I am a tenth-generation evil spirit who escaped from hell, possessing the body of the newly found true young master of a wealthy family.

The moment I opened my eyes, the fake young master suddenly pretended I pushed him down the stairs. Clutching his chest, he gasped, “My heart—it’s acting up!”

My father, Simon, frowned and snapped, “You really are a lowborn wretch from the slums—scheming and deceitful, through and through!”

My so-called biological mother, Marissa, slapped me hard, bitterly yelling, “Bringing you home only causes trouble. It would have been better if you were never brought back at all!”

The fiancée, Cassandra, who was already betrothed to the fake heir, sneered coldly, “Even if Ronan isn’t the real heir, I will only marry him!”

I stared at them with a cold gaze, a slow, cruel smile curling at my lips. “It seems not proving my guilt is a bit of a loss. Then I shall gladly help you make that judgment—”

——

Raising my hand, I slapped the fake young master several times until his cheek swelled like a pig’s.

They all went mad with rage. “How dare you!”

I wasn’t just daring—I was willing to go much further.

Grabbing the fake young master by the neck, I dragged him all the way up to the fourth floor. “You didn’t die from the fall just now? Let’s try again, shall we?”

Everyone was frozen in terror, too shocked to intervene.

The fake young master, Ronan, stopped pretending to be sick and shouted for help, “Let go! Tristan, release me immediately!”

More than half of his body was hanging out the window, trembling dangerously in midair.

His fake fear turned into real panic as he frantically shook his head and begged, “No! Please...”

At last, his fake parents snapped out of it, scrambling after us in a panic.

Even now, they still cursed and threatened me with filthy words.

I smiled dispassionately at them, mildly amused. “This is what you call a real push—”

With a sharp scream, Ronan was thrown out of the window.

With a loud thud, Marissa, who had threatened to throw me out of the house, covered her mouth and fainted from fright.

Simon trembled as he staggered to the window, falling and getting back up several times, unable to bring himself to look outside.

Cassandra arrived late, just in time to see the scene.

Her eyes bloodshot, she grabbed my collar fiercely, as if wanting to kill me on the spot.

I clicked my tongue. “If you don’t hurry to save him, Ronan is going to drown.”

“What?!” Cassandra froze, then immediately released me and rushed to the window.

I followed and leaned slightly out. “Even I, someone who just came back home, knows there’s a huge swimming pool down there. Why do you need me to remind you?”

Though the family had a swimming pool, Ronan had been afraid of water since childhood and couldn’t swim.

He was now flailing wildly in the water like a helpless duck, about to sink completely.

In a panic, Cassandra jumped straight out of the window.

Ronan was suddenly rescued, coughing violently while clutching his chest.

I nodded. This time, it really looked like he was suffering.

Slap!

A palm suddenly landed hard on my face.

I pressed my numb left cheek and met the furious gaze of Simon.

His hand shook as he pointed at me, his face ugly with rage. “You’re nothing but a demon! A monster!”

I chuckled, as if I’d been reading a book.

Indeed, I am a demon—a tortured soul who died cruelly ten lifetimes ago, forever unable to find peace.

Every incarnation of mine was miserable—either torn apart by horses, slaughtered as a lowly outcast, or sold and used as mere livestock by rich families.

I carried this bitterness and humiliation with me, fleeing to the mortal world and possessing this body.

The true young master, Tristan was switched at birth by a greedy caregiver who swapped him for her own sickly son.

After barely surviving eighteen years of beatings and neglect in the slums, even being brought back home didn’t change Tristan's fate. His biased family continued to ignore him, and even his fiancée looked down on him with utter contempt.

Everyone despised the rustic aura clinging to him from his rural upbringing—yet not a single one of them ever taught him how to become refined or noble.

Standing beside Ronan, who had received a top-tier education for eighteen years, Tristan—a grown man—had fallen into deep depression, stripped of the will to live.

He willingly gave up on life, begging me to take his place and help him seek revenge... to live the life he never could.

I’d originally planned to refuse.

But when I looked through the tragic trajectory of his life, I realized—shockingly—it mirrored mine almost exactly.

What a coincidence. I’ve never been one to bow to fate. If anything, I live to defy it.

Marissa finally stirred from her faint, and when her eyes fell on me, she recoiled in terror, shaking her head. “You’re not my son... You’re not!”

I shrugged helplessly. “If he had a choice, Tristan wouldn’t want to be your son either.”

Tristan—a name that literally means “melancholy,” or "storm." What kind of parent names their own child something so degrading?

Cassandra shielded a pale and trembling Ronan behind her, throwing me a look of pure disgust before walking over to stand beside Simon.

“Tristan grew up in the slums for eighteen years. Of course he’s picked up all kinds of filthy habits. If I don’t teach him a lesson, he’ll never learn!”

Ronan clutched his chest and put on another pained expression, resuming his act. “Brother, I know you hate me for stealing the good life that should have been yours, but I never thought you’d actually want me dead.”

Marissa began to sob. “All I ever wanted was for you two to get along I didn’t say anything when you bullied him before, but this time, you tried to kill him. I can’t cover for you anymore! You’d better reflect on what you’ve done!”

With that, she turned and left without looking back.

Simon and the others followed, leaving me alone in the vast, silent villa.

I dug into the original host’s memories, trying to find the incidents Marissa had accused him of.

But all I found... was injustice.

The original host once got a perfect score on an exam, proudly sharing it with his family—only to be scolded for being boastful.

All because Ronan barely passed, and to spare his feelings, Tristan never dared mention his own achievements again.

Tristan had a passion for research and was once invited to study abroad as an exchange student by a world-renowned scholar.

But when Ronan said he wanted to stay close to his brother, they rejected the invitation on his behalf without even telling him.

Every time the family went on vacation, Tristan was left behind.

Because Ronan claimed Tristan lacked etiquette and would embarrass the family, they arranged a so-called “etiquette coach” for him—someone completely unqualified, who only made him worse.

Still, Simon and Marissa blamed him for being stupid, as if they’d predicted it all along.

“We knew from the start you weren’t the type with natural talent. So what if you got first place through rote memorization? You still don’t have a shred of grace!”

The favoritism was endless. I honestly didn't understand how Marissa could speak of “covering for him” with a straight face.

Click. The grand hall, once brightly lit, was suddenly plunged into darkness.

The entire villa lost power.

A few messages popped up on the old, cracked flip phone that had belonged to the original host.

They were from Marissa.

[We’ve left. Reflect on your behavior while you’re home alone for a few days.]

[If we don’t starve you a bit, you’ll never learn your place. Don’t even think about leaving—the whole house is locked down with the power out.]

[I had the maid throw out everything in the fridge. If you know what’s good for you, apologize. When your brother forgives you, I’ll consider letting you out.]

With a mechanical beep, the electric lock on the security door clicked shut.

I slowly curled my lips into a smirk.

So this was the so-called “lesson” they meant to teach me?

If it were the original host—malnourished for years and suffering from severe stomach issues—this might've been a deadly punishment.

But for me?

It was like a fish losing its bicycle.

Humans need food, but ghosts didn’t.

Marissa had always been devoutly Buddhist. It took me no effort to rummage through the house and find all sorts of spiritual treasures.

I lit incense, burned joss paper, and helped myself to a supernatural buffet.

Not only did I gain some weight, but my complexion even improved.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

As I was lounging under the sun, enjoying my peaceful existence, Ronan showed up at the villa gate holding several takeout boxes.

He shot me a timid glance, then gathered his courage and said firmly, “Mom and Dad took me out for a fancy meal. We couldn’t finish everything, so I brought some back for you. Even though you almost killed me, I just couldn’t stand by and watch you starve. Actually, if you just apologize to me, I’d be will—”

Before he could finish that self-righteous speech, I picked up a slipper and stuffed it through the gap in the iron gate, straight into his mouth.

“Still playing the virtuous little martyr? You knew I have a serious stomach condition and can’t go hungry, yet you left me to starve for three days. What, are you disappointed I didn’t die?”

The slipper warped his face as he stumbled backward. He hit the ground hard, scraping his arms, and the takeout boxes fell with him.

Soup and leftovers splattered everywhere, reeking of rot—who knows how many days it had been left out.

Ronan pulled the slipper from his mouth, his face filled with stubborn grievances.

But he wasn't looking at me.

No, he looked toward a spot not far away—where something glinted in the light.

Someone was secretly filming.

Ah, the stage was set. It would be rude not to act my part.

“Big brother...” Ronan wailed dramatically, “why are you treating me like this? Would you only be satisfied if I died?”

I whistled in amusement. “You keep saying you want to die, but I don’t see you doing it. Come on, if you’ve got the guts, go lie down in the middle of the road right now.”

A flicker of resentment passed through his eyes, then he looked even more pitiful. “Fine! If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you. Just promise you’ll stop making life hard for Mom and Dad. Be a good son to them, okay?”

He turned and walked away, clutching his face.

Right on cue, Marissa and Simon appeared and rushed over to him.

Marissa could barely stand from anxiety as she examined him frantically. “What happened? Did he hit you again? Don’t cry, Mommy’s here to protect you!”

Simon turned to glare at me. “Even locked up, you’re still causing trouble! Do I need to get really tough with you?”

Ronan glanced at me with eyes full of fear. “It’s true that Mom and Dad ordered the punishment, but I thought Big Brother must be starving, so I brought him some food out of kindness. I didn’t expect...”

His voice began to tremble with emotion, as if tears could fall any second.

“I didn’t expect Big Brother to shove a slipper into my mouth and tell me to go die! Maybe... maybe he really won’t be happy until I’m dead!”

Marissa looked like she wanted to slap me across the face, but the iron gate between us blocked her path.

Simon clenched his fists, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “I don’t know why you hate Ronan so much, but I told you—if you want to stay in this house, you need to get along with him. Or do you want to go back to that rat-infested slum you crawled out of?”

I rolled my eyes so hard they might’ve stuck. “He stole my life, took everything from me, and has tried more than once to ruin me. You think I shouldn’t hate him?”

Marissa opened her mouth to retort, but I crouched down, grabbed a handful of the spilled, rotting food, and flung it toward them.

“Here, try a bite and tell me what it is. Ronan brought this garbage for me to eat, pretending it was some kind gesture. If you two can stomach it, then sure, I’ll learn to be grateful to him. But if you wouldn’t eat this crap, don’t you dare expect me to.”