First fingernails, then eyeballs—what would they send next? Lin Jue was genuinely curious. But she was clearly the only one in the house who felt that way. The others looked ready to bolt the moment she touched a package.

“Since they’re not human eyeballs or fingernails, isn’t it kind of interesting?” Lin Jue pouted, complaining to Zhou Jiayu. “Jiayu, you don’t want to share the fun with me either?”

Zhou Jiayu, cradling the weasel and paper figurine, chose his words carefully. “Shibo, I just… can’t feel the fun.”

Lin Jue slapped the table. “How can you not? You open a box not knowing what’s inside, find stuff you’ve never seen before—that’s not exciting?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Eyeballs and fingernails count as exciting?

Lin Jue’s expression screamed “invincible but lonely.” With no one to join her, she grabbed the weasel, declaring that when the third package arrived, it’d be her companion. Each unboxing would earn it three extra months in the house.

The weasel’s face was blank, its tiny eyes radiating despair. Tempted by the extended stay but miserable, it curled up in a corner of the couch, looking like Lin Jue had bullied it into submission.

Zhou Jiayu could only sympathize.

About half a month later, Lin Jue’s eagerly awaited third package arrived. They were eating dinner when she got the call and zoomed out like the wind. Everyone at the table shared a sinking feeling.

Ten minutes later, Lin Jue returned, package in arms, beaming. Zhou Jiayu quietly set down his chopsticks, claiming he was full.

Shen Yiqiong, desperate, shoveled Zhou Jiayu’s delicious chicken cutlets into his mouth. Crispy outside, juicy inside, they’d never taste as good reheated.

Lin Jue, seeing everyone frantically eating, said, “Wow, what’s with those faces?”

Shen Musi wiped his mouth. “Shibo, you opening it?”

Lin Jue waved a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. Here’s a multiple-choice question for you all…”

Zhou Jiayu, weakly, asked what it was.

Lin Jue smiled sweetly. “Should I open it alone now, or wait till you’re done eating and join me?”

Silence fell.

Zhou Jiayu noticed Lin Jue’s sly expression was seven or eight parts like Lin Zhushui’s. No surprise—they were siblings, their cunning looks practically carved from the same mold.

“I’m full. I don’t want to see it. I’m heading upstairs,” Zhou Jiayu said, slipping away, ignoring Lin Jue’s resentful gaze.

Shen Musi and Shen Erbai wisely set down their chopsticks, signaling they were done.

But Shen Chaosan and Shen Yiqiong, the biggest eaters, weren’t full. They exchanged a glance, seeing despair in each other’s eyes.

“Senior Brother,” Shen Yiqiong said, “together?”

Shen Chaosan’s face was blank, but his eyes betrayed his dread. Clutching his chopsticks, he nodded in solidarity.

Lin Jue’s scheme worked. She giggled, sharing her “last supper” with Shen Yiqiong and Shen Chaosan.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t know what the third box held. He’d fled to his room with the paper figurine. Downstairs stayed quiet, suggesting nothing too bizarre was inside.

Around nine, craving a late snack, Zhou Jiayu went downstairs. He found Shen Yiqiong and Shen Chaosan standing somberly by the door. Shen Chaosan had a cigarette in his mouth; Shen Yiqiong, a non-smoker, stared blankly.

“What was in it?” Zhou Jiayu asked, sipping yogurt.

Shen Yiqiong turned, seeing him, and said lifelessly, “Jiayu, I regret it. You’re so smart…”

Zhou Jiayu: “Huh?”

Shen Yiqiong wailed, “Goddamn, I saw what was in that box and puked up my whole dinner.” A total loss, and he still felt sick.

Zhou Jiayu’s curiosity piqued.

“Rotten birds,” Shen Chaosan muttered. “Maggot-infested.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He was beyond glad he’d bailed. “What’d Shibo say?”

Shen Yiqiong: “What else? She excitedly tossed the box out. When will this end?”

Zhou Jiayu slurped his yogurt. “Just steer clear when she’s unboxing.”

That seemed the only solution. A woman obsessed with her hobby was terrifying. Normal girls unboxed clothes, snacks, or makeup. Their Shibo gleefully opened cursed items, hooked on the thrill and dragging others into her “joy.”

“Unboxing’s like a gacha game,” Shen Yiqiong said. “You never know what crap you’ll get.”

Lin Jue’s popularity took a hit over the unboxing fiasco, becoming the person everyone avoided. Thankfully, Lin Zhushui protected his disciples, or they’d have been fully at her mercy.

The mysterious sender sparked collective resentment. Shen Musi investigated the address again, only to find it didn’t exist. While the general area was real, the specific location was fake.

“Sanyan Village,” Shen Musi said. “No such place.”

“Figures,” Shen Yiqiong said. “If I sent that stuff, I wouldn’t leave a real address either.”

Shen Musi: “So why send them? To curse us? Or just gross us out for kicks?”

Lin Zhushui’s checks confirmed the boxes carried minor curses, as Lin Jue said—harmless, easily countered by a simple positive charm, negligible to feng shui practitioners like them.

“No clue,” Shen Yiqiong sighed. “Blame me. I opened the door to Shibo’s new obsession…”

Only Lin Jue could find thrills in creepy packages.

Every half-month, a new box arrived, each stranger than the last—animal bone fragments, moss-covered stones, bags of dirt. No pattern, just random oddities.

Two months passed. By October, the weather cooled, and Lin Zhushui could move freely, no longer confined indoors.

The paper figurine grew noticeably in those months. Aside from the weasel, forced to join Lin Jue’s unboxings, everyone else enjoyed peaceful days. The weasel, looking tortured, was shedding wildly—maybe from stress or autumn. But its unboxing stints earned it extra months at the Lin house.

Mid-October, Lin Po visited to discuss something with Lin Zhushui.

He naturally mooched a meal, praising Zhou Jiayu’s cooking again and casually asking why the weasel looked thinner.

The weasel slammed its plate, glaring at Lin Jue.

Lin Jue snapped, “Hey, why glare at me? This was a fair deal, wasn’t it? You didn’t complain last night.”

Lin Po: “…”

Weasel: “Kaka kaka kaka!”

Lin Jue and the weasel bickered loudly.

The next day, after three idle months, Lin Zhushui announced a new job. They were headed to a small city in the southwest, where something needed resolving.

Zhou Jiayu found the address familiar. Lin Jue reacted instantly. “That’s near where the packages are sent from. Maybe we can check it out and find the sender.”

Everyone perked up. Except for Lin Jue, no one wanted those packages. Finding the sender would nip the problem in the bud.

The southwest city, a secondary capital during the Republic era, was steeped in spooky folklore. Zhou Jiayu had fond impressions of it, though he worried about the food—every dish seemed to be spice-heavy.

The trip was set for three days later. Lin Zhushui told Zhou Jiayu he could bring the paper figurine for some experience. Overjoyed, the paper figurine was like a kid before a vacation, too excited to sleep, bouncing around Zhou Jiayu’s room all night. Luckily, being paper, it was weightless and didn’t disturb him.

A few days later, Zhou Jiayu folded the paper figurine a few times, tucked it into his pocket, and boarded the plane.

At security, the paper figurine was pulled out by an officer, who unfolded it and asked Zhou Jiayu what it was.

Startled, worried it might move, Zhou Jiayu quickly explained, “It’s a paper effigy for ancestor worship. I’m taking it back to burn for my ancestors.”

“Oh.” The security officer, a young, handsome guy, ran his hand over the figurine. “Pretty realistic. The features are so lifelike.”

Zhou Jiayu gave an awkward laugh, reaching to take it back.

But the cheeky paper figurine seized the moment, sneaking a pat on the officer’s hand as it was passed over. The officer froze, then looked up at Zhou Jiayu.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” It wasn’t me, I swear.

The officer grinned. “Add me on WeChat?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” What kind of plot twist is this?

Reluctantly, he quietly added the officer’s WeChat. Thankfully, he was the last of the group, so no one else saw the exchange—otherwise, who knows what they’d think.

Still, he lagged behind, and Shen Yiqiong asked what happened.

“Nothing,” Zhou Jiayu brushed off. “They found the paper figurine.”

“Oh,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Didn’t get caught, right?” He patted the figurine’s head. “Little Paper, don’t move, or they’ll take you away.”

The paper figurine let out a small hum.

Luckily, they boarded the plane without further issues. It was the paper figurine’s first flight, and it was thrilled, wriggling nonstop in Zhou Jiayu’s pocket. Helpless, he waited until the cabin lights dimmed after takeoff to pull it out and set it by the window.

The figurine pressed its face to the glass, letting out soft gasps at the view, clearly ecstatic.

During the in-flight meal, Zhou Jiayu quickly tucked it back in his pocket to avoid any curious flight attendants causing a scene.

Hours later, they safely reached their destination.

The paper figurine, pent-up from the trip, went wild in the car, bouncing around like crazy. The driver, sent by their contacts, kept glancing at the back seat through the rearview mirror. Fortunately, he was in the know, or Zhou Jiayu worried he’d be so distracted by the figurine he’d drive into a ditch.

Though it was October, the weather wasn’t cool. People still wore short sleeves, and Zhou Jiayu, sweating under his thick jacket, took it off under the blazing sun.

The driver took them to their booked hotel. As Zhou Jiayu entered, holding the paper figurine, he spotted a familiar face.

“Yo, long time no see!” It was Yu Xiaomian, a rival from a past feng shui competition. “You’re here too.”

Beside Yu Xiaomian were older men, likely his elders, greeting Lin Zhushui. Their demeanor suggested seniority.

“Long time,” Zhou Jiayu replied.

Yu Xiaomian eyed the figurine. “What’s that? A paper effigy?”

“Yeah.” Zhou Jiayu patted it, checking no one else was around. “Little Paper, say hi to big brother.”

The figurine popped up from Zhou Jiayu’s arms, chirping, “Hi, brother!”

Yu Xiaomian jumped back like a startled cat but quickly returned, excited. “Can I hold it?”

“Sure,” Zhou Jiayu said.

So, the paper figurine ended up in Yu Xiaomian’s arms.

Shen Yiqiong, standing silently nearby, looked glum. Zhou Jiayu noticed and asked, “Yiqiong, what’s wrong?”

Shen Yiqiong muttered, “Why’s he so pale?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

He hadn’t noticed until Shen Yiqiong pointed it out. Yu Xiaomian’s skin was strikingly fair, almost glowing, while Shen Yiqiong’s was dark and muted. The contrast hit Shen Yiqiong hard.

Yu Xiaomian, overhearing, huffed, “What’s wrong with being pale? I’d rather be darker. I sunbathe all the time and still look like this—practically risking skin cancer.” He was actually unhappy with his fair complexion.

Shen Yiqiong immediately offered to swap skin tones if possible.

The two bonded over their shared woes, creating an oddly harmonious vibe.

Zhou Jiayu thought, The grass is always greener.

While the younger group chatted, the elders discussed business.

“Mr. Lin, can you handle this?” an older man, over sixty with white hair but vibrant energy, asked in a thick local accent, hard to parse at first.

Lin Zhushui said, “Let’s check the site first.”

“Great, great,” the elder replied, pleased.

Zhou Jiayu, long by Lin Zhushui’s side, had never seen him fail to solve a case, yet he always remained cautious, never overcommitting.

“Oh, Mr. Lin, I haven’t introduced my grandson, Yu Xiaomian. He competed with your disciple, Zhou Jiayu, in the feng shui contest,” the elder said, smiling.

Yu Xiaomian politely greeted Lin Zhushui. With his delicate features and pale skin, he looked like a shy teen—until you remembered his fiery trash-talking during the competition.

“This is my disciple, Zhou Jiayu, Shen Yiqiong, and my sister, Lin Jue,” Lin Zhushui nodded, introducing them.

“You must be tired. We’ve prepared dinner. We’ll discuss the site tomorrow morning,” the elder said warmly.

Lin Zhushui agreed.

The group ate and rested, gearing up for the next day.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t know why Lin Zhushui was here until Lin Jue explained that night. The city was building a new subway line, but workers kept vanishing at a certain section. At first, the contractors thought it was human error, but the surveillance footage told a darker story.

In the videos, workers building the tunnel would suddenly, as if possessed, walk deeper into it. Their movements were stiff, their expressions vacant, like lifeless zombies. They’d shuffle to the tunnel’s end, turn to the camera, wave as if bidding farewell, then squeeze into the narrow gaps of the dirt wall ahead.

The description alone was chilling; Zhou Jiayu could only imagine how terrifying the footage was.

“We investigated,” the elder sighed. “No cause found. The subway’s a major project—every delay’s a headache. We need this resolved fast.”

Lin Zhushui nodded. “We’ll check it out tomorrow.”

The group prepared to eat and rest.

The local food was, as expected, insanely spicy. Shen Yiqiong, who could barely handle heat, was horrified to find even stir-fried vegetables laced with chili.

Zhou Jiayu, mentally prepared, managed okay. But Shen Yiqiong was practically delirious from the spice.

Lin Zhushui’s habit of not eating with others paid off. Everyone knew his quirk, so no one pressed him. Zhou Jiayu watched him calmly munch on pickled cucumbers—the only dish without a trace of chili.

The meal left everyone emotional, eyes red and teary by the end, even Lin Jue, who quietly dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

They were a stark contrast to the locals. Zhou Jiayu saw Yu Xiaomian gleefully picking out chilies, lips bright red, grinning and urging them to keep eating.

Zhou Jiayu couldn’t take it. He whispered, “Can you guys handle this the next day?”

Though tactful, Yu Xiaomian caught his meaning and burst out laughing. “Of course not! Why else are our proctology clinics so popular here?”

Zhou Jiayu was speechless.

Eating spicy food hurts twice—going in and coming out.

That night, Shen Yiqiong, predictably, got diarrhea, wailing in the bathroom. “No wonder Senior Brother didn’t come. It’s because of this!”

Zhou Jiayu asked how he felt.

Shen Yiqiong groaned, “Like a thousand guys took turns wrecking my ass.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Why do you sound so experienced?

Before even encountering anything supernatural, the meal had sapped their energy. The next day, heading to the site, everyone looked wilted. Even Lin Jue was quiet—Zhou Jiayu learned her stomach was also suffering.

Compared to the lively Yu Xiaomian, Zhou Jiayu felt like their group had collectively food-poisoned themselves.

Lin Zhushui, eating meals Zhou Jiayu prepared separately, was unaffected, as serene as ever.

The subway construction was still in the tunneling phase, but due to the vanishing workers and eerie footage, work had halted. Only a guard remained at the entrance to keep people out, leaving the tunnel empty.

It was Zhou Jiayu’s first time in an unfinished subway tunnel. Descending from the surface, despite no air conditioning, a refreshing coolness greeted them. At the entrance, he spotted wisps of black mist floating in the air—a sure sign of something unclean.

Humans felt uneasy here, but the paper figurine loved it. Zhou Jiayu kept it in his pocket to avoid startling others, only taking it out once inside, after confirming the cameras were off.

“It seems to like this place,” Yu Xiaomian said, amazed, as the paper figurine rubbed against the tunnel wall.

“Yeah, the yin energy’s strong here. Little Paper, stop rubbing—the wall’s filthy. Keep it up, and you’re getting a bath tonight,” Zhou Jiayu said, sounding like a nagging mom.

At the mention of a bath, the paper figurine froze. Regular water didn’t harm it, but like any mischievous kid, it loathed bathing. Zhou Jiayu dreaded the ordeal of tossing it and the weasel into the bathroom together.

“Part of this tunnel was built earlier?” Lin Zhushui asked suddenly, mid-walk.

“Yes,” Yu Xiaomian’s grandfather, Yu He, confirmed. “This section was once an air-raid shelter.”

Lin Zhushui raised an eyebrow, lost in thought.

The deeper they went, the colder it got. Zhou Jiayu rubbed his arms, feeling chilly.

Aside from the cold, the tunnel seemed normal. Lin Zhushui reached the end, lightly touching the wall.

The elder asked softly, “Mr. Lin, see anything?”

Lin Zhushui shook his head. “It’s noon—the energy’s too faint. We need to come back later.”

“Fair enough,” the elder said.

“Let’s review the footage and return tonight,” Lin Jue suggested. “We can’t see much now.”

The plan was set. They’d leave for now and return at a better time.

__

Author’s Note:

Zhou Jiayu: Wuwu… Sir, don’t bully me…

Lin Zhushui: Who told you to add that WeChat?

Zhou Jiayu: Wuwu… I messed up…

To clarify the previous story: After Ye Zhen killed the Dog King, it resurrected as a human, turned her dog-farm-running family into yin dogs, and caged them with other dogs she’d killed. In the end, Lin Zhushui ensured the yin dogs Ye Zhen killed would reincarnate through her, forcing her to birth them as humans. Yep… five a year, a few decades, and she’ll be done.