Zhou Jiayu never realized that taking care of someone could bring such happiness.

He chatted cheerfully with Lin Zhushui for a while, then noticed the shards of porcelain still scattered in the corner of the room. Worried they might hurt Lin Zhushui, he quickly fetched a broom from the kitchen to clean them up.

Back when the vase had fallen, he’d been too panicked to notice details. Now that he looked closely, Zhou Jiayu realized it had been a blue-and-white porcelain vase. Judging by the fragments, the vase had been of fine quality, its surface painted with images of beasts—clearly not an ordinary piece. As he picked up the pieces, his heart suddenly clenched. His voice trembled as he spoke: “M-Mister, I broke a vase just now… was it expensive?”

Sitting by the bed, Lin Zhushui spoke lightly, without care: “The one by the window? It’s fine. Just a replica—not worth anything.”

But Zhou Jiayu didn’t believe him. He secretly gathered up the broken pieces and brought them back with him when he left the room.

When he returned, Shen Yiqiong and the others were still there, clearly worried. Seeing him enter, Shen Yiqiong asked, “Guanner, you’re back? What’s that in your hand?”

“I broke one of Mister’s vases,” Zhou Jiayu said quietly.

The mood in the room froze instantly. Lin Jue was calm, but the other four’s expressions all stiffened. Shen Yiqiong stammered, “Wh-which one?”

Without a word, Zhou Jiayu carefully poured the porcelain fragments from the bag onto the table.

Everyone gathered around to examine the shards, trying to determine which vase it had been. Shen Musi was the first to recognize it. He uttered just three words: “Yuan blue-white…”

Zhou Jiayu’s vision spun. He didn’t know much about antiques, but even he knew that Yuan dynasty blue-and-white porcelain was among the most valuable. He’d even seen a news story once about a Yuan blue-and-white jar selling for billions.

“From Jingdezhen, I think,” Shen Chaosan, who rarely spoke, added softly. “And probably once used by the royal family.”

Zhou Jiayu’s knees went weak, and he slowly sank onto the sofa. “It’s real…?”

He knew the question was pointless. With Lin Zhushui’s character, how could there possibly have been a fake in his bedroom?

“Haha… probably,” Shen Yiqiong laughed nervously.

No one spoke. Finally, Lin Jue sighed and said, “Enough, Guanner. Don’t worry so much. Even if it’s real—so what? Do you think your Mister would actually make you compensate for it?”

Zhou Jiayu thought bitterly: I’d like to compensate… but could I ever afford it?

Lin Jue’s gaze flickered as she chuckled softly. “If you really want to pay for it, you could… There’s a very valuable ‘jar’ right here, after all.”

At first Zhou Jiayu didn’t catch her meaning, until he saw the other three turning their gazes onto him. Then he understood—Lin Jue was referring to him.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” There’s no way I’m worth that much.

“Alright, alright, don’t overthink,” Lin Jue said. “No point regretting things that can’t be undone. Guanner, you’ll just have to take care of Zhushui for a while. The formation we’re going to set up later definitely won’t be as effective as the original. But your special constitution will help ease things for him.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded like a pecking bird.

In the end, Lin Jue gathered all the shards herself, saying she’d have an expert see if they could be repaired.

Zhou Jiayu watched, heart aching. If he’d known the vase was that valuable, he would’ve found some other way to give blood. But Lin Jue was good at comforting him, telling him not to dwell—Zhushui’s life was far more precious than a vase. If they’d delayed the treatment, and something had happened to Lin Zhushui, a single vase would never have made up for it.

Listening to this, Zhou Jiayu felt a little less guilty.

So in the days that followed, Zhou Jiayu went to Lin Zhushui’s residence every day. This time, there was no need for the little paper man to deliver meals—he brought everything himself.

He also discovered something new—Lin Zhushui, when it came to food, was unexpectedly picky like a child. He refused to eat carrots and wood ear mushrooms, disliked scallions, only accepted garlic when cooked, and would only tolerate cilantro if it was prepared with beef.

Zhou Jiayu took out a little notebook and carefully wrote all these down.

As he visited more, Zhou Jiayu noticed that before he came, Lin Zhushui’s meals had been extremely perfunctory. There was a kitchen on that floor, but no food supplies—just an empty fridge with a few jars of something Zhou Jiayu couldn’t identify. In the end, he couldn’t resist asking what Lin Zhushui usually ate. Lin Zhushui replied, “If I can avoid it, I don’t eat at all.”

“Why?” Zhou Jiayu was confused. Even for a picky eater, this was extreme.

“Food is of the fire element,” Lin Zhushui said. “Eating makes me uncomfortable.”

Zhou Jiayu froze. “Shibo…”

“She doesn’t know,” Lin Zhushui said softly, as if he knew what Zhou Jiayu wanted to ask. “And she doesn’t need to.”

Zhou Jiayu felt a pang of sorrow. Everyone thought Lin Zhushui didn’t eat because he was particular, but in truth, food caused him pain. If not for Zhou Jiayu’s special constitution—his cooking carried a touch of yin energy—Lin Zhushui might never have experienced the joy of eating.

“Mister…” Zhou Jiayu’s heart ached. He asked carefully what else Lin Zhushui liked or disliked and started planning the next day’s menu.

With Lin Zhushui beside him, Zhou Jiayu didn’t feel tired at all. Every day felt sweet, like he’d drunk honey.

The little paper man also started to grow quickly—before long, it was knee-high. But it still loved clinging to Zhou Jiayu. Sometimes it would secretly hide in his coat pocket, and when Zhou Jiayu reached in without thinking and pulled it out, he’d get a fright.

One day, Zhou Jiayu went as usual to cook for Lin Zhushui. After greeting him, he headed to the kitchen. When he returned upstairs with the food, he hadn’t yet entered the room when he heard the little paper man’s sharp, tiny voice calling: “Papa, papa, papa…”

Zhou Jiayu froze—it had sneaked after him again! He rushed into the room and saw the paper man perched on Lin Zhushui’s shoulder, squeaking softly.

Horrified, Zhou Jiayu cried, “Little Paper!”

Hearing his voice, the paper man slid down Lin Zhushui’s side and happily circled Zhou Jiayu’s legs, chirping, “Papa, papa.”

“How did you follow me here again?” Zhou Jiayu said helplessly. “Mister… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lin Zhushui said from where he sat at his desk, drawing talismans. He paused, as if searching for the right words, and then surprisingly said, “It’s… very cute.”

The little paper man giggled, then clambered up to sit on Zhou Jiayu’s head, excitedly trying to build a nest—except now that it was dozens of centimeters tall, Zhou Jiayu’s hair was no longer enough to support it.

Zhou Jiayu groaned, “You can’t… you can’t do that, Papa’s hair is too thin…”

Amazingly, the little paper man seemed to understand and slowly turned its head to peer curiously at Lin Zhushui.

Zhou Jiayu was shocked by how bold his ‘child’ had become.

However, Lin Zhushui’s hair was indeed much longer than Zhou Jiayu’s. Most of the time, he tied it back with a hair ribbon. Normally, modern men with long hair would look somewhat strange, but this hairstyle on Lin Zhushui gave him the air of an elegant beauty from ancient times—so captivating that it was impossible to look away.

The little paper man was being outrageously bold—it actually set its sights on Lin Zhushui’s hair. Zhou Jiayu hurriedly grabbed it and made it abandon the idea. The little paper man even whimpered twice in grievance. Zhou Jiayu said, “Be good. Don’t make trouble.”

Lin Zhushui said, “Do you still have that ancestral tree branch that Old Master Xu gave you?”

Zhou Jiayu suddenly remembered and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“You’ll need it when this paper man matures,” Lin Zhushui said. “Paper is also an important medium in the field of Feng Shui. Starting tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to command paper.”

Zhou Jiayu thought of the paper cranes Lin Zhushui had released before and nodded in agreement. He wanted to learn more so that he wouldn’t have to rely on Lin Zhushui whenever trouble came his way.

Summer was such a wonderful season—watermelon, popsicles, and cool soda.

In the pleasant coolness of the evening, they could even bring out chairs and sit at the entrance to chat and tell ghost stories to chill the air. The only downside was that when it got too hot, Xiao Huang wouldn’t let anyone pet him—he’d puff up the moment someone touched him.

That evening, Shen Yiqiong and Zhou Jiayu were sprawled on the chairs at the entrance, chatting. Beside them was a chilled watermelon and some marinated snacks. Shen Yiqiong wore a white T-shirt that seemed to blend perfectly with the dusk. He rubbed his arm and grumbled, “Can, I feel like I’ve gotten even darker.”

Zhou Jiayu was dozing off and muttered in a daze, “You can’t get any darker… If you do, I won’t be able to see you anymore…”

Shen Yiqiong: “……”

“What are you doing!” Zhou Jiayu was startled awake by Shen Yiqiong’s sudden face looming close—two white eyeballs floated right in front of him, blinking.

“I’m going to ask Uncle Shi for sunscreen,” Shen Yiqiong said. “If this keeps up, I’ll never find a wife.”

Zhou Jiayu: “……” He was amazed at Shen Yiqiong’s leap of logic.

Shen Yiqiong was also a man of action. The next day, he asked Lin Jue about sunscreen brands, even borrowed Zhou Jiayu’s computer to research which ones were best, and finally settled on a certain XX brand that he ordered online.

“It should arrive tomorrow,” Shen Yiqiong said. “I think I can still save myself.” His expression was conflicted. “Next month is my birthday. As an adult, I can’t be this dark.”

Everyone else silently ate their food, saying nothing. It was unclear whether they thought Shen Yiqiong was beyond saving and should be buried, or if they simply agreed with him.

The next day, Shen Yiqiong’s package arrived as expected.

He happily fetched it from the gate, bouncing all the way back to the living room, announcing that he was going to unbox it.

The others were all busy with their own things, paying no mind to their little junior brother, whose mood swung wildly over his skin tone.

Zhou Jiayu was cooking in the kitchen. Just as he cracked an egg, he suddenly heard a shrill, terrified scream from the living room—the sound so sharp and full of horror it was as if someone had seen something truly dreadful.

Startled, Zhou Jiayu’s hand jerked, and the bowl he was holding crashed to the floor, breaking into two pieces.

“Holy shit, holy shit, what the hell is this!!” Shen Yiqiong, who had been sitting on the sofa, had now rolled off it in a panic and scrambled far away, finally stopping some distance off. “What the hell is that?!”

Everyone rushed over at the noise. Zhou Jiayu quickly put down what he was doing and went to the living room. When he entered, he saw Shen Yiqiong’s package lying on the floor, its contents spilled everywhere. Shen Yiqiong stood far off, staring in terror at the box.

“What is it?” Zhou Jiayu approached the box and soon clearly saw what was scattered across the floor.

The things lay there in heaps, densely packed. At first glance, it was unclear what they were. But looking more closely, Zhou Jiayu’s scalp instantly went numb. “Fingernails?”

“Fingernails!” Shen Yiqiong cried. “I even saw blood at the roots!”

It really was a box full of fingernails—each one looking as if it had been forcefully torn off. There was even dried blood at the bases. Judging from the shapes, there were both male and female nails—some of the nails even had bright nail polish on them.

The others gathered around, their expressions darkening at the sight.

“How could they be fingernails? What did you buy, Shen Yiqiong?” Shen Muxi asked.

Shen Yiqiong was almost in tears. “I only bought sunscreen! Can fingernails block UV rays?!”

Silence fell.

“Are you sure this was your package? You didn’t pick up the wrong one?” Shen Muxi asked again.

Shen Yiqiong said, “Only one package arrived today. I checked the delivery tracking—it said it was delivered here…” Just then, his phone rang. He answered, then said, “Huh? My package is at the gate? Okay, I’ll go get it…”

The other four all looked complicated.

Shen Yiqiong gave an awkward laugh. “Looks like… I really did take the wrong one.”

But even if it was the wrong package, a box full of fingernails was clearly no ordinary mistake. Shen Muxi sighed, fetched a broom, and calmly swept all the fingernails back into the box, tidying up the living room.

“We usually don’t take packages,” Shen Muxi explained to Zhou Jiayu as he worked. “Unless we bought them ourselves and can track the delivery time.”

“Because people send packages here?” Zhou Jiayu picked up on the hidden meaning in his words.

“Exactly,” Shen Muxi said. “Our master’s identity is special. Lots of people like him—and lots hate him. So the contents of the packages sent here are often strange.” After he finished cleaning up, he casually set the box on the table. “Some even send burial clothes. Not that they matter if received, but it’s unpleasant to see.”

Zhou Jiayu stared at the box. “Why would someone send something like this to him?”

“No idea,” Shen Muxi said. “I heard someone once begged master to help, but was refused. They held a grudge and kept sending things here. Of course, we never open them—just send them back.”

Looks like if Shen Yiqiong hadn’t happened to grab this one by mistake, this box would’ve been returned like the rest. But fate really was strange sometimes.

“What should we do with this box?” Zhou Jiayu asked, uneasy at the thought of so many fingernails—it felt ominous.

“Let Uncle Shi take a look first. The nails may not even be from the living—they could’ve been taken from the dead,” Shen Muxi said, as calm as ever. “If there’s no problem, we can just throw them in the trash.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded.

That afternoon, when Lin Jue arrived, she heard about the fingernail box. But she didn’t seem too interested and instead asked Shen Yiqiong if his sunscreen had arrived.

Shen Yiqiong nodded but grumbled that it smelled like correction fluid when applied.

Lin Jue laughed. “Better than getting a tan.” She casually sat on the sofa and pulled over the box in the corner, glancing at the half-box of fingernails. “This is it?”

“Yeah,” Shen Muxi nodded.

Lin Jue frowned slightly and picked one up.

“What is it?” Shen Yiqiong asked.

After studying it for a while, Lin Jue said, “Mm… It’s human fingernails.”

“Wow, dead or alive?” Shen Yiqiong, now recovered, leaned over to peek inside the box.

“Both,” Lin Jue glanced at the box. “Tch. Troublesome.”

Shen Yiqiong already regretted buying the sunscreen. If he hadn’t bought it, he wouldn’t have gone to pick up the package. If he hadn’t gone, he wouldn’t have taken the wrong one. And if he hadn’t taken the wrong one…

“All right, enough,” Lin Jue waved her hand at him. “With your skin tone, you really do need some sunscreen. Otherwise, I’d be scared you might just disappear one night.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…” That’s a bit much.

Lin Jue jotted down the tracking number on the package and said she’d ask Lin Po to look into where the box came from. She also told everyone not to pick up any packages for a while—who the hell knew what strange things might be inside.

That was the end of it. No one took it too seriously.

Later, Zhou Jiayu told Lin Zhushui about Shen Yiqiong buying sunscreen. After hearing the story, Lin Zhushui actually said, “Is he that dark?”

Zhou Jiayu then remembered that Lin Zhushui couldn’t see. Laughing, he replied, “He’s really, really dark.”

Lin Zhushui said, “Mm…” as if he were trying to imagine just how dark Shen Yiqiong was.

Seeing this, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t help but laugh again. He realized that as long as he was with Lin Zhushui, his mood would always be especially good. No matter what they were talking about, he would smile without even noticing.

Since he often visited Lin Zhushui’s residence, Zhou Jiayu was gradually becoming familiar with the place. Though the house was large, it didn’t feel intimidating. In fact, it had a peaceful, serene atmosphere. The only downside was the hallway on the first floor, which had several paintings of fierce beasts hanging on the wall. Every time Zhou Jiayu walked past them, he felt a chill on his back.

The paintings depicted tigers, giant eagles, dragons, and serpentine creatures. Zhou Jiayu always dashed through that hallway and only relaxed once he’d climbed the stairs.

At first, he thought he was just being paranoid. But one day, as he was trotting down the hallway with the little paper figure in his arms, he suddenly tripped over something and fell hard onto the floor. Then he felt as if something had stomped on his back. The little paper figure let out a sharp scream and leapt onto Zhou Jiayu’s back, as if it were trying to protect him.

But when Zhou Jiayu scrambled back to his feet, the paper figure was gone—and the space behind him was completely empty.

“Little Paper? Little Paper?” Zhou Jiayu panicked, calling out for it and searching everywhere, but the little guy was nowhere to be found. In desperation, he ran up to the top floor and burst into the study where Lin Zhushui was practicing talismans. Trembling, he cried out, “Sir, sir, Little Paper is gone!”

Lin Zhushui immediately stopped what he was doing. “Gone?”

“Yes—yes,” Zhou Jiayu stammered. “I tripped on the first floor, and then Little Paper just disappeared…” The little guy called him Papa every day, and he had truly come to see it as his own child. Now that it was missing, he was understandably frantic.

But after hearing Zhou Jiayu’s account, Lin Zhushui only looked knowingly resigned. He sighed and muttered, “So disobedient.”

Zhou Jiayu thought Lin Zhushui was scolding him and cried out, “Sir, I am obedient! I’ll listen to whatever you say—just please help me find Little Paper!”

Lin Zhushui paused for a moment, then walked over and naturally patted Zhou Jiayu’s head. “Good boy.”

They went down to the first floor. Before Zhou Jiayu could even explain where he had tripped, Lin Zhushui was already heading for the hallway. He gently tapped on the paintings hanging there. “Let it out.”

Zhou Jiayu followed his gesture and saw something out of place in one of the traditional ink paintings. A tiny paper figure—identical to Little Paper—was riding on the back of a painted tiger, a look of bliss on its face as it buried its hands in the tiger’s fur.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Was he hallucinating?

“Hurry up,” Lin Zhushui said, his tone now more serious.

As his voice grew stern, a roar echoed through the hallway. A strong wind suddenly picked up, making it hard for Zhou Jiayu to even keep his eyes open. When he managed to look again, what he saw made him jump in fright—a real tiger had appeared in the hallway.

It was a massive beast with black ink-like fur and faint stripes. Its pupils were vertical slits as it glared coldly at Zhou Jiayu.

Zhou Jiayu reflexively took a step back—but then saw Lin Zhushui calmly raise his hand and smack the tiger on the head. “Again?”

The tiger’s expression immediately turned pitiful, as if saying, I’m still a tiger, you know. What more do you want from me?

“No scaring him,” Lin Zhushui said.

The ink-colored tiger whimpered pitifully, its pupils widening. It slowly lay down with its head on its paws in a posture that screamed: Fine, fine, you win.

Little Paper popped up from behind the tiger, bouncing happily on its back. “Fluffy! Fluffy! Pet pet, pet pet!” Who knew where it had learned that—any time it saw something fuzzy, it just had to pet it.

Zhou Jiayu was clearly envious. He… he wanted to pet it too.

Lin Zhushui seemed to read his mind and gave a slight nod. “Go ahead.”

Zhou Jiayu blinked. “Really?”

“Mm.”

Zhou Jiayu rolled up his sleeves and rushed over.

The tiger: “…” Why did I even bother scaring him in the first place?

Zhou Jiayu ran his hand over the tiger’s fur, eyes sparkling. “It’s so rough—not soft at all.”

The tiger: “…” Then stop touching me!!

“Hehehe, but it’s still really fun.” Zhou Jiayu giggled like a fool. “I touched its butt!”

Lin Zhushui: “…” His lips parted slightly. “Enough. You can go now.”

The tiger looked like it had been granted amnesty. Zhou Jiayu, however, was still reluctant to leave. He probably didn’t realize that if he hadn’t said that last sentence, he might have been able to pet the tiger a while longer.

---

Author’s Note:

Zhou Jiayu: I like petting tigers…

Lin Zhushui: Not allowed anymore.

Zhou Jiayu: Why? QAQ

Lin Zhushui: You’re only allowed to pet me.

Zhou Jiayu turned red.