I’m tough to kill.
I was switched at birth, and my adoptive parents tried to kill me time and again.
When I was one month old, they tried to starve me to death. My cries made the whole village shake like an earthquake.
When I was three, they dumped me in the mountains. Every wild animal fled down the slopes, trembling, and a tiger carried me back.
When I was five, they threw me into a river to drown me. The river split in two on the spot, leaving me safe and sound in the middle.
They discovered I needed an enormous amount of oxygen, so I had to carry an oxygen tank everywhere.
When I was ten, they cut off my oxygen, hoping I’d suffocate. One punch from me made the whole village cave in.
After that, my adoptive parents lived in fear, and the whole village treated me kindly.
Twenty years later, my adoptive parents couldn’t take the enormous expense of keeping me supplied with oxygen anymore, so they had no choice but to send me back to a wealthy family.
The day I returned, the fake heiress clasped my hand affectionately, looking weak and pitiful:
