Later that afternoon, Kleine brought over a map, asking Wu Qingsong to try and identify the potential location of Karazhan. However, what he didn't realize was that Wu Qingsong would never be able to pinpoint that place.

Seizing this opportunity, Wu Qingsong studied the map, acquainting himself with several pivotal locations. They were positioned within a mountainous region at the very center of the known continent. Not too far to the south was a vast ocean, while the northern Tecks Mountains concealed an impressively vast desert.

Both the east and northeast were characterized by mountainous terrains and dense, primitive forests.

Kleine was particularly interested in these areas, as he surmised that the Karazhan Wu Qingsong spoke of might be located therein. The northeast was a prime suspect, especially considering that past another massive mountain range lay the continent's most ancient and expansive forest, riddled with sprawling swamps.

'The development in this world certainly has a way to go,' Wu Qingsong silently critiqued internally.

Though seemingly a military map, it bore scant indications of roads, cities, or strongholds. Instead, vast swaths of uncharted territories dominated. Wu Qingsong, however, could not make sense of the graceful inscriptions on the map, rendering him unable to garner further insights about the land.

"Perhaps?" he suggested with a nod. "I remember walking a great distance toward the setting sun and traversing several hills, but I have no memory of crossing any major mountains."

"Could it be you have inadvertently passed through the transitional zone between the Haldoge and Tecks mountain ranges?" Kleine wondered aloud, swiftly providing a logical rationale. In some respects, he found his deduction more credible than Wu Qingsong's account.

In the days that followed, Kleine was incessantly occupied.

Wu Qingsong was uncertain if Kleine was busy investigating the undoubtedly fictitious names he'd mentioned or if he was burdened with the consequences of returning alone after losing his entire squad. Regardless of Kleine's concerns, Wu Qingsong was acutely aware that as the investigation progressed, Kleine's suspicions would only deepen.

Wu Qingsong had to take advantage of this brief window while Kleine’s guard was down and planned his escape.

Yet, his available resources were limited.

Perhaps to avoid any further cussing word from Wu Qingsong, Kleine had afforded him a modicum of freedom, within the boundaries of his tolerance. However, he also warned Wu Qingsong that any mischief would lead to his confinement in a box and subsequent burial deep underground.

"Heh," Wu Qingsong said, "Just don't provoke me, and I promise not to stir the pot."

He meticulously assessed his surroundings in the cellar. The cage he was confined in was positioned away from any nearby tables and racks, and its bars were closely set, leaving negligible gaps between them. Aside from a narrow slit at the base of the cage, presumably for sliding in a food tray, there was no opening large enough for him to slip his hand through.

Wrapping his feet with a blanket, Wu Qingsong persistently targeted what he believed was the cage's most vulnerable point. However, the cage remained resilient, revealing no signs of damage.

Ultimately, he employed a tactic from a novel he'd read, consistently urinating on the cage's iron bar joints, hoping it would hasten rusting. But, despite his regular checks, there was minimal evidence of rust or loosening.

He could only hope that Kleine had an abundance of patience. Yet, judging by his behavior, Wu Qingsong wasn't holding out much hope.

His days in the cage were marked by monotony. Over and over, Wu Qingsong dampened the bars and fiercely kicked at them. He was largely rendered helpless.

It was imperative that Kleine remained oblivious to his endeavors. For if Kleine became suspicious, it could lead him to doubt the entirety of Wu Qingsong's tale, jeopardizing everything.

Using the blanket to muffle the sounds from his feet wasn’t entirely effective. One morning, certain that Kleine was away, Wu Qingsong attempted to find a way out. To his surprise, he spotted a small shadow near the cellar's ventilation shaft.

The maid!

He had overheard her conversing with Kleine on the day he was brought in and was aware of her presence in the house. But he hadn't anticipated that the unintentional noises he made would draw her attention.

A chill ran down his spine, but before he could attempt to explain himself, she disappeared from sight.

Anxiety consumed Wu Qingsong for the rest of the afternoon. Yet, when Kleine returned, the routine was unchanged. Kleine brought him food and water, offered a few reassuring lies, and after pressing for more details about Karazhan, left, seemingly oblivious to Wu Qingsong's attempted escape.

So, Wu Qingsong set aside half of his dinner for later. The following morning, once Kleine had left, he tried to locate the young maid.

He heard soft footsteps above, most likely the maid's hurried movements.

"Is anyone there?" he called out tentatively.

The footsteps immediately ceased. A faint rustling followed, suggesting her cautious movements. Although Wu Qingsong tried to initiate contact again, she didn't return to the vicinity of the ventilation shaft.

He became attuned to the overhead sounds, trying to glean clues. Contrary to his initial assumptions, Kleine didn't seem to be mistreating the young maid, nor was there any apparent abuse.

If he had to give an opinion, Wu Qingsong would say that Kleine treated the maid just a mundane tool, cold and indifferent, yet not overtly harmful.

Perhaps this was only natural. In his former world, apart from a select few, the average person wouldn’t talk with household appliances like washing machines or rice cookers. In this realm, to beings like Kleine–whom Wu Qingsong mistakenly believed to be a full elf–a maid was practically indistinguishable from any other tool.

Wu Qingsong pondered her perspective. Maybe she had grown used to such treatment, deeming it routine. Yet, she hadn't reported his escape efforts to Kleine. This gave Wu Qingsong hope that leveraging her assistance in his escape wasn't an entirely wild notion.

The next day, after Kleine left, and once more the faint pitter-patter of her steps echoed, Wu Qingsong cleared his throat, commencing his most heartfelt ballad.

People’s customs and beliefs might differ based on their environments, but Wu Qingsong held the conviction that an innate appreciation for beauty was universal. Even if he wasn't a fan of traditional arts like Peking Opera*, he could appreciate the intricate facial makeup or the craftsmanship of the costumes, offering due applause to the impressive vocal feats.

Fixated on the ventilation shaft, he finally discerned a small silhouette during his fourth song.

She appeared curious, tentatively extending her tiny head to glance at the confined Wu Qingsong, her ears perking up at his song.

Yet, as soon as his voice waned, she swiftly darted away.

Thus, a unique rapport blossomed. Daily, in Kleine’s absence, Wu Qingsong sang, drawing the young catgirl maid to the ventilation shaft. It was only when his melodies concluded that she'd busy herself once again.

Over time, Wu Qingsong began to sing softer. One day, she finally made a full appearance at the ventilation shaft. So slender was her figure that she could easily slip through.

"Don't be scared," he interrupted his own song to reassure her.

Quickly, the catgirl maid disappeared, but to Wu Qingsong's relief, her shadow lingered.

"I'm Wu. What's your name? Don't worry, I won't harm you," he spoke gently. "Did you have your breakfast? I have half of last night's dinner left untouched here. Would you like some?"

Silence was her only reply.

"I'll place it here. If you wish to, feel free to take it," he voiced, a tinge of disappointment evident. "Don't worry, Kleine will never know."

He continued his usual routine of kicking the iron cage. After some time, he noticed her small silhouette back on the ventilation shaft, seemingly watching him.

"Hello," he began warmly. "If you don't want to talk, that's alright. I just wanted to thank you for keeping my secret. Would you like some food?"

She darted away in an instant. She remained absent for the day, yet Wu Qingsong persevered, daily searching his memory for songs that might pique her interest. Days later, she finally mustered the courage to jump down, presenting herself before him.

‘Could she be younger than twelve?’ thought Wu Qingsong.

Her petite body was his first impression. Kleine might not have given her sufficient food, making her appear akin to a hanger adorned with a maid's dress, evoking a heartbreaking sense of emptiness.

His second immediate impression of her was her undeniable cuteness. The maid outfit she donned was unmistakably too large, bearing signs of wear, yet it remained spotlessly clean. Her eyes were captivatingly large, and her triangular ears, fluffy with hints of coffee-colored markings, would occasionally twitch, evoking an almost irresistible urge to caress them.

Her cuteness was too overwhelming, despite her situation.

An inward sigh escaped Wu Qingsong.

She looked guarded and hesitant. Her triangular ears perked up, reminiscent of a curious cat treading unfamiliar territory. Every muscle in her body seemed coiled, ready to flee at the merest sign of threat.

"It's alright, go on and eat," Wu Qingsong whispered, his voice gentle as he nudged the food plate through the cage's gap.

She retreated cautiously, taking refuge behind a pillar while keeping her gaze fixed on Wu Qingsong, the indecision evident in her eyes.

Reading her uncertainty, Wu Qingsong began to hum a calming folk song. He'd discerned over the past few days that this was the tune she seemed most fond of.

Soothed by his singing, the petite maid visibly relaxed. She stole another hesitant look at Wu Qingsong, then braved the short distance to retrieve the slice of smoked meat.

"Eat at your own pace. I'll see you tomorrow," he remarked, a gentle shake of his head accompanying his words.

However, to his surprise, she didn’t immediately vanish. Instead, she resettled near the ventilation shaft, her gaze still filled with wariness, fixed on him. Responding to her silent plea, he continued his song. By the time his soft melodies faded, she had devoured the smoked meat, departing with a contented air.

And so, a tender camaraderie gradually formed between them. Though the diminutive cat maid never voiced words to Wu Qingsong, her increasing comfort around him was evident, her initial fears slowly dissipating.

"Singing every day can get tiresome. How about a story instead?" Wu Qingsong suggested one day.

As usual, she took refuge behind the pillar, offering no response. Undeterred, Wu Qingsong began to narrate a fairy tale. Interestingly, he imagined the catgirl maid as the protagonist and portrayed the villain as a cold-hearted, indifferent master.

The little catgirl maid seemed utterly captivated by the tale. Wu Qingsong noticed that during the intense moments of the story, her tail stiffened and raised high in anticipation. But when the cruel master faced his well-deserved punishment, and the compassionate cat maid found her happiness, her tail relaxed, swaying contentedly behind her.

Being perpetually confined, sharing these tales swiftly became Wu Qingsong's primary pastime. Even though the catgirl maid had yet to utter a word to him, she seemed increasingly at ease in his presence, regularly nestling by the ventilation shaft. She would only depart after listening to his ever-extending narratives in their entirety.

Wu Qingsong took special delight in watching her tail, as it dangled carefree from the ledge, reminiscent of a contented cat basking in sunlight.

He often found himself yearning to playfully pinch her ears and tail. This desire was entirely innocent, akin to the simple wish to affectionately ruffle a household cat's fur.

She continued her silence with Wu Qingsong. Had he not heard her voice previously, he might've speculated whether she was mute. Nevertheless, their brief daily encounters, lasting from thirty minutes to an hour, became the sole moments of peace and joy amidst their routine days.