As the New Year atmosphere thickened, the weather grew colder. Zhou Jiayu was practically turning into a hibernating bear—dressing thicker by the day, moving more and more sluggishly. But he did feel that he was faring better than the previous year, because at least now, when it got too cold, he could warm himself in Lin Zhushui’s arms.

The New Year’s Eve dinner was cooked by Zhou Jiayu and a few of the disciples—Zhou Jiayu, of course, handled the main dishes, which were everyone’s favorites. The weasel had already changed into its thick winter coat, making it especially pleasant to the touch. Little Paper shamelessly clung to it every day just to stroke its fur.

At first, Zhou Jiayu tried to dissuade him, worried that Little Paper would pluck the poor thing bald again, but since the weasel itself didn’t seem to mind, he eventually let it go.

As the year-end approached, more people began visiting the Lin household to offer New Year’s greetings. Most were stopped outside, but a few managed to make it in—like Lin Po’s father, who was, in name, Lin Zhushui’s elder brother. He came by once.

However, his visit did not go well. Lin Zhushui treated him like air the entire time. Lin Jue was left to offer a few polite words on behalf of the host. Seeing this attitude, Lin Po’s father was visibly displeased but couldn’t lash out. When lunchtime approached, Lin Zhushui said simply, “It’s noon.”

In situations like this, most people would follow up with something like, “Stay for lunch.” But Lin Zhushui, clearly not most people, simply parted his thin lips and coolly said, “Please—I’m not inviting you to stay.”

He was clearly dismissing the guest. Lin Po’s father’s face turned a deep shade of gray, and to make matters worse, no one in the room dared to smooth things over. Even Lin Jue pretended to be absorbed in his phone, saying nothing.

In the end, Lin Po’s father left in a huff.

Only then did Zhou Jiayu quietly say, “Everyone, come eat. I made squirrel-shaped mandarin fish and braised lamb ribs…”

The moment he named the dishes, the stifled atmosphere in the room instantly lifted.

Later that evening, Lin Jue secretly told Zhou Jiayu the full story behind Lin Zhushui’s estrangement from the Lin family.

It turned out that when Lin Zhushui’s parents discovered his special constitution, they wanted to buy time and had gone to the Lin family to request a rare yin-aligned ancient jade. This jade could suppress Lin Zhushui’s extreme yang constitution and buy them more time to save him.

But the Lin family rejected the request outright. The then-head of the family even stated that Lin Zhushui’s fate was impossible to change, and using the jade would be a complete waste.

With no other options, Lin Zhushui’s parents took a drastic and dangerous route—one that ultimately changed his fate, but cost them their lives.

“We still don’t know exactly what they did,” Lin Jue said. “But after it happened, it became something that Lin Zhushui could never get past, and he’s been unable to reconnect with the Lin family ever since.”

Zhou Jiayu felt a bit choked up hearing this. Lin Zhushui’s parents had clearly paid a heavy price just to ensure their son could live past the age of eighteen. He couldn’t help but wonder if they knew their wish had come true, wherever they were now.

“If you’ve got time, go keep Zhushui company more often,” Lin Jue said. “There are too many people around here—it’s hard to get any ‘operations’ done.”

Zhou Jiayu was startled. “Operations??”

Lin Jue was clearly a seasoned veteran. He enunciated each syllable with emphasis: “O-per-a-tions.”

Zhou Jiayu gave him a mock-respectful fist-to-palm salute in admiration.

Truth was, Zhou Jiayu had no real experience in that area. He’d heard things, of course, but never tried anything himself. After Lin Jue’s reminder, he secretly decided to do some research. He tiptoed online, intending to download some “educational” videos for self-study.

But as someone who rarely watched that sort of content, Zhou Jiayu spent a long time browsing and still couldn’t find a proper beginner’s starting point. In the end, he resorted to subtly asking Xu Ruwang—who was also gay and clearly more knowledgeable.

When Xu Ruwang heard what Zhou Jiayu was looking for, the first thing he asked was, “Who are you with?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “Take a guess.”

Xu Ruwang replied, “No fucking way. Don’t tell me you’re with Lin Zhushui.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…Mhm.”

Xu Ruwang sent over a whole row of exclamation points, followed by a giant thumbs-up emoji.

Zhou Jiayu asked, “So… do you have the stuff?”

Xu Ruwang said, “What country do you want it from?”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “Anything’s fine.” Then added, “Start with something subtle—I don’t want to get overwhelmed right away.”

Xu Ruwang responded with an “Mhm,” and sent over a few links. Zhou Jiayu slowly moved his cursor, clicked the link, and watched the page load.

The video showed two young men sitting on a bed. As the timeline progressed, Zhou Jiayu’s breathing grew heavier and the tips of his ears turned red. He paused the video, lit a cigarette, and only after taking a moment to compose himself did he return to the screen.

That night, Zhou Jiayu went to the bathroom three times and even had a dream—Lin Zhushui was in it.

In the dream, Lin Zhushui lay beside him, turned on his side, gazing at him tenderly.

Those long-shut eyes opened, revealing dark pupils filled with a drowning kind of gentleness. Zhou Jiayu wrapped his arms around him, body burning with heat, softly calling his name as if his soul was melting in the fire.

The next morning, Zhou Jiayu woke up to find—unsurprisingly—his pants were wet. He rushed downstairs to wash them, only to run into Shen Yiqiong, who was up for his morning jog.

Shen Yiqiong was also a hormonal teenage boy. Seeing Zhou Jiayu washing his pants, he gave him a knowing smirk. “So, which young lady did you meet in your dreams last night?”

Zhou Jiayu gave him a long, deadpan look.

Shen Yiqiong scratched his head, then seemed to realize: “…Not a young lady, huh. A young man?”

Zhou Jiayu remained silent.

Shen Yiqiong’s smile stiffened. “Don’t tell me… it was the master…”

Zhou Jiayu, red-faced and furious, threw down his underwear. “Say one more word and you’re cooking your own damn noodles for lunch.”

Shen Yiqiong made a zipping-his-lips gesture and quickly slipped away.

Because of that dream, Zhou Jiayu felt incredibly awkward facing Lin Zhushui. Even though they were now officially together and had already kissed, seeing the real Lin Zhushui still reminded him of the dream version. Zhou Jiayu kept his head down and silently shoveled rice into his mouth, not daring to look up.

Just then, his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. He picked up: “Hello?”

“Your package has arrived,” said the deliveryman.

“Package?” Zhou Jiayu tensed. Thanks to some past trauma courtesy of Little Golden Dragon, he felt uneasy just hearing the word “package.” “Don’t give it to me—I didn’t order anything…”

“It’s from Mr. Xu Jinghuo,” the deliveryman added.

The moment he heard that name, Zhou Jiayu froze—but then let out a breath. “Alright. Just leave it with the guard at the gate.”

“Will do.” The deliveryman hung up.

Zhou Jiayu put down the phone and said hesitantly, “That was the delivery guy—he said Xu Jinghuo sent me something.”

The room instantly fell silent. Clearly, everyone was sensitive to that name. Even those who were still eating froze mid-bite. Lin Jue frowned. “Xu Jinghuo? Why would he send you anything?”

“I don’t know, we’re not even that close,” Zhou Jiayu said. “I told the guy to leave it at the gate. I’ll go check.”

“I’m going with you,” Lin Zhushui said, putting down his chopsticks and standing up.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t argue—after all, if the package contained anything strange, Lin Zhushui would definitely be the first to notice.

When they got to the gate, they saw the package the deliveryman had mentioned. It was a small parcel, about the size of a notebook.

Zhou Jiayu gave it a squeeze. It felt like a thin, hard box. Lin Zhushui reached out a hand. “Let me take a look.”

Zhou Jiayu handed it over.

Lin Zhushui examined it briefly. “Nothing unclean inside. Open it.”

With Lin Zhushui’s permission, Zhou Jiayu peeled off the wrapping. Inside was a small, square wooden box—roughly notebook-sized and quite slim.

“It’s a box,” Zhou Jiayu murmured, inspecting it. He found a tiny button on top. “Seems like there’s something inside.”

“Let me do it,” Lin Zhushui said.

Zhou Jiayu passed the box over to him.

Lin Zhushui’s fingers moved slightly and pressed the button on the box. With a click, a small drawer popped out from inside. Zhou Jiayu watched as Lin Zhushui took out the item from the drawer.

“Paper?” Lin Zhushui frowned slightly, seemingly unsure what it was.

Zhou Jiayu took the paper and found that the box contained a very thin sheet of kraft paper. Its yellowed color looked aged, as though it had been torn from something else—the edges were jagged and uneven. Zhou Jiayu turned it over a few times but found nothing special. “There’s nothing on it.”

Lin Zhushui fell silent, clearly deep in thought.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t dare disturb him and simply stood quietly by his side. After a moment, Lin Zhushui said, “Let’s go back.”

“Okay.” Zhou Jiayu nodded.

Everyone at home was curious about what Xu Jinghuo had sent Zhou Jiayu. When they saw that it was just an ordinary-looking sheet of kraft paper, they all looked completely confused.

“Why send a piece of paper?” Lin Jue held it up and examined it thoroughly but found nothing unusual. It really did seem like a completely ordinary piece of paper, with no strange aura.

“No idea,” Zhou Jiayu said. He wasn’t familiar with Xu Jinghuo and had no clue what the man was thinking.

Lin Zhushui tapped his fingers against the table and remained silent.

After everyone had discussed it for a while, he finally spoke. “Keep it. Since he sent it to you, it must serve some purpose.”

Zhou Jiayu could only agree. So he placed the paper back into the wooden box and carefully locked it away in a cabinet in his room.

That package seemed to be nothing more than a trivial interlude, bringing no real changes to their lives.

Once the New Year passed, Lin Zhushui became busy again. More and more people sought his help. Some were easy to turn away; others, not so much.

For example, in the past few days, Lin Zhushui had been doing a reading for a young woman.

“Mr. Lin, could you tell me about my love life?” she asked, voicing the concern that most young women had.

Lin Zhushui gently pinched her hand, then let go. “Is there some kind of animal in your house?”

“Animal?” The woman thought carefully. “I like animals—I keep quite a few… cats and dogs.”

“Something more unusual,” Lin Zhushui clarified.

“Unusual…” She racked her brain and suddenly had a flash of realization. “Oh! I have a white fox!”

Lin Zhushui said, “Let it go.”

The woman immediately looked unhappy. “But I really like that fox. It’s beautiful and so intelligent…”

Lin Zhushui asked calmly, “So do you want the fox or a boyfriend?”

The woman looked conflicted again and said pitifully, “Can’t I have both?”

Lin Zhushui didn’t reply. He merely took a sip of tea from the cup in front of him.

In the end, the woman compromised and said she would release the fox. But then she worried about whether it could still hunt after being raised in captivity for so long—she clearly cared a lot about the animal.

Lin Zhushui finally said, “You must release it into the wild, and the farther, the better. And don’t keep animals like that again.”

“Why not?” the woman asked.

“Because they get jealous,” Lin Zhushui replied. “Jealous animals can be more dangerous than people.”

The woman’s expression turned fearful at his words. She nodded, asked a few more details, and then left.

While Lin Zhushui handled all this, Zhou Jiayu stood quietly nearby, trying to learn what he could. That young woman had a beautifully shaped widow’s peak and almond-shaped eyes that lifted at the corners—classic “peach blossom eyes,” a sign of good romantic luck. And yet, she was clearly troubled by love.

“Foxes also attract peach blossom luck,” Lin Zhushui explained to Zhou Jiayu after she left. “But too much of it turns into misfortune. Everything should come in moderation.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded in understanding.

After returning from S City, Lin Jue followed up on the case of the bone house. After reporting it to the police, the house was dismantled by a special team. Over two hundred sets of bones were found—broken apart and embedded into the walls, arranged according to bone length. Even though Zhou Jiayu didn’t see it firsthand, just hearing the description was enough to make his scalp tingle.

The incident was so horrifying, and the number of victims so vast, that if the media found out it would become a nationwide scandal. Fortunately, the police did a good job keeping it under wraps. Though word had spread within certain circles, the general public remained unaware.

After carefully investigating the people who had lived in the house, the police reached the same conclusion Zhou Jiayu and the others had: the original owners—an anonymous couple—were the ones who built the bone house. Technically speaking, constructing such a villa should’ve drawn attention, but according to nearby residents, the house seemed to appear almost overnight, with no noise or disruption. No one had ever seen the couple who supposedly lived there.

As for the property registration, since it was built before the internet era, the police discovered the names on the official documents were fakes—no such couple existed.

“So the culprits haven’t been found yet?” Zhou Jiayu asked. “What was the house even for?”

“It seemed like it was used to seal something dirty,” Lin Jue replied. “Now that they’re gone, whatever they were suppressing must be gone too… which is strange.”

Zhou Jiayu had a gut feeling that this wasn’t over.

Turned out he was right. A few months after they left S City, Jiang Xutao suddenly called Lin Jue. Whatever was said on the phone made Lin Jue’s brows furrow tighter and tighter.

“What’s wrong?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“Do you remember Jiang Xutao’s daughter?” Lin Jue said.

“Of course.” Zhou Jiayu had a strong impression of the girl and nodded.

“She’s in trouble.” Lin Jue sounded annoyed. “You know how that bone house was demolished? Now it’s just ruins. Jiang Xutao says his daughter sneaks off to those ruins every night and only returns home the next morning.”

“…She’s possessed?” Zhou Jiayu could only think of that possibility.

“Don’t know yet,” Lin Jue replied. “But looks like we’ll have to head back and take a look.”

“Alright,” Zhou Jiayu said without objection.

Lin Zhushui also heard about the incident, and after learning the details, he remained calm. “Go take a look. That house might have had something you missed.”

Lin Jue agreed, and the group quickly returned to S City.

Compared to a few months ago, Jiang Xutao seemed much more stable. Though he still looked worried about his daughter, his body no longer bore those purple bruises, and he no longer seemed plagued by fear.

When he saw Lin Zhushui, he lit up with joy, calling “Mr. Lin” repeatedly.

“Where’s your daughter?” Lin Zhushui asked directly.

“She’s inside,” Jiang Xutao said. “Her mental state… isn’t good.”

“Just take me to her,” Lin Zhushui replied crisply.

Jiang Xutao nodded and then noticed Zhou Jiayu standing behind Lin Zhushui. He hesitated for a moment before saying softly, “You can come too. My daughter really liked the paper crane you gave her.”

Zhou Jiayu was flattered and nodded quickly.

Then the two followed Jiang Xutao into the house, where they saw Yaya in the corner of her room.

She looked thinner than before. Her once-round, fair face was now sharp and gaunt. She sat silently in the corner, cradling a doll in her arms, head bowed.

“Yaya,” Jiang Xutao called to her softly.

Yaya lifted her head and saw Zhou Jiayu and Lin Zhushui. But even after seeing them, her expression didn’t change much—she simply lowered her head again.

“Yaya,” Jiang Xutao said softly, “if something’s wrong, just tell us, okay? Uncle can help you solve it…”

Yaya remained silent.

Jiang Xutao coaxed her a few more times. Just when Zhou Jiayu thought she’d stay quiet until the end, Yaya finally opened her mouth slowly and said, “They’re looking for something.”

“Something?” Jiang Xutao looked confused. “What is it?”

Yaya shook her head. “I don’t know either. I just know… it’s a black box, buried underneath the house.”

“A black box?” Jiang Xutao was puzzled. “And who are ‘they’…” He was about to continue asking, but Lin Zhushui held out a hand to stop him.

“Let’s just go to the ruins of the house and take a look,” Lin Zhushui said.

Jiang Xutao hesitated for a moment but ultimately agreed. He picked up Yaya and led the way to the ruins.

On the way, Yaya said nothing. Her expression didn’t show fear or hope—it looked numb, if anything.

Zhou Jiayu was a little worried as he looked at her like this.

The villa area had been sealed off since the incident, but Jiang Xutao clearly had connections with the police and managed to get them inside after making some calls.

The bone villa had already been demolished, leaving only a field of rubble. In the midst of the broken walls and debris, Yaya seemed drawn toward something at the center. She instinctively tried to move in that direction, but Jiang Xutao was afraid she’d get hurt and kept holding her tightly.

“There’s something… there’s something down there!” Yaya cried out, struggling to break free from Jiang Xutao’s arms.

Hearing that, Lin Zhushui stepped forward calmly and walked into an area of overturned soil. He picked up a piece of rebar nearby and began digging. Seeing this, Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong rushed over to help.

The soil was hard and difficult to dig through. Even with a few grown men working at it, it took considerable effort.

As they dug, Yaya stood nearby watching them with anticipation, her face alight with excitement.

After half an hour, the group was sweating. Zhou Jiayu took out some tissues and, quite naturally, wiped the sweat from Lin Zhushui’s forehead and temples.

Shen Yiqiong looked on with envy, only for Zhou Jiayu to cruelly deny him: “Do it yourself.”

Shen Yiqiong put on a wounded look. “You’ve changed.”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “I’ve bent.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

They’d dug pretty deep by now. If it hadn’t been Lin Zhushui who’d chosen the spot, Zhou Jiayu might’ve started to doubt whether they were in the right place. But about ten more minutes of digging later, they finally found something. Zhou Jiayu’s hand brushed against a hard object. “There’s something here!”

After a bit more digging, a delicate little iron box was revealed to the group.

“A box!” Zhou Jiayu quickly dug it out of the earth. This had to be what Yaya had been looking for.

The box was secured with a small lock, and judging by the rust on the exterior, it was clearly quite old.

Zhou Jiayu wiped the dirt off the surface with a tissue, then gave it a shake. “It’s not heavy… What’s inside?”

“Let me take a look,” Lin Jue offered. “This lock is custom-made. Without the key, we might have to break it open. But could there be something dangerous inside? Is it really safe to just force it open?”

Lin Zhushui spoke a single word: “Open.”

So the group brought the box back to the house. After gathering some tools, they began working on the lock. Lin Jue took the lead—Zhou Jiayu had noticed back when they visited the school that Lin Jue had a knack for lock-picking. Who knows when she’d picked up that particular skill?

Ever since the box had been dug up, Yaya had been unnaturally calm. Her eyes never once left the box.

The lock proved to be tricky. Lin Jue worked on it for nearly two hours. Just when everyone was starting to feel tired, there came a light click, and the small lock fell to the ground—the box was open.

“It’s open!” Lin Jue said with delight.

Everyone gathered around curiously to see what was inside.

Lin Jue lifted the lid and, upon seeing the contents, looked slightly surprised. “This is… a picture frame?”

Indeed, it was a photo frame, placed face down inside the box. Lin Jue reached in, picked it up, and turned it over to show everyone what was inside.

In the frame was an old black-and-white photo of a family of three. A boy around seven or eight stood in the center with a bright smile, holding the hands of his mother and father on either side. Their expressions radiated happiness.

But perhaps because the photo was too old and had warped, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t shake the feeling that the people in the image looked eerie and unsettling—particularly the mother and father on either side, whose faces bore faint, dark blotches.

“Is this…” Lin Jue’s expression turned complicated. “The villa’s first owners?”

“Looks like it,” Zhou Jiayu said. “But didn’t everyone say only a married couple ever lived here? Where did this child come from…”

The room fell silent. No one answered Zhou Jiayu’s question.

Instead, it was Yaya—still in Jiang Xutao’s arms—who suddenly beamed with a radiant smile.

---

Author’s Note:

After Little Paper eats, his belly puffs up—it becomes a round little bump, soft and squishy to the touch. If you poke it too many times, he’ll get annoyed and swat your hand away.

Even flat little ones can wear clothes! You can stick them onto their body, or use two pieces of paper glued together and slide it over from the top.

But keep in mind, Little Paper is a boy. If you dress him in a little skirt, he’ll get a bit emotional about it.