Chapter 1

When I was seven years old, my father began subjecting me to extremely strict parenting. Not only did he withhold any support for my food, clothing, housing, or daily necessities, but he even charged me for drinking water in our own home.

As a child, I endured relentless suffering and bullying. When I was critically injured by a vehicle that broke the law, I was severely injured, and my father refused to save me.

Only after my death did I learn the truth that he already had a son somewhere out there. Everything he did to me was meant to drive me to my death.

After rebirth, I no longer adhered to rules nor endured silently.

Exploiting the fact that I was still a minor, I stabbed his secretary, bullied my classmates at school, and even set a fire on campus to force my father to give up on his brutal methods.

When I grew up, I took everything he owned and sent him to prison.

Only then was my revenge completed.

Chapter 1

When I was bullied at school, my father sat inside a luxury car, watching with cold indifference.

“Your inability to build good relationships with your classmates is your own failure. You should reflect on yourself,” he said.

When I scavenged recyclables on the streets daily just to afford a single dinner roll, he mocked me.

“You’re already in elementary school, yet still can’t think of a way to make money better than picking up scraps. You deserve to starve to death.”

Even after I was struck by a car that ran a red light and left me critically injured, requiring surgery, he still refused to help.

“You failed to pay attention to traffic safety yourself, and you can’t even afford surgery. Your life is doomed.”

Thus, under the guise of grooming an heir, my father let me, his only daughter, die in the hospital hallway.

Only after death did I learn that his secretary had already borne him a son long ago. His so-called strict parenting was merely an excuse to push me to my death.

When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn on the very day he began implementing the strict parenting style.

…

My father was a live-in son-in-law who married into wealth.

When I was four, my mother passed away due to illness, leaving the vast family fortune to my father and me.

The death of a nationally renowned local entrepreneur drew widespread public attention. My father’s heartfelt eulogy during her funeral painted a moving final chapter onto her short yet brilliant life.

He also knelt before my mother’s coffin and vowed never to remarry, swearing to raise me properly and nurture me into an entrepreneur as successful as she had been.

This deeply emotional farewell even made headlines in newspapers and television broadcasts at that time, becoming a tale fondly discussed by the people over meals.

Back then, I believed that if my mother had been loved so deeply, then she must have been incredibly happy.

And as their only child, I would surely be protected just as well by my father.

However, starting from the third year after my mother’s passing, I never again received a single penny from this family until the day I died.

“Remember! Everything in this world comes with a price. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.

“You will one day reclaim from me everything your mother had left you. Only when you understand that nothing comes easily will you learn to cherish it, and only then will you appreciate my good intentions.

“So, starting today, I will no longer provide you with any material support. You must earn everything yourself. Even if that means a sip of water, you must find a way to obtain it on your own. Do you understand?”

I was only seven years old then, and could not comprehend the cruelty hidden in his words.

Later, when he truly cut me off from everything, did I finally realize the kind of hell I had entered.

No new clothes, no more soft and comfortable bed, and no food to fill my stomach.

I even got my own dedicated water tap, fitted with a meter, and each month I had to pay the nanny, Nancy, for my water usage.

At first, I thought this was merely a sudden educational experiment on my father’s whim.

However, when I suffered from stomach cramps induced by extreme hunger and eventually collapsed, nobody came to my aid. That was when I realized my father truly intended to let me fend for myself to the end.

How could a young child possibly know how to earn the means to survive?

No amount of my wailing could sway him in the slightest.

Facing starvation, I desperately sought ways to feed myself. At my lowest point, I even rummaged through trash bins for discarded leftovers.

Such behavior was hard to conceal. Even though I deliberately chose hidden trash bins far from school, I was still discovered.

Chapter 2

My brief life was thus accompanied by bullying throughout, up until my death.

Children’s malice was often purer and more unrestrained, yet it cut deeper. They didn’t perceive it as offense or harm, but merely a game.

They called me a garbage-eating trash bin and formed a group that took pleasure in tormenting me. They even assigned someone to block my access to the school toilets.

I relied on collecting recyclables for money, yet time and again, my earnings would be snatched away by older students.

I cried to my father for help, only to receive his cold rebuke.

“Why do they target you and not others? Why can’t you build a good rapport with your classmates?

“Why don’t they bully me, but instead single you out? Ultimately, it’s your social skills that are flawed. If you can’t even deal with something this trivial, then you’re not qualified to inherit anything your mother left you!”

One day, I was hit by a car that ran a red light and was thrown more than a hundred feet away. When the hospital called him, not only did he refuse to sign the surgery consent form, but he also refused to pay a single cent of medical expenses.

“She’s almost an adult. She should take responsibility for her own actions.

“If she still needs her parents to cover her medical bills, then what’s the point of continuing such a failed life?”

I once naïvely believed this was his way of training me. Though I harbored resentment, I never truly hated him.

After my death, however, I discovered he had long had a son eight years younger than me; a b*stard born to him by his secretary.

The “strict parenting” was never imposed on that b*stard son of his. He was given a fairytale-like childhood, where a single ordinary dinner cost more than I earned in a year of scavenging.

As for the harsh discipline forced upon me, it was nothing more than a scheme to wear me down to death so that he could clear the way for that b*stard.

The eulogy he delivered at my mother’s funeral had put him on a pedestal, leaving him in a tough spot. If I didn’t die, that son of his would never be able to step into the spotlight.

Now, I had been reborn, back to the day my father stood before me and eloquently declared that he would begin his so-called strict parenting.

As I watched him solemnly expound his grand principles, I severed the last trace of father-daughter affection in my heart.

Afraid to kill me outright and invite public condemnation, he resorted to this roundabout tactic to exhaust me to death instead.

Unfortunately for him, I was someone who had already died once. Everything I had endured back then had long since crystallized into searing hatred after my death.

Now that I had been given a second life, I would no longer subject myself to living in humiliation and blind obedience.

“These are the challenges you’ll face from now on. I won’t offer you any help. You have to depend on yourself, and nobody will support you.

“You’re almost eight. If you can’t even manage your own survival, you’re destined to be a failure. Do you understand?”

My eyes brimmed with a mix of confusion and understanding, to which I nodded obediently.

Satisfied with my bewildered expression, he patted my head and turned around toward his study.

As the door to his study closed, the confusion in my eyes slowly faded, replaced by bone-chilling coldness.

‘If you’re so eager for me to yield to that b*stard, then I won’t even give him any chance to enter the arena.’

After all, the only way to prevent being suckerpunched was to keep the opponent out of the ring.

In the days that followed, I began collecting scraps for money based on memories from my past life. I worried daily for a single dinner roll, and occasionally feigned breakdowns and sobbing to confuse my father.

Chapter 3

Seeing me faint from hunger twice in just one short month, my father began to let his guard down a little around me.

Right at the moment his vigilance was at its weakest against a seven-year-old child, I delivered him a gift that nearly broke him.

…

For an entire week, I scavenged for recyclables day and night. Even on weekends, I rummaged through trash bins at the residential entrance late into the night.

My father paid no mind. To him, I was simply terrified of starving. Working myself so desperately was merely my way of trying to fill my stomach.

To keep the money from being snatched away by the older students that my father had arranged, I deliberately took half a day off on Friday afternoon and sold off the scraps I’d painstakingly gathered.

In just one week, I managed to save a whopping hundred dollars.

Clutching the crumpled bills, I first bought a switchblade from a street vendor. Then, I raced to a family restaurant for a hearty meal of pot roast before bringing home a large bag of dinner rolls.

Over the weekend, I stayed in the villa, living off dinner rolls and cold water while reviewing my schoolwork.

Nancy was my father’s informant. She wouldn’t offer any help, and neither would she interfere much with my actions.

As noon approached, the doorbell rang.

I “sensibly” beat Nancy to open the door, and saw a woman in a business suit waiting outside.

Big, wavy curls paired with a silver blazer and a fitted pencil skirt; black stockings hugging her long legs, finished off with stilettos. No wonder she had completely enchanted my father, so much so that he’d sacrifice his only daughter to pave the way for her out-of-wedlock child.

“Ma’am, may I ask who you’re looking for?” I asked politely as I looked up.

As she looked at me from above, her fake smile couldn’t hide the disgust and loathing in her eyes.

Then again, it was only a natural expression to show toward an obstacle for your future child.

“Little girl, don’t call me Ma’am. Call me Miss.”

Smugly, she looked down at me and said, “I’m here to deliver documents to your father. Is he home?”

She wasn’t surprised at all by my shabby clothes, clearly aware of my father’s ill treatment of me.

I shook my head. “My father went to work. He’s not back yet.”

“Oh? Then may I come in and wait?”

Though she asked, she had no intention of waiting for permission and moved to walk past me and into the house.

I blocked her path and held out my hand. “Ma’am, the entry fee is five dollars.”

She froze for a moment, seemingly remembering something. A vague smile flickered across her face. “Little girl, didn’t your father teach you manners?”

I shook my head again. “No. He only taught me to be self-reliant.”

She dropped her act and rolled her eyes at me. “You little money-grubber. Just you wait till your father gets home. He’ll hear all about this.”

With that, she shoved me aside and strode right in.

Nancy clearly knew her and greeted her respectfully, “Hello, Ms. Powell.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll wait for Mr. Stone in the study.”

“Ma’am, wait!”

Hearing the childish cry behind her, impatience finally flashed across the woman’s face.

She turned around. “I’ve told you. Are you ever going to…”

Before she could finish, a switchblade was already plunged into her lower abdomen.

She stared blankly at the blade protruding from her stomach, then looked at me. Her eyes were filled with confusion and shock, a total disbelief at what she was seeing.

Quickly, I pulled out the switchblade protruding from her stomach and stabbed her twice more in the same spot.

With a serious expression, I looked up into her eyes and said, “Ma’am, no money, no entry!”

Chapter 4

Amid Nancy’s scream and my hands covered in blood, I picked up the phone on the coffee table and dialed 911.

…

When my father, the chairman, Mr. Emmanuel Stone, rushed into the hospital in his bespoke suit, I was already surrounded by a few police officers.

The red light outside the operating room still glowed as doctors fought to save the woman’s life.

My father spoke solemnly with the officers for a moment before turning toward me.

“Nadia Stone, why did you stab her?”

“Because she wouldn’t give me money.”

“Why would she give you money?”

“Because I opened the door for her. So she had to give me money.”

“Why does your opening the door for her mean that she must give you money?”

I lifted my head and looked at him with my wide, innocent eyes.

“You said it yourself. Everything in this world has a price. There is no such thing as a free lunch. Nothing can be gained without paying for something in return.

“Since I did something for her, shouldn’t she give me money?”

My father suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of helplessness.

“Even if she didn’t pay you, you still shouldn’t hurt her with a knife.”

“She gave me a mean look like I’d done something wrong. But I didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, she was the one in the wrong, so why did she treat me like that?

“And you told me before that if someone treats me badly the first time we meet, they’re likely to become my enemy later on. And that I should eliminate that threat before they can hurt me.”

Hearing this, my father’s expression twisted into something as foul as if he’d swallowed a pile of filth.

Back when he pushed his strict parenting, he’d also drilled some pretty extreme business principles into me. Little did he know I’d not only memorized them, but also obediently put them into practice.

As a result, Lara Powell, the woman who had borne him a son in my past life, now lay on the operating table, fighting for her life, while he sat on the bench outside the operating room, reaping what he had sown.

“Where did you get that blade?”

“I bought it.”

His suspicious gaze swept over my face. “You bought it? What for?”

“Lately, a group of older students has been robbing me of the money I earn from selling scraps after school. I told the teachers, but they ignored me. You were the one who told me to reflect, and that failing to protect my own earnings was my own fault.

“I really didn’t know where I went wrong, so I had to find a way to protect my money.”

My eyes remained clear and innocent. “Next time they try to take my money, I’ll use the same way to deal with them, as I did with the ma’am. I won’t let them steal my money again.”

The suspicion in his eyes faded. After all, no one would suspect a seventeen-year-old soul inhabiting the body of a seven-year-old girl.

He let out a long sigh and leaned his head weakly against the wall.

…

At seven in the evening, the surgery finally ended, and Lara was wheeled out of the operating room.

The good news was that her life was saved.

The bad news was that two consecutive stabs had precisely pierced her uterus. Not only was the one-month-old fetus lost, but she also had been stripped of her very right to be a mother.

Her uterus had been removed.

Outside the ward, I pressed my face against the door and peeked inside. There lay Lara, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. My father was standing beside her, clutching the surgical report, his entire body trembling violently.

Thereafter, I never saw Lara again.

A barren woman had no reason to stay by his side.

As for those older students who had ambushed and robbed me before, I never encountered them again. It was as if those bullies had mysteriously vanished overnight.

Chapter 5

No one said rose was the only flower allowed in the garden, so I chose to be an oleander, foul-smelling and poisonous.

I no longer sought shelter from the rain; I became the storm.

From that day on, I stopped living by the rules as I did in my previous life.

When the teacher asked us to pay the classroom fund, I told her outright I had no money and wouldn’t be joining any class activities.

She had no choice but to call my father for the payment.

That evening, my father sat in his study, his gaze stern as he asked, “Why didn’t you pay for the class fund?”

I answered honestly, “Because I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because paying it would leave me with no money. I can save that money to buy dinner rolls.

“You said this was called increasing revenue by cutting expenses, or saving from your own pocket. I think it’s a good idea. Worst comes to worst, I just sit out of the class activities.”

When the school required us to buy workbooks, I bullied the classmates who had bullied me in my past life and took theirs.

In this life, they hadn’t yet formed a clique to bully me, so I struck first, bullying them and cutting off every possible path.

Soon, the parents of those bruised and battered students complained to the school, and the school had no choice but to summon my father.

The one who came, however, was the nanny.

At the school gate, the nanny who had been so arrogant in my past life still bore a haughty attitude.

“Nadia, I’m here on behalf of Mr. Stone. I’m your “mother” now, so don’t get it wrong later.”

I stared at her calmly, speaking with a childish candor. “But you’re not my mom. She’s gone. Are you my father’s new wife?”

The nanny gasped, quickly covering my mouth as she whispered, “What nonsense are you spouting!”

I struggled to pry her hand away. “You’re always tattling to my father. I hate you!

“When I’m in charge one day, I’ll kick you out of the house! I’ll make sure your whole family starves, forcing you to dig through garbage and eat like rats!

“That stingy madam before? I stabbed her, and the police couldn’t do anything to me. When I’ve saved enough money, I’ll buy a longer knife and stab you the same number of times I stabbed her!”

Terrified by my childlike bluntness, the nanny obediently helped smooth the bullying incident at school for me, and handed in her resignation to my father that very night.

Although my father realized his strict parenting might have backfired, my father showed no intention of changing his tactics.

After all, just because one woman couldn’t carry his child anymore didn’t mean another couldn’t.

So I decided to pull off a big heist.

…

With reckless abandon, I extorted large sums from the boys who had bullied me in my past life. I also forced several girls who had tormented me before to take nude photos of themselves with their smartwatches and sell those images to pedophile websites.

With the money, I bought two bottles of gasoline and set fire to the principal’s office.

The two school buildings were donated by my parents back in the day, so the principal naturally knew who I was.

The impact of the incident, however, was too massive for him to cover up. He called my father to explain the gravity of the situation.

The trouble this time was so severe that my father was nearly driven mad with rage. He sent people straight to the school to drag me home.

“Did I send you to school to cause trouble? Can’t you spare me the headaches?

“First, you bullied your classmates, and now, you set the principal’s office on fire. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

In the study, my father was beside himself with fury, his gaze fixed on me as if I were a living embodiment of catastrophe.

“Nadia Stone, do you think that just because you’re my daughter, I can’t do anything to you?”

Chapter 6

“You’re this young and already starting fires? Keep this up, and you’ll be saying hello to delicious prison meals!”

I looked utterly aggrieved but held my head high, refusing to apologize.

“I did nothing wrong. I was just making money. What’s so wrong with that?”

He exploded with rage, cursing immediately, “Making money? Is this how you f*cking make money?

“You set the principal’s office on fire and still claim you did nothing wrong?”

I remained stubborn. “I did nothing wrong. But if you want to punish me, I’ll take it.”

“You burned the principal’s office. And that’s still not wrong?”

“Yes, I did that. But I did it to make more money.”

My father’s eyelid twitched, and a sudden sense of dread crept in.

“Pray tell. What does making money have to do with burning down the principal’s office?”

“Dad, if you were in business and did something others wanted to do but were too afraid to, what would happen?”

He jolted upright from his chair, his gaze locking onto mine.

“Who taught you this?”

“Did you forget? You taught me.

“You said that to make others respect you, you have to do something that scares them. That way, they’ll fear me. The best way to make others obey is to make them afraid of you.

“So I burned down the principal’s office. Now every student in the school knows who’s the most powerful here. If I dare to burn the principal’s office, then dealing with them is a piece of cake.”

If an adult committed such radical acts, they’d either be branded a psychopath or locked up in a mental institution.

When such extremity appeared in a seven-year-old girl, though, no one would think the child was troubled. Everyone assumed the problem lay with the child’s upbringing.

When a child became a problem, the child would be the least of a problem among her entire family.

Mr. Stone, who dominated the business world, was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of helplessness and slumped back into his chair.

“What’s next then? You’ve burned down the principal’s office. What do you plan to do now?”

My face radiated with absolute confidence as I said, “Start collecting money, of course.

“Tomorrow onward, everyone in the school pays me a dollar. It doesn’t sound like much, but there are over five hundred students. That’s five hundred dollars a day! No more rummaging through trash bins, no more selling scraps!

“Anyone who doesn’t pay, gets beaten. Any class that doesn’t pay, gets burned down. And if anyone tries to defy me…”

I pulled out several more switchblades from my backpack.

“I’ll stab their parents after school. Whenever they pay, I’ll let them go.

“I’m a minor anyway. There’s a law protecting minors. I bet the law won’t dare stab me back.”

I looked at my father’s ashen face and smiled as if seeking praise.

“Tonight after school, a brawl at the gate, parents dying. Doesn’t that sound delightful?

“Keep track of who paid and who didn’t. Those who paid are on our side. Everyone else… stab them all!”