They arrived at the hospital, and Lin Jue said she had already contacted medical staff who were rushing over overnight with equipment. If conditions allowed, the professionals would soon begin transferring the unconscious children from the hospital.

Everyone looked grim, clearly struck by a sense of shared mourning in the face of such an unprovoked disaster.

“The Xu clan hid for a hundred years, but in the end, they couldn’t avoid their fate.” Outside the hospital, Lin Jue lit a cigarette, and Zhou Jiayu took one as well. As the smoke swirled around them, she said, “In recent years, their paper-controlling skills had become increasingly refined. These paper figures even developed their own consciousness. That kind of ability is something every other family envies.”

But, as the saying goes, fortune and misfortune go hand in hand. Hidden in the clan’s strength was a killing intent from the Heavenly Dao.

Zhou Jiayu gently stroked Little Paper’s back, letting it rest in his arms. Little Paper no longer cried. Its expression was calm, yet anyone who had seen its earlier behavior would recognize the loss of innocence. It was as if it had grown up overnight.

Zhou Jiayu’s mind was in chaos. He thought of the mysterious man who had met Lin Zhushui on the hotel rooftop—he had a strong feeling that man was deeply connected to Xu Jinghuo’s odd behavior.

And there was Xu Jinghuo’s cryptic mention of “corpse-control techniques,” “the body of a merman,” and “a contract with a ghostly spirit.” Upon reflection, each phrase seemed tied to past incidents—the tree spirit and Yan Hongxiu, the haunted school, the ghostly livestream involving Xiaomi—all of which now clearly bore Xu Jinghuo’s fingerprints. Zhou Jiayu exhaled a puff of smoke and briefly laid out his thoughts.

“If we can find him, that’d be best,” Lin Jue said. “I also think there’s someone behind him. But even if someone pushed him into doing these things, he still has a lot of blood on his hands. He’ll have to pay for that, no matter what.”

Zhou Jiayu sighed and nodded.

They stayed at the hospital, wary of anyone trying to exploit the situation and target the few remaining Xu children. As expected, once it became clear that the Xu clan in She Mountain had been completely destroyed, attention turned to the kids in the hospital.

Zhou Jiayu saw Lin Zhushui seated inside the ward, chasing away every intruder with an icy attitude. Anyone who dared to speak up was greeted with cold sarcasm.

Even that Taoist priest they’d met on the mountain—Zhang Daoren—showed up. As soon as he entered, he put on a shameless smile and greeted, “Mr. Lin.”

Though Zhang Daoren looked like a sage, the greed in his eyes as he glanced at Zhou Jiayu behind Lin Zhushui was unmistakable. He smiled and said, “Mr. Lin, these children don’t seem to be doing well. Our Taoist sect has a technique…”

Lin Zhushui coldly interrupted, “Don’t your people go to hospitals when they’re sick?”

Zhang Daoren replied, “Well, yes, but—”

Lin Zhushui cut him off again. “Can’t even cure yourselves, and you think you can cure others?”

Zhang Daoren: “…”

Even Zhou Jiayu had never seen Lin Zhushui go this hard before—he wasn’t holding back at all. Zhang Daoren’s face turned a mixture of red and pale, like a knocked-over paint palette. He finally forced out a sentence: “Mr. Lin, don’t you think it’s a bit much to monopolize the Xu clan’s heirs like this?”

Lin Zhushui stood up, walking right up to him with a cold arc to his jawline.

Zhang Daoren was clearly shorter than Lin Zhushui. Though he tried to hold his ground, his feet involuntarily stepped back under Lin Zhushui’s imposing presence.

“Monopolize?” Lin Zhushui said. “They’re human beings—what exactly am I monopolizing? Zhang Daoren, you can eat your fill, but your words better be measured. Say the wrong thing, and you’ll be held accountable.” His final words were practically spat out through clenched teeth.

Zhang Daoren growled, “But your disciple has clearly already learned the paper-controlling technique—”

“Jiayu,” Lin Zhushui called, “Come here.”

Zhou Jiayu, holding Little Paper, stepped forward and glared at Zhang Daoren with a clearly hostile expression.

Zhang Daoren grew even more nervous under his gaze but tried to save face.

Then Lin Zhushui added, “Little Paper, someone’s trying to steal the Xu clan’s people.”

As soon as the words were out, Little Paper—who had been quietly snuggling in Zhou Jiayu’s arms—sprang to the ground, rolled up its sleeves, and charged at Zhang Daoren.

Little Paper looked like a kid around 1.2 meters tall. Zhang Daoren didn’t take it seriously—until he was knocked flat with a single punch and then dragged out like a sack of garbage.

Zhou Jiayu watched as Little Paper dumped Zhang Daoren in a corner, spat on the ground, and strutted back into the room, hands on hips.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Where did it learn that spitting move?

Lin Zhushui patted Little Paper on the head. “Not bad.”

Delighted by the praise, Little Paper called him “Papa” and happily climbed back onto Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

After that, Lin Zhushui made no effort to be polite—he drove away anyone who dared to enter. At first, some tried their luck. But soon, no one dared step foot inside, only peeking anxiously through the door.

Lin Jue had been working on transfer arrangements, and when she returned to the ward, she found all the major feng shui families lining up at the door like children outside a candy shop.

Lin Jue: “…” She even spotted Xu Ruwang.

“What are you all doing here? Why don’t you go in?” she smacked Xu Ruwang. “And what’s with that hairstyle? You look like a punk.”

Xu Ruwang lit up at her voice. “Miss Lin.”

Lin Jue said, “What’s with that face?”

Xu Ruwang replied, “It’s just that Mr. Lin’s been throwing people out one after another. I was afraid I’d get tossed, too.”

“…Where’s your master?” she asked.

“He’s still up on the mountain.”

“Come on in,” she said, waving him in. “But keep your mouth shut.”

Xu Ruwang eagerly followed her into the room. Honestly, as a gay man, he immediately picked up on something odd between Zhou Jiayu and Lin Zhushui. But he figured he was overthinking it—sure, Zhou Jiayu was like him, but imagining him with Lin Zhushui seemed absurd.

“Xu Ruwang,” Zhou Jiayu greeted him, “Your hair’s getting longer.”

Xu Ruwang replied, “Can we still be friends if you stop bringing that up? How are the kids?”

“Still unconscious,” Zhou Jiayu said, glancing at Lin Zhushui to confirm he wasn’t about to throw Xu Ruwang out. “They inhaled toxic smoke. The local hospital isn’t enough—we need to move them.”

“Sigh,” Xu Ruwang sighed and sat down.

Lin Jue and Lin Zhushui discussed the transfer plan. The medical team would arrive that night, and tickets were already booked. They’d leave under the cover of darkness. The sooner they moved, the better—tensions around the Xu clan were still growing, and too much attention would be dangerous.

Zhou Jiayu suddenly remembered something and asked, “Sir, why hasn’t the branch they gave me withered?”

Lin Zhushui replied, “Didn’t I tell you to carry it with you at all times?”

“Yes…”

“The ancestral tree requires a steady supply of the purest yin energy to survive. That’s why the Xu clan chose a secluded place like She Mountain. As for a branch not withering—it also needs to be nurtured with yin energy.”

Zhou Jiayu finally understood. It was his own constitution that had preserved the branch. But now he wondered—could this small branch somehow help what remained of the Xu clan?

Soon after, the medical team arrived and began transferring the unconscious children using professional methods.

Lin Zhushui, Zhou Jiayu, and the others stood guard the whole time, alert for any threats.

In the end, the children were safely loaded onto the train out of She Mountain, with Xu Jian accompanying them. Lin Jue asked him why he didn’t stay behind longer.

Xu Jian said he hadn’t expected to find anything useful—he just wanted to understand how the Xu clan had fallen. A clan that strong in feng shui, gone in an instant, leaving only a few children… It chilled him to the core.

“They touched something they shouldn’t have,” Lin Jue said, lighting yet another cigarette. “The Heavenly Dao has always been stingy.”

Xu Jian sighed heavily.

Zhou Jiayu sat beside Lin Zhushui, noticing a rare weariness in his face. Though subtle, it was uncommon for Lin Zhushui to show fatigue at all.

“Sir,” Zhou Jiayu whispered, “Are you tired?”

“I’m okay,” Lin Zhushui replied.

Zhou Jiayu remembered how little sleep he’d gotten lately. “If you’re sleepy, you can lean on my shoulder… I can keep watch—I’m not tired.”

He thought Lin Zhushui would refuse, but surprisingly, he nodded and naturally leaned against Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder. The faint scent of sandalwood filled Zhou Jiayu’s nose. He carefully draped a coat over him and kept still, trying to make it more comfortable.

Feeling Lin Zhushui’s breathing steady, Zhou Jiayu sat upright, letting him rest easier. Using his peripheral vision, he observed his high nose bridge, light-colored lips, and trembling lashes—and felt a wave of indescribable happiness.

Lin Zhushui was quite tall, and to lean against Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder meant bending awkwardly. Noticing this, Zhou Jiayu gently called, “Sir,” helped him up, and pulled him into his embrace so his head could rest in the crook of his arm.

Lin Zhushui didn’t resist, allowing himself to be repositioned.

Now Zhou Jiayu could look down and see his face clearly. He held Lin Zhushui in his arms, heart full.

As the night deepened, the others either napped or stood watch in the next car. Believing Lin Zhushui to be asleep, Zhou Jiayu leaned down and did something he’d longed to do for ages—he kissed his eyelashes. Then he grinned like an idiot.

Happiness doesn’t need to be complicated. When the one you love returns your feelings, holding them close is already a joy others can only envy.

The next morning, the train safely arrived at its destination.

The children were transferred into an intensive care unit. The hospitals arranged by Lin Jue were kept strictly confidential—just in case anyone came sniffing around again.

“They’ll need time to wake up,” the doctor said after thorough examinations. “We can’t be sure about any aftereffects yet. If there was a lack of oxygen, the brain may have suffered damage.”

At this point, there wasn’t much Lin Zhushui could do—besides provide funds and ensure they received the best care. Hopefully, the children would pull through.

With everything finally settled, they returned to the Lin household.

After they returned, everyone finally got a few days to rest properly. Zhou Jiayu was also exhausted and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed, sleeping straight through from the afternoon to the next morning before waking up from hunger.

After washing up and heading downstairs, he found a few people sitting in the living room, all staring at him with puppy-dog eyes—like a bunch of baby animals waiting to be fed.

Zhou Jiayu: “…What do you guys want to eat?”

Shen Yiqiong said pitifully, “Shiniang*, we want to eat lamb.”

(*Note: 師娘 “Shiniang” literally means “master’s wife” and is a joking term of endearment for Zhou Jiayu because of his relationship with Lin Zhushui.)

Zhou Jiayu: “????” Shen Yiqiong, have you no shame?

He was a bit helpless, but still went to the kitchen to make a lamb hot pot, and also brewed a big pot of chicken soup to nourish the weasel and the others.

This time, after returning home, Little Paper had matured a lot. He no longer pulled on the weasel’s fur, but instead sat solemnly on the sofa, looking like he was deep in thought.

Feeling sorry for him, Zhou Jiayu fed him a little food too. Little Paper could eat, but food wasn’t necessary for his survival, so Zhou Jiayu usually didn’t feed him to avoid stressing his body. But Little Paper seemed so despondent lately that Zhou Jiayu couldn’t bear it, so he made some dishes for him as well.

So they watched as the little paper man held a bowl and sat at the table, eating side by side with the weasel. The scene was surprisingly harmonious.

The lamb had been flown in that very day—fatty, tender, and perfect for hot pot.

While they were eating, Lin Zhushui came over too, and sat right beside Zhou Jiayu. From time to time, he even picked food for Zhou Jiayu.

Zhou Jiayu felt blissful—the soup even tasted sweet.

Clearly, the Xu family matter wasn’t over yet. Over the next few days, Lin Po kept coming over, looking like he was discussing something with Lin Jue and the others.

When Lin Zhushui found out, he called Lin Po over and simply said, “Anyone with opinions, tell them to come to me.”

Lin Po gave a bitter smile. “Uncle, they wouldn’t dare.” He glanced at Little Paper, who was lying on Zhou Jiayu’s head, pulling his hair. “Little Paper’s quite the celebrity among them now…”

“If they don’t dare, then tell them to scram,” Lin Zhushui said. “Tell them not to assume I’ll give face to the Lin family.”

Lin Po had nothing to say and left with his tail between his legs.

Zhou Jiayu had long felt there was something off about Lin Zhushui’s relationship with the Lin family. They didn’t seem close, and the Lin family’s attitude toward Lin Zhushui was more fear than affection.

After asking Lin Jue, Zhou Jiayu found out that the incident with Lin Zhushui’s parents back then had something to do with the Lin family. Afterwards, Lin Zhushui had moved out of the main house. By tradition, disciples of the Lin family should take the surname “Lin,” but because Lin Zhushui disliked the Lin family so much, he had his disciples take his mother’s surname instead.

That’s why Lin Zhushui had the surname Lin, but his disciples were all surnamed Shen.

In the following days, many visitors came knocking at the door. Clearly, the Xu family’s paper-controlling technique was a huge temptation.

Lin Zhushui, who already didn’t have much patience, showed no kindness to these people who swarmed in like vultures. He directly instructed security to keep them out.

This situation lasted for over half a month, until the hospital finally sent word that the unconscious children had woken up.

Zhou Jiayu followed Lin Zhushui to the hospital and met the remaining descendants of the Xu clan.

After waking up, their expressions were calm—almost numb. It made Zhou Jiayu feel deeply worried.

Lin Zhushui got straight to the point, asking what they planned to do.

“I want to find a new ancestral tree,” said the oldest boy solemnly. “As long as we’re still alive, the Xu clan isn’t completely wiped out.”

“Good,” Lin Zhushui replied. “I’ll help you—but you must agree to one condition.”

“What condition?” the boy asked.

“I’ll find you a suitable teacher,” Lin Zhushui said. “You have to study under them until adulthood. After that, I’ll provide you with resources and information. What you choose to do with them will be up to you.”

The boy nodded, agreeing to the condition.

These children were clearly suppressing their emotions and trying to appear strong, which was heartbreaking to witness.

But when they saw Little Paper peek out from Zhou Jiayu’s pocket, their emotions finally overflowed. The children silently cried just at the sight of him, clearly reminded of their own lost paper companions.

The Xu clan had lived with paper beings for a century. Now, that bond had been severed. Whether these children would be able to renew it in the future was unknown.

As promised, Lin Zhushui found them teachers—not just one, and not just to study metaphysics and feng shui.

Zhou Jiayu would also regularly bring Little Paper to visit, hoping he could provide them comfort and strength.

After the Xu incident, Lin Zhushui didn’t take on any new cases for a while. Instead, he focused on investigating Xu Jinghuo. Zhou Jiayu didn’t know what he found, only that Lin Zhushui disappeared for a few weeks near the end of December. Before leaving, he said he had some business, but didn’t say where or for how long.

Coincidentally, during that time, someone came to ask for help—brought over by Lin Po.

“Zhushui isn’t here,” Lin Jue said. “We can’t help right now.”

Lin Po looked helpless. “When will he be back?”

“No idea,” Lin Jue said. “Maybe late December, maybe January…” She shrugged and glanced at the disciples. “Why don’t you guys give it a try?”

Shen Yiqiong immediately shrank back and cautiously asked, “Is it a haunting? Or feng shui?”

Lin Jue laughed loudly. “You fool. If it were just feng shui, you think we’d need Lin Po to bring the client over?”

Shen Yiqiong looked pained. “I really just want to be a feng shui master… at most I can deal with a hopping zombie or two. But ghosts? That’s too intense.”

Shen Musi laughed too. “Then you really need to go. As Lin Zhushui’s disciple, how can you be so unbalanced in your training?”

“Guan’er, how about you?” Lin Jue asked Zhou Jiayu.

“I’ll go.” Zhou Jiayu thought for a moment and agreed. He couldn’t always rely on Lin Zhushui to protect him. He was a grown man, not a conjoined twin. Just because Lin Zhushui wasn’t around didn’t mean he had to stay locked inside. Besides, he’d once vowed to protect Lin Zhushui himself.

“Alright, we’ll go together,” Lin Jue said. “With me there, nothing major will happen.”

So Lin Po brought in the client. He was a middle-aged man in his forties named Jiang Xutao—broad forehead, sharp eyes, and a bulge in the center of his forehead that looked like a “Heaven-facing Fuxi bone.” A face of fortune indeed. But Zhou Jiayu could see faint black mist clinging to him. It wasn’t unusual—many clients had this—but it wasn’t trivial either.

“Miss Lin, hello.” Jiang Xutao greeted politely, seeming a little nervous.

“What’s going on at your place? Start from the beginning,” Lin Jue said, popping a freshly pickled plum into her mouth.

“My surname is Jiang, full name Jiang Xutao. My family is in the construction material business,” he introduced. “Three months ago, I bought a second-hand house, but it seems… something is wrong with it.”

Lin Jue spat out a plum pit and interrupted, “Just say what we need to know.”

Shen Yiqiong asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

Jiang Xutao said, “Every night, we hear loud knocking on the walls…”

“Walls?” Shen Yiqiong said, “Did you check with the neighbors? Maybe it’s just them?”

Jiang Xutao gave a bitter smile. “It’s a detached villa. No neighbors.”

Zhou Jiayu asked, “But since you’re able to sit here with us, you must be fairly well-off. Why buy a second-hand villa?”

Hearing this, Jiang Xutao’s expression shifted. He sighed. “To be honest… my business isn’t limited to construction. I’ve also been doing something else.”

“Something else?” Zhou Jiayu prompted.

Looking a bit embarrassed, Jiang Xutao finally confessed, “I buy murder houses—‘haunted’ properties at low prices—and flip them for profit.”

Everyone fell silent.

Zhou Jiayu had heard of such people, but it was the first time he’d met one. Judging by Jiang Xutao’s clothes, he wasn’t hurting for money—yet he still got into this line of work.

Lin Jue raised her brows. “So this villa is also a murder house? But I thought you were flipping them. Why’d you move in yourself?”

Jiang Xutao sighed. “That’s a long story…”

Lin Jue poured herself a cup of tea, leaned back into the sofa, and scooped up the weasel to pet its smooth fur. “No rush. Take your time—”

Despite it being a snowy day, Jiang Xutao reached up to wipe sweat from his forehead. He swallowed hard and said hoarsely, “It was just a coincidence that we moved in… but after we did, we found that… we couldn’t move out.”

“Can’t move out?” Lin Jue suddenly perked up, sitting upright. “Now that’s interesting. Tell us in detail.”

So Jiang Xutao slowly began to recount what had happened in that house.

__

Author’s Note:

Zhou Jiayu: So where did Little Paper learn to spit at people, huh? Shen Yiqiong, get out here—

Shen Yiqiong: I swear it wasn’t me! I’ve never spat in my life!

Zhou Jiayu: Then what the hell have you been showing Little Paper behind my back?

Shen Yiqiong guiltily looks away.

Zhou Jiayu rolls up his sleeves.