Though Xu Ruwang had once jokingly claimed to like him, Zhou Jiayu never took it seriously. Today, faced with such a solemn confession, Zhou Jiayu rejected him while sensing something off about Xu Ruwang’s behavior, wondering if some shock had prompted these words.

With that thought, Zhou Jiayu pushed open the private room’s door. Before stepping in, a voice froze him in place—it was Xu Ruwang’s, saying, “Guan’er, what took you so long? We were wondering if you fell into the toilet.”

Zhou Jiayu looked up, seeing three people seated: Lin Jue, Shen Yiqiong, and Xu Ruwang, none showing signs of having moved.

“You guys…” That nauseating dizziness hit again. Zhou Jiayu gripped the doorframe. “You’ve… been sitting here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Shen Yiqiong replied, puzzled, teasing, “What’s with that look? See something dirty again?”

This time, Zhou Jiayu didn’t enter. He slowly reached into his pocket for the ancient mirror in its jade pouch, used to discern truth from illusion. But his pocket was empty—the mirror was gone.

“Where’s my mirror?” Cold sweat broke out as Zhou Jiayu eyed the trio staring oddly at him. He called, “Ji Ba…”

Ji Ba responded, “Hm?”

Zhou Jiayu asked, “What’s going on? Are these people human or ghosts?”

Ji Ba said, “I can’t tell either.”

Deciding not to enter, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t be sure what they were. As he hesitated, footsteps thudded up the stairs behind him. Turning, he saw three figures at the stairwell—Lin Jue, Shen Yiqiong, and Xu Ruwang again.

“Zhou Jiayu,” Shen Yiqiong spoke first, “why’d you run off? Did we really scare you?”

“Zhou Jiayu?” The Shen Yiqiong in the room also spoke. “Who’re you talking to? Why aren’t you coming in?”

Zhou Jiayu was utterly baffled. Then, the Xu Ruwang who’d gone to the restroom with him approached from the corridor’s end, seemingly oblivious to his doppelgänger, saying, “Zhou Jiayu, why’s your face so pale?”

Surrounded, Zhou Jiayu watched them close in, seriously considering jumping off the second-floor corridor when a deafening thunderclap roared outside. The sound pierced his ears, vision darkening.

Everything twisted again. Zhou Jiayu felt his body go limp, someone pounding his back.

“Cough, cough, cough—” He snapped awake, slumped in a chair, Lin Jue’s voice beside him. “Breathe, breathe, Zhou Jiayu, breathe!”

Gasping heavily, Zhou Jiayu emerged from that suffocating agony. Light flooded his vision, revealing Lin Jue, Shen Yiqiong, and Xu Ruwang around him.

Normally, seeing them should’ve brought relief, but his recent ordeal made him wary, instinctively shrinking back.

“Guan’er?” Shen Yiqiong asked, concerned. “Feeling better?”

Zhou Jiayu mumbled, “What happened?”

“We thought you were just drunk,” Xu Ruwang explained. “But something felt off. Checked you, and you weren’t drunk—someone got you.”

“Got me?” Zhou Jiayu’s memory felt fragmented, disjointed. “When did I pass out?”

“After Shen Yiqiong lied about not being a virgin,” Xu Ruwang said.

Shen Yiqiong’s face twisted, grinding his teeth silently.

Zhou Jiayu frowned. “Then I said I was going to the restroom. Did I go?”

“Yeah,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Came back soon after, then passed out on the table. Thought you were plastered, but Lin Jue checked and found a talisman stuck to your back.”

“A talisman?” Zhou Jiayu jolted, spotting a yellow sheet on the table, covered in an unfamiliar array.

“Someone dared to mess with you,” Lin Jue growled. “They better not let me catch them!”

Zhou Jiayu asked, “What’s this talisman do?”

Lin Jue explained it created illusions to extract information, but why they targeted Zhou Jiayu was unclear. He’d only been with the Lin family for less than a year, unlikely to know sensitive secrets.

Hearing this, Zhou Jiayu’s back prickled with cold sweat. He recalled his illusionary talk with Xu Ruwang, his face stiffening. If Lin Jue was right, his feelings for Lin Zhushui might’ve been exposed…

“Guan’er, you okay? Still hurting?” Lin Jue asked, regretting bringing him out for late-night snacks, never expecting such a precise hit.

“I’m fine,” Zhou Jiayu shook his head. “Nothing hurts.”

“Alright.” Lin Jue pocketed the talisman, vowing to investigate who targeted Zhou Jiayu.

Their meal stretched three hours, dawn breaking on the horizon.

They took a cab back to the hotel. Zhou Jiayu crashed on the bed, sleeping until afternoon.

Hangovers and late nights left them all looking rough. At dinner, Zhou Jiayu saw Lin Zhushui and Xu Jian, now able to walk.

Their return flight was set for tomorrow morning. Xu Jian hosted dinner, preparing a lavish spread.

Lin Zhushui, unbothered by Xu Jian’s hospitality, refused to touch his chopsticks. Xu Jian, exasperated, could only glare.

Zhou Jiayu’s mind was elsewhere, barely eating.

“It’s hot this year,” Xu Jian chatted at the table. “Got the jade stones ready?”

“Mu Si’s handling it,” Lin Zhushui said.

“Good, better prep early,” Xu Jian replied.

Zhou Jiayu, confused, later learned from Shen Yiqiong that in certain years, Lin Zhushui couldn’t go out in July or August. Peak heat and yang energy overwhelmed his pure yang constitution, requiring an array to safely endure.

“Looks tough this year,” Xu Jian said. “Need help, just say.”

Lin Zhushui nodded.

It was indeed heating up early. March, meant for spring, was soaring toward thirty degrees. A half-month drought had sparked crises in some areas.

The next day, they flew back.

Xu Jian and Xu Ruwang saw them off at the airport. Xu Ruwang mentioned sending local specialties to Zhou Jiayu later, but Zhou Jiayu brushed it off with a wave and left.

The plane took off, and hours later, the group arrived home, weary from travel.

The house was empty; the others seemed to be out. Zhou Jiayu entered to find the little paper figure sprawled on the weasel, diligently grooming its fur.

Something must’ve happened while they were away—the two, once at odds, now got along harmoniously. Zhou Jiayu also noticed the paper figure had grown slightly taller.

Seeing their return, the weasel, with the paper figure on its back, bounded over, circling Zhou Jiayu like a dog, then scrambled up his pant leg to his shoulder, nuzzling vigorously.

The paper figure tugged Zhou Jiayu’s hair, climbing to his head, fashioning a tiny nest from his locks, looking utterly content.

Shen Yiqiong, watching enviously, said, “I want that treatment too.”

But his envy didn’t stop there. After lounging on Zhou Jiayu’s head, the paper figure began humming, speaking. Zhou Jiayu thought he misheard, but holding the figure in his hands, he confirmed it was talking—simple words: “Papa, Papa.”

Zhou Jiayu beamed, “My son can talk!”

Shen Yiqiong, startled, blurted, “Son? Since when do you have a son?”

Zhou Jiayu grinned, “Look, Little Paper’s talking! He’s calling me Dad!”

Shen Yiqiong leaned in, hearing the paper figure’s kitten-like murmurs of “Papa.”

“What about me?” Shen Yiqiong urged, “Little Paper, call Uncle, call Uncle!”

The paper figure glanced at him, its simplistic face somehow radiating disdain. Shen Yiqiong gasped, “Zhou Jiayu, what have you taught Little Paper? Why’s he making that face?”

Zhou Jiayu studied it, despairing, “Must’ve learned it from the weasel…”

All eyes turned to the weasel, lounging on the sofa, licking its fur with a relaxed air. It heard Zhou Jiayu, snorting dismissively, as if to say it wasn’t involved. Unbeknownst to it, Little Paper’s expression mirrored its own by at least eighty percent.

Shen Yiqiong wailed, “Should’ve kept Little Paper with us! At such a critical time for early education, he’s stuck with an uncultured weasel.”

The weasel shot upright, chattering furiously at Shen Yiqiong, like a middle-aged woman cursing in the street.

Shen Yiqiong argued back, and the two bickered fiercely.

Meanwhile, Zhou Jiayu, with a fatherly smile, stroked Little Paper’s head, teaching it manners, like greeting uncles and aunties.

Lin Jue, learning Little Paper called Zhou Jiayu “Papa,” said in a few months, it’d be fully grown, strong enough for Zhou Jiayu to take along. Its combat prowess could handle most “dirty things” effortlessly.

Zhou Jiayu was thrilled, feeling the pride of watching his child grow.

The weasel, overhearing, gave Zhou Jiayu a pitiful look, as if asking why it couldn’t come.

Zhou Jiayu, unnerved by its stare, pulled out legal texts, explaining that weasels, as second-class protected animals, couldn’t be carried around without risking a police summons.

The weasel’s fur bristled, jabbering a tirade only Lin Zhushui might’ve understood. Zhou Jiayu cuddled it for half an hour to calm it down.

Life at home was relaxed and joyful, free from worries, with evenings spent cooling off outside.

But this time, Zhou Jiayu sensed a shift in the household. Lin Po, the Lin family head, visited frequently, sometimes for Lin Zhushui, sometimes just to mooch meals.

At first, Lin Po was reserved, but after a few visits, he loosened up, even shamelessly snatching food from Shen Yiqiong.

“How’s the jade coming?” Shen Yiqiong asked, gnawing a greasy chicken leg.

“Secured,” Lin Po said. “On its way back.”

Zhou Jiayu, clueless, asked, “Is this jade special?”

“Of course,” Lin Po replied. “It must be yin-aligned and mined within a year.” Yin jade was rare, and meeting these conditions rarer still. They’d pre-ordered it, and Shen Musi’s team was retrieving it.

Yin objects attracted “dirty things,” making Shen Musi’s task tricky.

The household seemed to be preparing for something, but Zhou Jiayu couldn’t help. Shen Yiqiong reassured him it happened every few years, Lin Zhushui had it covered, and Zhou Jiayu should stay put—Lin Zhushui would assign tasks if needed.

So Zhou Jiayu read, practiced talismans, and learned anti-spirit techniques.

Shen Yiqiong went out once to assess a cemetery’s feng shui. Zhou Jiayu learned his fees were steep—a decade’s salary as a clerk wouldn’t cover one visit.

But Shen Yiqiong didn’t care for the money. From a wealthy family, he donated most earnings to nearby temples, keeping only pocket change.

Curious, Zhou Jiayu asked why he pursued feng shui.

Shen Yiqiong puffed his chest proudly, saying fate chose him for it. He loved it, aspiring to be a feng shui master like Lin Zhushui, emphasizing “feng shui” while side-eyeing Zhou Jiayu.

Zhou Jiayu felt oddly wronged. “I don’t want to deal with weird stuff.”

Shen Yiqiong smirked, “Sure, your mouth says no, but your body’s honest.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He hadn’t known that phrase could be used like that.

By mid-May, temperatures soared, but their shaded courtyard and array kept it bearable.

Shen Musi’s team returned with a truckload of stunning jade.

Zhou Jiayu watched the unloading. The stones, skins removed, revealed exquisite interiors, each clearly valuable.

“So pretty,” Zhou Jiayu said, holding a chilly stone, its cold seeping into his skin.

“They are,” Shen Musi agreed. “Mined from special sites, heavy with yin energy…” He trailed off, then stopped Zhou Jiayu from lifting more, citing his yin-leaning constitution’s vulnerability.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t push, knowing his body was indeed unique, and didn’t want to burden Lin Zhushui.

Though he couldn’t help, Little Paper, despite its palm-sized frame, had immense strength, lifting stones grown men struggled with. Zhou Jiayu watched it haul massive jade, feeling oddly like a frail father watching his dutiful son toil.

The jade was moved to Lin Zhushui’s courtyard for an array.

Barred by his constitution, Zhou Jiayu stood at the gate, glimpsing Lin Zhushui speaking gravely with Shen Yiqiong and others. Shen Musi jotted notes.

Zhou Jiayu lingered, staring. Lin Jue, spotting him, patted his shoulder from behind. “Guan’er?”

Zhou Jiayu: “Ah?”

Lin Jue said, “Don’t worry, it’s just two months. If you really miss Zhushui, you can always come peek at the gate.”

Zhou Jiayu, embarrassed by Lin Jue’s words, felt he was overthinking. He fiddled with Little Paper climbing in his pocket and said, “I’ll go make dinner then.” With that, he turned and left.

Lin Jue watched his back, her expression complex, lost in thought.

Early summer arrived. After a thunderstorm, temperatures climbed. Zhou Jiayu swapped spring clothes for summer ones, while the weasel began shedding.

Lin Zhushui vanished from sight. Since returning, he hadn’t left his courtyard. Zhou Jiayu dragged Shen Yiqiong daily to deliver meals, but with the courtyard now set with a potent yin array, he couldn’t enter. So, he lingered outside, sending Little Paper in with a basket of food.

Had anyone else accompanied him, they’d have noticed Zhou Jiayu’s feelings, but Shen Yiqiong, oblivious, teased that Zhou Jiayu was like a “wife-gazing stone.”

Zhou Jiayu reined in his emotions.

They could only gaze across the courtyard fence—or rather, Zhou Jiayu gazed alone. As the weather warmed, Lin Zhushui seemed thinner, his jaw sharper, his demeanor colder. Zhou Jiayu clearly saw fiery red aura swirling around his brow, growing denser with the heat, eventually enveloping him.

It must be painful, Zhou Jiayu thought, recalling the bone-chilling cold he felt in low temperatures. His heart ached for Lin Zhushui. Unable to do much, he poured effort into crafting varied, hearty meals to send over.

After the summer solstice, the heat intensified daily.

By July, Zhou Jiayu stopped seeing Lin Zhushui, and the courtyard’s array was nearly complete. Even standing outside, one could feel the chilling aura seeping from within, piercing soul-deep, unshakable by layers of clothing, making anyone nearby shiver.

Once the array was set, even Shen Yiqiong and others couldn’t enter, leaving meal deliveries to Little Paper.

Curious how Lin Zhushui managed meals during these special times in past years, Zhou Jiayu asked. Shen Yiqiong mused, “No idea, but Master never cared much for food. Probably stocked dry rations and made do.”

Hearing this, Zhou Jiayu’s heart twinged, and the next day’s meal was even more lavish.

Everyone expected the summer to pass quietly, as before. But in late July, near the “End of Heat” solar term, trouble struck.

Zhou Jiayu noticed first. He delivered meals daily to Lin Zhushui’s place. That day, the sun blazed cloudlessly, scorching the earth.

Normally, nearing the courtyard brought cold, but this time, Zhou Jiayu felt a wave of heat. Uneasy, he quickened his pace. Reaching the gate, he froze at the sight.

The courtyard’s sky swirled with fiery red aura, layered like crimson clouds. Plants within showed signs of wilting, as if scorched by extreme heat.

Shocked, Zhou Jiayu called Lin Jue.

Minutes later, Lin Jue and others rushed over, their faces paling at the scene.

“What’s happening?” Lin Jue, clearly facing this for the first time, said, “I’m going in!”

“Master, you can’t!” Shen Musi, still rational, protested. “You’d collapse before reaching the door.”

“Then what do we do?” Lin Jue snapped, frustrated. “Something’s wrong…”

Zhou Jiayu raised a hand timidly. “Um… my constitution’s extremely yin. Can I go?”

All eyes turned to him. He explained, “This heat doesn’t bother me. It’s… kind of comfortable.”

“Fine,” Lin Jue exhaled. “You go.”

Zhou Jiayu felt a slight relief and stepped toward the courtyard. He’d worried Lin Jue might refuse, unsure what he’d do then. Though his face stayed calm, his mind churned with anxiety. What happened to Lin Zhushui? How serious was it? Could he help? Forcing himself to stay composed, he entered the courtyard and slowly pushed open the wooden door.