asked if the doctor still had all his parts intact.

  Okoto didn't understand, but they vaguely knew I'd angered the Young Master by pleading for the doctor. They told me they'd thoroughly tormented the doctor, which counted as venting for me.

  Sounded like the doctor hadn't been thrown out bloodied. After all, I'd taken the beating for him.

  Sigh. I did a good deed. Why didn't heaven open its eyes and favor me a little?

  Never mind anything else—at least let me strike it rich.

  My beloved little house. Who knew when I'd save enough money.

  Since the Young Master had given the order, I could only force myself to get up and report for duty.

  My half-dead miserable appearance seemed to please him. The Young Master didn't mention that day's events. Life continued plainly.

  Until the fated person appeared.

  He was a doctor who looked exceptionally young, but different from the usual doctors.

  He came to the door himself, requesting to treat the Young Master.

  Because of our wicked deeds, very few doctors came anymore. The head of the household had to expend great effort inviting them, and even then they might not come.

  But this doctor was quite different. He actually guaranteed he could cure the Young Master.

  Hearing this, the Young Master laughed coldly.

  My heart sank. I groaned inwardly.

  This was bad. With such bold words, the Young Master would have to chop off both his hands to vent his anger!

  I could take a whipping to save the doctor's fingers.

  The Young Master was right. I did dare refuse his demands because of his slight regard for me.

  Because no one else in the entire household suited his tastes better or was more useful. He would punish me severely, but wouldn't kill me outright.

  But that was the limit.

  If he was determined to chop off the doctor's hands, even if I paid with my life, I couldn't stop him.

  Honestly, I wasn't willing to trade my life for the doctor's. They wouldn't be grateful I'd saved them anyway.

  I was just a lowly maid.

  So I said nothing.

  I regretted it for the rest of my life.

  The doctor somehow gained the head of the household's trust and actually entered to treat the Young Master.

  He came daily to examine the Young Master, inquiring about his condition and physical state. But the prescriptions he wrote—he wouldn't let us fill them.

  The doctor had medicinal herbs in his own courtyard. He'd personally brew the medicine and bring it over.

  He only showed his prescriptions to the Young Master. Who knew what he'd written. The Young Master, knowledgeable from long illness, could read prescriptions. He clearly didn't trust him.

  The first day's medicine arrived. The Young Master stared at it coldly for a long time. I served silently beside him, guessing whether he planned to pour it out.

  "Chihaya." He suddenly called me, pointing at the bowl of medicine. "Drink it."