In the blink of an eye, December arrived, bringing with it a biting cold. Lin Zhushui, however, showed no signs of returning home. Zhou Jiayu quietly checked the specialized blood storage refrigerator and found several new bags of blood, though he didn’t know when Lin Zhushui had sent them back. The blood, a deep crimson in the transparent bags, exuded a cold aura, showing none of the scorching sensation it had upon entry.

Zhou Jiayu slowly took out a bag, holding it in his hand, and chuckled wryly to Ji Ba, saying he felt like a monster parasitic on Lin Zhushui, feeding on his blood and vitality. Ji Ba urged Zhou Jiayu not to overthink it, stating that the amount of blood wasn’t too much and shouldn’t be an issue for Lin Zhushui.

“So, continued blood draws won’t be a problem?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

Ji Ba fell silent. It had been squatting on the turtle shell mostly motionless lately. Now, it tucked its tender yellow beak into the feathers on its right side, like an ostrich encountering danger, able only to avoid, not to give Zhou Jiayu the answer he desired. Zhou Jiayu sighed, put the blood back, and turned to leave.

That evening, Zhou Jiayu found Shen Musi and asked to speak with him. Shen Musi nodded in agreement, and the two went to the windowsill. Outside, heavy snow was falling, visibility was extremely low, and the biting cold wind stung their faces. Shen Musi, worried Zhou Jiayu was cold, suggested they talk inside, but Zhou Jiayu refused.

“Let’s stay outside,” Zhou Jiayu said. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep as soon as I go inside.” He had been feeling increasingly fatigued lately, sleeping over ten hours a day yet still feeling weak all over.

“Alright,” Shen Musi could only agree.

Both lit a cigarette and slowly smoked. Zhou Jiayu asked, “How many times has Sir sent blood back now?”

Shen Musi exhaled smoke. “Only the first time. Don’t overthink it; Sir knows what he’s doing.” As the eldest disciple in the house, Shen Musi was usually reliable, especially with Lin Jue absent. Zhou Jiayu guessed that Lin Zhushui would definitely entrust these matters to him, and seeing Shen Musi’s reaction now, Zhou Jiayu had clearly guessed correctly.

“How much blood is in each of those bags?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“I don’t know.” Shen Musi averted his gaze. “Not much… Zhou Jiayu…” He seemed about to tell Zhou Jiayu not to worry, but when he saw Zhou Jiayu’s eyes, the perfunctory words died on his lips. Zhou Jiayu’s gaze had always been calm and gentle. Even when he first arrived here, facing the malice of everyone in the house, he had never shown pessimism. But now, those eyes were filled with sadness, like a flourishing spring ravaged by bitter winter, making it impossible to lie to him.

“Shen Musi, I’m not an idiot.” Zhou Jiayu’s hand, holding the cigarette, trembled. “Can’t you stop lying to me like I’m a child?”

Shen Musi reached up and wiped his face. He was somewhat at a loss for words. There were some things he couldn’t tell Zhou Jiayu; these were Lin Zhushui’s instructions. Even if it broke Zhou Jiayu’s heart, he could only follow them.

“When will Sir be back?” Zhou Jiayu asked. “I want to see him, even for a glance.”

Shen Musi gritted his teeth, turned away, his gaze no longer meeting Zhou Jiayu’s. He lowered his voice, as if deliberately controlling an emotion that was about to spiral out of control. “Zhou Jiayu, trust Sir just this once.”

Zhou Jiayu knew Shen Musi wouldn’t say anything more. He felt a little disappointed, a hint of bewilderment in his eyes. He thanked Shen Musi, extinguished his cigarette, and turned to return to the house. Shen Musi watched his retreating back, wanting to speak, but in the end, said nothing, instead hitting the wall with a heavy fist.

---

Because Zhou Jiayu was sensitive to cold, the heating in the house had been turned on very early. The walls and floor were warm; a normal person might feel hot wearing a T-shirt indoors, but Zhou Jiayu was still wrapped in his down jacket, shivering by the bed, stimulated by the chill inside his body. Little Paper stayed by Zhou Jiayu’s side, looking at him with some concern, asking if he was cold and if Little Paper should get him some milk. Zhou Jiayu stroked its head and said no, Daddy didn’t want milk.

Just as he finished speaking, there was a knock at the door. Zhou Jiayu said, “Come in,” and saw Shen Yiqiong cautiously poking his head in, saying, “Guan’er, are you hungry? I warmed up a cup of milk for you.” Zhou Jiayu’s lips trembled slightly, but he didn’t speak. Shen Yiqiong then squeezed through the door, holding a steaming cup of milk, and said, “Drink some, Guan’er, I just warmed it for you…”

Zhou Jiayu looked at Shen Yiqiong. The usually boisterous “Blackie” slowly averted his gaze. He seemed afraid to meet Zhou Jiayu’s eyes, muttering softly, “Nothing was put in it, really.” How could Zhou Jiayu believe him? How could he not understand the meaning of the milk? Or rather, in this house, any liquid served to him always had something extra in it—Lin Zhushui’s blood.

“I know,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Just put it there.” Shen Yiqiong slowly walked over and placed the milk on Zhou Jiayu’s bedside table. He seemed afraid Zhou Jiayu wouldn’t drink it, repeatedly urging him before leaving.

After Shen Yiqiong left, Zhou Jiayu sat by the bed for a long time. The room was quiet, only the rustling sound of falling snow could be heard. In fact, if not for his physical condition, Zhou Jiayu didn’t actually dislike winter. He looked out the window at the heavy blackness outside and the bright, clear moon hanging in the sky. Everything was silent, making him feel as if the whole world was about to fall into a long slumber.

A tired sleepiness grew within Zhou Jiayu’s body. He stood up, walked to the bedside, and picked up the cup of milk. The milk had indeed been warmed, and its comforting temperature felt pleasant in his hand. Zhou Jiayu gazed at the transparent glass cup, looking at the white liquid, and showed an expression of pain. He didn’t want to drink it anymore. With every sip, he felt like he was consuming Lin Zhushui’s life.

“Ji Ba, I don’t want to do this anymore,” Zhou Jiayu said to the little bird in his mind. “I don’t want to drink it anymore…”

“But are you going to waste so much of Lin Zhushui’s blood?” Ji Ba said. “Are you going to pour it out? Or watch it spoil? Lin Zhushui doesn’t have that much blood for you to waste…” What Ji Ba said was the truth, but sometimes the truth was the most painful thing to hear.

Finally, Zhou Jiayu rigidly lifted the glass cup, brought the rim to his lips, and swallowed it mouthful by mouthful. He gulped it down, not daring to pause for a second, afraid that if he stopped, he would vomit out all the liquid he had just swallowed. The metallic taste of blood hidden in the milk gave Zhou Jiayu a dizzying sensation. He forced himself to drink the milk until the glass was empty before stopping.

“Ugh…” An uncontrollable feeling of nausea surged in waves. Zhou Jiayu desperately covered his mouth, forcing himself to calm the sensation. This action cost him a lot of energy. An unspeakable fatigue began to set in, his body slowly slumped onto the bed, and his eyes showed a dull light. A warm heat surged through his body, driving away the coldness that tormented him. This should have been a very comfortable feeling, but Zhou Jiayu numbly thought as he looked at the ceiling, I don’t want to drink it anymore, I don’t want to drink it anymore…

The next day, the heavy snow continued.

Breakfast was lavish: steamed buns, dumplings, porridge, bread, eggs, milk—everything imaginable. Of course, these weren’t made by the people in the house, but ordered as takeout by Shen Yiqiong and the others. Perhaps worried about Zhou Jiayu’s appetite, they ensured every meal was abundant and featured dishes Zhou Jiayu liked.

Zhou Jiayu came downstairs around ten. He was wearing a thick black down jacket, which made his face appear even paler. In just a month or two, he had become noticeably thinner, and his small face seemed even more delicate and pitiable. If Lin Zhushui saw him like this, he would probably be heartbroken. If it had been last year, with Lin Zhushui away, everyone would have already set up mahjong tables and started playing. But this year, the atmosphere was heavy, and even Shen Yiqiong spoke much less.

After breakfast, Zhou Jiayu sat on the sofa and stroked the weasel’s fur for a while. Shen Yiqiong chatted with him, saying, “You know, Xu Rumang is being tormented by his master again.”

Zhou Jiayu asked what happened.

Shen Yiqiong said, “Oh, his master saw his female deceased persona on his website. Everyone on that website calls him ‘Goddess,’ so when his master saw it, he got furious and scolded him, saying, ‘Look at you, then look at him—'”

Zhou Jiayu was torn between laughter and tears. “What about me?”

Shen Yiqiong proudly said, “You’re much more impressive than Xu Rumang. You and Sir are in love. If Xu Rumang has the guts, he should fall in love with his master too.” Zhou Jiayu imagined a bald Xu Rumang with a gold chain alongside the burly Xu Jian, and found the image too disturbing, so he decided not to think about it further.

Then Shen Yiqiong talked about some old news, asking Zhou Jiayu if he remembered the new disciple named Lu who caused trouble during the doll challenge in the competition. Zhou Jiayu thought for a while before recalling him. “I remember, what about him?”

“He also found a master and started practicing geomancy for people,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, but his skills aren’t very good. He almost got into trouble, and it seems he even encountered a Lin family member…”

Zhou Jiayu listened and then fell asleep again. When he woke up, it was already afternoon. He was lying on the living room sofa, covered by a thick blanket, and the room was empty. Zhou Jiayu sat there blankly for a while, recalling what Shen Yiqiong had just said, and then suddenly remembered something. He got dressed and hurried to Lin Zhushui’s residence, then entered the study.

Lin Zhushui’s study was very tidy, with several rows of neat bookshelves. In a corner, there were a few beautiful porcelain pieces. Seeing the porcelain, Zhou Jiayu smiled. He remembered shattering a blue-and-white porcelain to cut his wrist when Lin Zhushui was in trouble. He wondered how well that porcelain had been repaired… Zhou Jiayu glanced at his wrist; the faint marks from that time were still there. But he wasn’t here for that. He opened Lin Zhushui’s bookshelf and began to search.

Soon, he found what he was looking for. Two beautiful wooden boxes, each over a meter long, were placed in the corner of the bookshelf. Zhou Jiayu reached out and took one of the wooden boxes. When he opened it, he saw a doll that looked exactly like himself. This doll was a gift from Xiaodou to Zhou Jiayu at that time. It was almost identical to Zhou Jiayu. His living place was not suitable for preservation, so it had been kept with Lin Zhushui for maintenance.

Zhou Jiayu touched the doll’s face and then looked at the other box. This box was new; he hadn’t seen it before, but judging by its size, it seemed to contain another doll. Zhou Jiayu hesitated for a moment but then reached out and took out that box as well. He carefully opened the box, and when he saw what was inside, his breath caught in his throat.

Inside the box was a doll that looked exactly like Lin Zhushui. Its clothing, hairstyle, and even expression were identical to Lin Zhushui’s; it was practically a miniature Lin Zhushui. Zhou Jiayu’s eyes showed admiration, and he gently stroked the doll’s face.

“It looks so much like him,” Zhou Jiayu whispered. “It’s exactly like Sir.”

Ji Ba said, “Wow, it’s just a doll. What kind of dirty things are you going to do to it?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…You seem to have reminded me of something.” Although he felt a little embarrassed, there was no one else in the room, so Zhou Jiayu shamelessly unbuttoned the doll’s clothes, wanting to see its internal structure. The tiny buttons were unfastened one by one, revealing the fair, simulated skin. The tips of Zhou Jiayu’s ears began to redden again. He pretended to be calm and took off the doll’s pants. “Oh… it’s flat.”

Ji Ba: “…What were you expecting?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “I’m not, I didn’t!”

He was about to put the doll’s clothes back on when he noticed something stuffed in its pant pocket. Zhou Jiayu reached in and pulled out a neatly folded… kraft paper. The moment he saw the kraft paper, Zhou Jiayu’s expression froze. He was too familiar with the texture of this kraft paper; it was almost identical to the one Xu Jinghuo had sent him earlier, the one Jiang Zhu had torn. Zhou Jiayu still held a tiny bit of hope deep down, but after fully unfolding the kraft paper, his hope vanished.

This kraft paper was still the size of a normal notebook, and a pattern similar to a golden crow had appeared in the upper right corner. Zhou Jiayu stared at the kraft paper, frozen in place, unsure how to react for a moment. Why did Lin Zhushui also have this paper, and why had he never told him? And the golden crow pattern also appeared on the kraft paper, did this mean… Lin Zhushui saw the future of the person he cared about most?

Zhou Jiayu clutched the kraft paper, feeling his body begin to grow cold again. He said, “Ji Ba, Sir… when did he get this thing?”

Ji Ba could only reply that it didn’t know. Zhou Jiayu did remember that before going to Jiang Zhu’s place, Lin Zhushui had disappeared for a while. At that time, he simply thought Lin Zhushui had left for personal reasons. Now, thinking back… these departures were subtly hinting at an answer Zhou Jiayu dared not contemplate.

Zhou Jiayu sat in the room for a long time. Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. The call didn’t connect; a robotic service message told Zhou Jiayu that the number he had dialed was out of service area. Zhou Jiayu hung up, dressed the doll again, put it back in its box, and then returned the two dolls to their original positions. When he returned to the small building, Shen Yiqiong and the others had just come back, carrying many fresh ingredients. They happily told Zhou Jiayu that they had hired a chef for the evening, so they wouldn’t need to order takeout anymore and could eat more to their liking.

Their faces showed caution as they looked at Zhou Jiayu, as if he were a fragile vase. Zhou Jiayu felt a bit helpless, wanting to say that although he was weak now, he wasn’t a glass vase and didn’t need to be treated so carefully.

“What’s wrong, Guan’er?” Shen Yiqiong looked at Zhou Jiayu worriedly. “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”

Zhou Jiayu thought for a moment, then nodded.

Shen Yiqiong asked nervously, “Where do you feel unwell?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “You’re standing in front of me, sucking up the light, and I feel like it’s a bit dark.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…Damn.” He put down his bags and cursed, “I’m not doing this anymore. Zhou Jiayu, you bastard, you don’t care about other people’s feelings at all.”

Zhou Jiayu said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want a hug, a piggyback ride, and a kiss?”

Shen Yiqiong said, “You ******* have the guts to try.”

Zhou Jiayu called out, “Little Paper, go carry your brother.”

Little Paper immediately rushed over and lifted Shen Yiqiong amidst his screams. After being lifted, Shen Yiqiong came to his senses and said, “Zhou Jiayu, isn’t that wrong? How am I Little Paper’s brother? You’re his daddy, I’m his brother, so aren’t you my…”

Zhou Jiayu said mercilessly, “I don’t have a son as dark as you.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

The two chatted and laughed, and the atmosphere in the room livened up again. Zhou Jiayu breathed a sigh of relief, silently clutching the kraft paper in his pocket.

---

That night, after dinner, Zhou Jiayu called Lin Zhushui several more times, but each time the phone was out of service. He had no idea where Lin Zhushui had gone. Zhou Jiayu then spread the kraft paper on the table and carefully compared it to his own, confirming that both pieces of paper were indeed torn from the same place, with identical texture, color, and the golden crow pattern in the upper right corner. So, what exactly did Lin Zhushui see? Zhou Jiayu was filled with questions, yet he vaguely had an answer to this problem.

After several days of being unable to reach Lin Zhushui, just as Zhou Jiayu was about to give up, one evening, Lin Zhushui finally called him back.

“Jiayu,” Lin Zhushui’s voice came through the phone, still faint and gentle, making Zhou Jiayu involuntarily long for him again.

“Sir,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Where are you? Why couldn’t I reach you…”

“I went into the mountains a few days ago,” Lin Zhushui’s words were concise. “No signal on my phone.” He then asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Zhou Jiayu should have asked Lin Zhushui about the kraft paper, but when the call finally connected, he didn’t know how to bring it up. So, Zhou Jiayu babbled on for a long time about daily life, complaining that Shen Yiqiong taught Little Paper useless things every day, and that if this continued, Little Paper would eventually be ruined and unable to find a wife.

Lin Zhushui listened and actually laughed. Although he didn’t laugh out loud, the amusement in his voice was very obvious. He suddenly asked, “Have you been drinking your milk properly lately?”

Zhou Jiayu’s expression froze for a moment, and his hand gripping the phone tightened. “Sir…”

“Hmm?” Lin Zhushui asked.

Zhou Jiayu finally mustered his courage. He slowly said, “I don’t… want to drink your blood anymore.”

The amusement in Lin Zhushui’s voice faded, and a very subtle silence fell between them. An unspeakable panic surged within Zhou Jiayu. He covered his face, feeling helpless. “I really don’t want to drink it anymore, Sir…”

“Just bear with it a little longer, okay?” After a long silence, Lin Zhushui also spoke softly. He said, “It should be over soon, Jiayu, just bear with it a little longer.”

Zhou Jiayu listened to Lin Zhushui’s coaxing tone, like he was talking to a child, but then he remembered the piercing needle marks on Lin Zhushui’s arm. He felt a dizzy spell, and the scene before his eyes became distorted. It took him a while to barely recover. “Sir… how much longer?”

Lin Zhushui said, “Until spring…”

Zhou Jiayu said in despair, “But even if I make it to spring, you might not.”

Lin Zhushui said, “Jiayu, don’t worry, I have another way.”

“What way?” Zhou Jiayu asked. “Tell me.”

Lin Zhushui said, “I can transfuse blood.”

Zhou Jiayu had always trusted Lin Zhushui implicitly, regarding everything he said as truth. But the moment he heard Lin Zhushui say this, Zhou Jiayu instinctively felt Lin Zhushui was lying.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Lin Zhushui said slowly. “Once this matter is handled, I’ll be back.” Zhou Jiayu didn’t believe him, yet he couldn’t find any words to refute. For the first time, he felt like a useless burden. If it weren’t for him, Lin Zhushui wouldn’t have to draw so much blood, nor would he venture into danger alone, his life uncertain.

“Is it dangerous there?” Zhou Jiayu asked again.

“A little,” Lin Zhushui replied.

“The Lunar New Year is next month. Will you be back then, Sir?” Zhou Jiayu asked his last question. Lin Zhushui sighed softly and said he would try his best to return. Zhou Jiayu leaned against the wall, watching the snowflakes fall outside, unsure what to say next.

---

Although Lin Zhushui said he would return, as the Lunar New Year approached, Zhou Jiayu still didn’t see him. Lin Zhushui’s phone was again out of service, indicating he had likely gone to another extremely remote location. A few days before the New Year, the house was decorated with traditional window paper cutouts and hung lanterns, and many New Year’s goods were prepared as usual. But the person who should have returned still hadn’t.

On Lunar New Year’s Eve, Zhou Jiayu was sitting in the living room watching the Spring Festival Gala with everyone, but he fell into a deep sleep on the sofa and had the same dream he’d had before: Lin Zhushui stood amidst flames, his body gradually igniting, until he finally turned into black ashes. Zhou Jiayu constantly ran towards him, the black ashes fluttering onto his face and body, carrying Lin Zhushui’s unique sandalwood scent.

Zhou Jiayu was woken up by Ji Ba, finally breaking free from the nightmare. It was midnight, and all was silent. Zhou Jiayu heard his phone ringing. He thought it was Lin Zhushui calling, excitedly pulled out his phone, and answered it directly.

“Hello, is that Sir?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

However, from the other end of the line came the voice of another man, a voice Zhou Jiayu knew well, having heard it several times before.

Meng Yangtian said, “Zhou Jiayu, your Sir is dying.”

Zhou Jiayu froze.

Meng Yangtian said, “Do you want to save him?” He chuckled. “Of course, by exchanging your life for his.”