The corpses encased in the ice block were visibly twitching, their movements slight but unmistakable to Zhou Jiayu, whose attention was fixed on them.

At the core of the ice lay a beautiful branch, undoubtedly the one Xu Jinghuo had severed from the Ancestor Tree.

“What do we do?” Zhou Jiayu asked, at a loss.

“We can only take them back,” Elder Xu sighed helplessly. “These kids suffered an undeserved tragedy.”

They’d come for a trip, only to lose their lives unexpectedly.

“Let’s head back,” Lin Zhushui said. “Xu Jinghuo is likely still in the village.”

They returned on the sled, now towing a large ice block secured with ropes, containing the writhing corpses. Zhou Jiayu avoided looking back. He noticed one of the paper figures that had brought them was missing, likely sent ahead to the village with a message under Elder Xu’s orders.

Perhaps due to the Ancestor Tree, Zhou Jiayu felt a subtle connection to this place, sensing a gentle gaze upon him. He shared this with Lin Zhushui, who explained it was because the Ancestor Tree had acknowledged him.

“Why would the Ancestor Tree acknowledge me?” Zhou Jiayu asked. “I didn’t do anything…” He felt bewildered.

“It’s your constitution,” Lin Zhushui said.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He was popular, sure, but this popularity carried an unsettling edge—like being a giant cake walking down a street, drawing warm gazes and professions of affection, yet always fearing someone might suddenly take a bite.

The sled pressed forward. Though the corpses in the ice continued to twitch, the cold kept the ice intact. Zhou Jiayu shuddered at the thought of having to carry them back if it melted.

Elder Xu was noticeably quieter on the return, his mood dampened by Xu Jinghuo’s actions.

The night passed, dawn breaking with soft light. Snowflakes began to fall gently. Zhou Jiayu caught one, feeling it melt in his palm.

“There’ll likely be a blizzard in a few days,” Lin Zhushui said.

“If the snow’s too heavy, the trains will stop, right?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“Yes,” Lin Zhushui confirmed.

“Oh… so we’ll be stuck here for the New Year?” Zhou Jiayu said.

“What, want to go back?” Lin Zhushui asked.

The New Year wasn’t a big deal for Zhou Jiayu. He’d either spent it at the orphanage with other kids or alone. But after his rebirth, he found himself quietly looking forward to it.

“It’s fine,” Zhou Jiayu said, not entirely honest. “Just asking.”

Lin Zhushui’s lips curved slightly, but he said nothing.

At the village entrance, the sled stopped, and a dozen paper figures swarmed out, circling and dancing around Zhou Jiayu.

Startled, Zhou Jiayu exclaimed, “What’s going on?”

“This is what happens after the Ancestor Tree acknowledges you,” Lin Zhushui said.

If the paper figures had merely liked Zhou Jiayu before, now they were infatuated. If they had expressions, they’d resemble obsessed fans. They even lifted him up.

“Alright, don’t scare him. Put him down,” Elder Xu said. “Carry the ice block inside…”

Zhou Jiayu was set down, dizzy and unsteady, saved from falling by Lin Zhushui’s quick support.

“From now on, no paper figure born from this Ancestor Tree can harm you,” Lin Zhushui said. “You can also learn to make your own.”

Zhou Jiayu’s eyes lit up. “My own paper figure?”

Lin Zhushui nodded. “I’ll teach you when we’re back.”

Zhou Jiayu was thrilled, imagining a “Garlic-Peeling Sister No. 2” by his side. Currently, Shen Yiqiong played the role of “Garlic-Peeling Sister No. 1.”

The villagers were shocked by the ice block. Elder Xu briefly explained, and Zhou Jiayu noticed their faces darken at Xu Jinghuo’s name.

“Why did Brother Jinghuo turn out like this?” The girl who’d arranged the brick house for them was especially distraught. “He wasn’t like this before… What happened to him to make him this way?”

Elder Xu said coldly, “Don’t call him brother. He’s no longer part of the Xu clan.”

The girl wiped her tears, nodded quietly, and left. Her reaction suggested she’d been close to Xu Jinghuo before.

Shen Yiqiong and Shen Musi approached, spotting the twitching corpses in the ice.

Shen Yiqiong, initially close to the ice, jumped back when he noticed the movement. “Why are they still moving?!”

“I don’t know,” Zhou Jiayu said. “What do we do with them?”

“Call the police?” Shen Musi suggested.

“What’ll the police think when they see moving corpses?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“No worries,” Shen Yiqiong said. “They’ll find some scientific explanation. We don’t need to stress.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He suddenly thought of Approaching Science, a popular show where, for example, a man “sucking blood” through a pipe was explained by experts as… gum bleeding.

“Poor kids,” Elder Xu sighed. “What a sin.”

Lin Zhushui stayed quiet, then asked, “Has anyone left the village?”

“No,” a girl replied loudly. “After Elder Xu’s message, we stationed people at all exits.”

Lin Zhushui raised an eyebrow. “How many?”

“Over a dozen,” she said. “He shouldn’t escape.”

Lin Zhushui didn’t comment, instead asking, “Did anyone go down the mountain during this time?”

The girl hesitated, then nodded. “There was one—a girl from our clan with a heart condition. She got scared tonight, so we sent paper figures to escort her to town.” She emphasized, “She’s petite. No way it was Jinghuo in disguise!”

Elder Xu sighed, realizing the mistake. “Foolish girl, he’s slipped away again!”

The girl froze. “Slipped away? But she was the only one who left, and Jinghuo’s a tall man—”

“He has his ways,” Elder Xu said. “See the Ancestor Tree’s branch? He cut it.”

The girl looked at the branch frozen with the corpses, tears streaming down. “How could he do this…?”

Elder Xu, silent, pulled out a cigarette and smoked.

Lin Zhushui wasn’t surprised by Xu Jinghuo’s escape. “Let it go. Someone’s backing Xu Jinghuo.” After entering the secular world, Xu Jinghuo must have encountered something that changed him, leading him to betray his clan. His methods suggested a larger force behind him—not a lone actor. Catching him so easily would’ve been odd.

Lin Zhushui and Elder Xu’s instincts were right. Minutes later, they found the heart-diseased girl, supposed to have left, unconscious but unharmed on the third floor of a building.

As the village discussed this, Zhou Jiayu’s phone rang. It was “Xiao Ju,” the girl he’d exchanged numbers with.

“Teacher…” Zhou Jiayu hesitated, seeking Lin Zhushui’s advice.

“Xu Jinghuo?” Lin Zhushui guessed. “Answer it.”

Zhou Jiayu picked up, putting it on speaker.

“Hey there,” came the familiar tone, though the voice had shifted again. Xu Jinghuo said, “I’m on a train, leaving. You’re Zhou Jiayu, right? Don’t worry, I’m still very interested in you. Wait for me to find you again, cute little fish.”

“You’re injured, so why sound so happy?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“Because you didn’t catch me,” Xu Jinghuo said, laughing cheerfully.

Anyone else might’ve been infuriated by his taunting, but Lin Zhushui, calm as ever, said, “Safe travels.”

Xu Jinghuo went silent. “Lin Zhushui, what did you do to me?”

“Guess,” Lin Zhushui replied.

After saying this, Lin Zhushui had Zhou Jiayu hang up the phone and turn it off.

Curious, Zhou Jiayu asked what was going on with Xu Jinghuo.

Lin Zhushui smirked coldly. “He loves disguising himself as others, doesn’t he? I’ll just make sure he can’t change back.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” So Xu Jinghuo was stuck looking like a girl?

How long Xu Jinghuo remained that way, Zhou Jiayu didn’t know. What he did know was that for a long time, Xu Jinghuo called frequently, spewing curses in a rage, clearly upset about something. Zhou Jiayu, always in a good mood, would mute the call, wait for the tirade to end, and then kindly ask, “Done cursing? I’m hanging up; I was cooking and didn’t hear.” Usually, this drove Xu Jinghuo to near explosion.

After several rounds, Xu Jinghuo gave up harassing him.

Unable to deal with the corpses, they reported them to the police. By the time the town’s officers arrived that afternoon, Zhou Jiayu had caught a nap.

“Tickets are booked,” Shen Musi said. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“So soon?” Zhou Jiayu asked, sensing Lin Zhushui had unfinished business.

“Yes,” Shen Musi, who handled the arrangements, replied. “Teacher says it’s almost New Year. Everyone should gather.”

Zhou Jiayu realized he’d only met Zhao San briefly, and Shen Erbai had been away most of the time. Curious, he voiced his thoughts.

Shen Musi’s expression softened at his junior brothers’ names. “They’re handling things outside. Some matters Teacher doesn’t want to deal with personally, so we go. Yiqiong’s still young, lacking real experience, so he stays with Teacher. In a few years, he’ll go out on his own too.”

Zhou Jiayu’s first thought was… would he have to go out alone someday?

As if reading his mind, Shen Musi patted his shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about that for now.”

“Why not?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“Well… even if you’re capable, Teacher probably won’t let you go alone,” Shen Musi said.

Zhou Jiayu was still confused.

Shen Musi chuckled at his expression. “What, forgot you’re a ‘swindler’? If we let you out alone, what if you run?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” It dawned on him.

Honestly, except for the early days, he’d nearly forgotten his “swindler” status.

On departure day, Elder Xu gave Zhou Jiayu a small gift—a tiny branch, so ordinary it could be swept away as roadside litter.

But Zhou Jiayu knew it was from the Ancestor Tree.

After the ice melted, the once-crystalline branch turned ordinary, with rough bark, brown wood, and only its vibrant green leaves standing out.

Elder Xu carefully extracted it from the ice, placing it in a large paper box, saying it must be reburied later.

Seeing Elder Xu’s reverence, Zhou Jiayu felt honored by the gift and tried to decline, but Elder Xu smiled, saying it was the Ancestor Tree’s will, and asked Zhou Jiayu to accompany him somewhere before leaving.

Lin Zhushui nodded for Zhou Jiayu to go.

They went to a small river near the village. There, Elder Xu blew his whistle.

Suddenly, countless tiny paper figures emerged from beneath the frozen river, smaller than the village’s. They pressed their faces against the ice, peering at Zhou Jiayu, some curiously tapping with their palms.

At Elder Xu’s command, the ice cracked, revealing flowing water. The river was crystal clear, its pebbles visible. The palm-sized paper figures, faceless and unclothed, lined the bank, tilting their heads at Zhou Jiayu. Despite lacking eyes, their actions conveyed curiosity and affection.

In the water, Zhou Jiayu spotted something familiar—the faceless female ice sculpture he’d seen at the town’s inn.

The sculpture stood in the flowing river, hand raised in a wave. Up close, Zhou Jiayu saw a compassionate smile on her face.

Elder Xu said, “This is what Xu Jinghuo was after.”

Zhou Jiayu was startled, noticing the sculpture’s smile fade as Elder Xu spoke, her eyes taking on a sorrowful look.

“To produce paper figures, we must sacrifice yearly,” Elder Xu explained. “The Ancestor Tree’s favorite offering is an ice sculpture. Each spring, we craft a special one and cast it into the pit as an offering.”

Elder Xu sighed, his tone heavy. “Xu Jinghuo wanted this sculpture.”

“Can I touch it?” Zhou Jiayu asked softly.

“Of course,” Elder Xu smiled.

Zhou Jiayu reached out, gently brushing the sculpture’s flowing hair with his fingertips before withdrawing.

“I suspect he wanted to learn how to make it,” Elder Xu said. “So we hid it. Ordinary people can’t see it without freezing—lightly injured, or worse, dead. We’re always careful.”

Zhou Jiayu shivered, recalling his encounter with the sculpture.

Elder Xu continued, “It’s usually kept in the cemetery. Xu Jinghuo followed us there, likely for it.”

As he spoke, tears fell from the sculpture’s eyes, freezing into ice beads as they slid down her cheeks. Zhou Jiayu caught them instinctively.

“They all like you,” Elder Xu said. “If you want, you can take a small paper figure to raise. After some time, it’ll grow. These paper figures are different, with their own consciousness, able to connect with their master’s mind.”

Zhou Jiayu was tempted but hesitated. “Is it okay for them to leave here?”

Elder Xu sighed, turning to the village with its wisps of green smoke. “Perhaps we’re fated to fade into history. Going out might not be bad.”

In the end, Zhou Jiayu accepted. He dipped his hand into the icy water to pick a paper figure. Some retreated, others approached cautiously. One, the boldest, timidly grasped Zhou Jiayu’s finger with its thin hand.

Moved, Zhou Jiayu scooped it up. This paper figure looked like the others, unsteady on its feet. It climbed his arm to his shoulder, nuzzling his chin.

Zhou Jiayu squinted and smiled.

Elder Xu beamed kindly.

But someone wasn’t pleased. Ji Ba, usually quiet in Zhou Jiayu’s mind, grumbled sourly, “Great, the weasel at home isn’t dealt with, and now there’s another rival.”

Zhou Jiayu laughed. “Jealous? Why so quiet lately?”

Ji Ba huffed, pecking its turtle shell to vent. “I don’t want to be quiet, but remember what happened? I think Lin Zhushui can hear me, so I keep my beak shut.” Yet staying silent let “these little hussies” steal the spotlight. Ji Ba was full of grievances, nearly bristling.

Zhou Jiayu, amused but holding back laughter, comforted it. Ji Ba grudgingly accepted.

The paper figure adored Zhou Jiayu, wrapping its tiny arms around his neck.

Elder Xu shared some care tips, then whistled to refreeze the river.

Raising a paper figure was simpler than caring for a pet. Elder Xu said to avoid feeding them random things and to communicate regularly, and there’d be no issues.

“What’s ‘random things’?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“They like paper, but never feed them talisman paper—it gives them diarrhea,” Elder Xu said.

Zhou Jiayu was stunned. “Paper gets diarrhea?”

“Oh, yes,” Elder Xu said. “It’s a hassle, takes ages to recover.”

“Can they eat meat or such?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

Elder Xu nodded. “They love incense ash, but eating isn’t necessary. With your heavy yin energy, they can feed on it.” In Elder Xu’s words, Zhou Jiayu was the perfect paper figure feeder, as they could absorb his chill, slightly reducing his allure to other spirits.

Back in the village, Shen Yiqiong’s eyes widened at the paper figure, green with envy. But the figure wasn’t shy, nestling contentedly against Shen Yiqiong’s chest when he held it.

Shen Yiqiong melted. “Wow! Too cute!!”

“Let’s go,” Shen Musi urged, exasperated. “We’ll miss the train.”

Signs of a blizzard loomed, with howling winds and swirling snow stinging their faces.

Elder Xu had arranged a sled for the descent, sparing them a trek.

The paper figure seemed wary of Lin Zhushui. As Zhou Jiayu sat to his right, it tried burrowing into his clothes to hide. Tickled, Zhou Jiayu squirmed until Lin Zhushui plucked it out with two fingers. “Don’t let it crawl inside. Paper figures are yin-natured, bad for your health.”

Zhou Jiayu agreed, giving the figure a stern lecture.

The paper figure, understanding, shrank into a crumpled ball after the scolding. Zhou Jiayu didn’t coddle it, tucking it carefully into his pocket. Elder Xu had said to treat it like a child—clear rewards and punishments, not letting it run wild.

“Let’s go,” Elder Xu called from the sled. “Come back sometime.”

Zhou Jiayu waved goodbye. He’d expected this trip, tied to paper figures, to be terrifying, but it ended up as charming as a fairy tale. He reached into his pocket, gently touching the paper figure’s head, and smiled softly.

The four boarded the train, and with a whistle, the long locomotive chugged out of the mountain village with a rhythmic clatter.

A few days later, Zhou Jiayu returned home.

Shen Yiqiong and Shen Musi walked ahead. As they entered the house, Shen Yiqiong let out a joyful shout, “Senior Brothers, you’re back!”

Following them, Zhou Jiayu saw two people in the living room. One was Shen Erbai, whom he’d met before; the other, a somewhat unfamiliar face, must be Shen Chaosan, whom he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Shen Chaosan was impressively robust. With the heater on, he wore light clothing, but his muscular build and powerful physique were evident. When he stood, his presence was overwhelming—Zhou Jiayu, at 5’10”, felt like a child next to him.

Shen Yiqiong rushed over, and Shen Chaosan hooked an arm around his neck. “Back?”

“Back!” Shen Yiqiong grinned.

Their bond seemed strong—more accurately, Shen Yiqiong got along well with all his senior brothers, who treated him like a younger sibling.

Shen Chaosan glanced at Zhou Jiayu, approaching and extending a hand. “Long time no see.”

Zhou Jiayu shook it. “Long time no see.”

“Welcome back,” Shen Chaosan said, his deep voice resonating like an ancient bell as he gave Zhou Jiayu’s hand a firm shake.

Zhou Jiayu wasn’t sure if “welcome back” was sincere or carried another meaning, but he didn’t dwell on it, offering a smile.

With two senior brothers back, the once-quiet house buzzed with life. The four, plus newcomer Zhou Jiayu and the weasel, filled the space.

The weasel, however, wasn’t thrilled. It stared, wide-eyed, at the paper figure scampering from Zhou Jiayu’s arms. At first, Zhou Jiayu thought it liked the figure, but Shen Musi pointed out it was angry—fuming, even. Its mood persisted until evening, only easing slightly after Zhou Jiayu fed it chicken. Still, it remained hostile to the paper figure, and Zhou Jiayu suspected it might try to swallow it given the chance.

Dinner was lively.

Shen Erbai and Shen Musi shared strange tales from their travels, captivating Shen Yiqiong and Zhou Jiayu.

After eating and washing up, they retired to their rooms, and the house quieted.

Zhou Jiayu returned to his third-floor room.

Instead of going to bed, he sat by the window.

Outside, heavy snow fell, rustling softly, while garden trees trembled under the howling wind.

Through the glass, Zhou Jiayu spotted a figure.

Far off, in an unassuming corner of the courtyard, it was Lin Zhushui, he realized after staring.

Lin Zhushui seemed to be drinking alone, snow dusting his head and shoulders, suggesting he’d been there a while.

The world was silent. Lin Zhushui, solitary, raised his cup, sipped, and blended into the stillness—like a lone pine in the snowy wind. Zhou Jiayu felt a fleeting fear that he might vanish.

Biting his lip, Zhou Jiayu grabbed a down jacket and rushed downstairs. He detoured to the kitchen for something, then dashed out of the wooden house.

Following the direction he’d seen from the window, Zhou Jiayu hurried out, running to reach Lin Zhushui.

But soon, he realized a grave mistake—the courtyard’s paths weren’t straightforward. They’d shifted, and after getting lost, he couldn’t retrace his steps.

“Now what?” Zhou Jiayu panted, chuckling wryly. “I’m lost.”

Ji Ba said, “The pines here form an array, with paths based on the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams. Without a guide, you’re stuck.”

Zhou Jiayu patted his pockets, despairing—he’d left his phone behind in his rush.

“Ugh,” he sighed. “This is bad.”

Ji Ba agreed.

As darkness deepened, Zhou Jiayu wandered, his body temperature dropping from the cold. At first, he joked with Ji Ba, but soon he couldn’t laugh. Gasping, he said, “My god, am I spending the night out here? I’m afraid they’ll find my frozen corpse tomorrow…”

Ji Ba was at a loss.

Just as he fretted, a warm glow appeared ahead, flickering like a beacon.

“Light!” Zhou Jiayu ran toward it, but slipped, crashing into the snow.

The fall was rough. It took a moment for him to prop himself up.

When he looked up, the light was before him—a beautiful red lantern, held by a pale, slender hand.

“Zhou Jiayu.” Lin Zhushui’s voice came from above, calm but striking. “What are you doing here?”

Zhou Jiayu saw Lin Zhushui’s face—eyes closed, thin lips pressed into a tight line. Snowflakes rested on his head, shoulders, and one spun gently, catching on his long lashes.

Zhou Jiayu’s heart raced uncontrollably. Nervous, he struggled for words, finally extending his right hand with the item he’d clutched. “Teacher, I brought you some snacks to go with your drink.”

Lin Zhushui fell silent.

Zhou Jiayu glanced at his hand, realizing the bag had torn, spilling its contents onto the ground.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Oh no.

Lin Zhushui offered a hand. “Get up.”

Zhou Jiayu grabbed it, pulling himself up and brushing off snow.

Without a word, Lin Zhushui turned, lantern in hand. Zhou Jiayu followed quietly, not daring to ask where they were going.

They wove through the woods for three or four minutes before Lin Zhushui stopped.

“Sit,” he said.

Zhou Jiayu looked around, realizing this was the courtyard where Lin Zhushui had been drinking. Inside, it felt different—open yet sheltered from the biting wind, slightly warmer.

Zhou Jiayu sat on a stone bench as Lin Zhushui poured him a cup of wine.

The wine, pale green, carried a crisp, woody aroma, enticingly clear.

“You can only try one cup,” Lin Zhushui said. “Give it a taste.”

Zhou Jiayu sipped, his face flushing instantly. The gentle-looking wine was fiercely potent, sharper than any liquor he’d tried, slicing down his throat like a blade. But after the initial burn, its fragrance bloomed in his chest, layered and lingering, with a sweet aftertaste.

“Good wine!” Zhou Jiayu exclaimed, awestruck.

“Naturally,” Lin Zhushui said, downing his own cup. “Zhou Jiayu, do you know why I tattooed a lotus and swimming fish on you?”

Zhou Jiayu shook his head, clueless.

“The lotus sheds its petals but keeps its roots, blooming again next year, symbolizing the soul’s cycle,” Lin Zhushui said. “It suits you well.”

Zhou Jiayu froze, stunned by the clear implication. “Teacher, you… already know?”

Lin Zhushui neither confirmed nor denied, standing slowly. “Follow the path to the right to return to the house. Rest early.” He left without giving Zhou Jiayu a chance to ask more.

Watching his retreating figure, Zhou Jiayu’s emotions grew complex. Something about his feelings for Lin Zhushui felt off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

—

Author’s Note:
Zhou Jiayu: I can’t bear drinking Teacher’s blood or letting him get hurt for me…
Lin Zhushui: I’m afraid you’d handle other methods even worse.
Zhou Jiayu: Huh??