[Through the crack in the door, she was secretly watching him]

Bai Zhun’s voice grew softer and softer as he spoke, and by the end, he had already fallen asleep.

Huo Zhenye gently pulled a soft quilt over him and sat by his bed for a while.

Bai Zhun had always been a light sleeper. Usually, the slightest sound would wake him. But tonight, he was thoroughly exhausted and slept peacefully.

Huo Zhenye quietly dragged in the wooden bed and placed it next to Bai Zhun’s spring bed. It was slightly lower than his, so that when Bai Zhun opened his eyes the next morning, he would see him right away.

The two paper servants standing in the room stared at Huo Zhenye. He stretched out his arms, lay down comfortably, and smiled: “Don’t stare— from now on, we’re all one family.”

The two paper servants turned their heads away again.

Bai Zhun slept in until the sun was high in the sky. He woke up yawning lazily. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Huo Zhenye lying next to his bed. He frowned. “Why are you here?”

Huo Zhenye sat up. He had actually woken up a while ago, but seeing Bai Zhun sleeping so peacefully, he couldn’t bear to wake him.

“What apprentice doesn’t serve tea, keep night watch, and massage his master’s back? Want to test out my skills?”

Bai Zhun rolled his eyes at his slick talk, pulled out a thin bamboo stick, and tapped him with it. “Go buy your master a bowl of small wontons.”

Delicate gauze-thin wrappers with a dab of minced meat—if he had a steaming hot bowl of that in the morning, his stomach would feel better.

Huo Zhenye had never expected that the first task of his apprenticeship would be to buy his master wontons, but he immediately smiled. “Then does Master want to try shredded duck congee from a Cantonese teahouse too?”

Cantonese cuisine was wildly popular in Shanghai these days—steamed dumplings of every variety, sweet buns—Bai Zhun would definitely enjoy it.

Sure enough, Bai Zhun nodded in satisfaction. Now that’s a sensible and perceptive apprentice.

Master Bai had a picky mouth. He never touched bland, flavorless congee. But if he had wontons for two days in a row, he’d get tired of them. Cantonese congee, with all its variety, was just right for “Old Madam Bai.”

Huo Zhenye prepared a whole spread for Bai Zhun. He bit into a bun himself, only to have Bai Zhun sample a bit of everything and then ask, “What’s in this bun?”

Huo Zhenye sighed, tore the bun open to reveal the meatball filling inside, scooped the whole thing into Bai Zhun’s bowl, and ate only the bun skin himself.

Bai Zhun poked at it with one chopstick as he ate. Food snatched from someone else’s mouth always tasted better. While eating, he said, “That guy was after me.”

As expected—Huo Zhenye had already guessed it.

“An old enemy? Some grudge? Or… just doesn’t like the sight of you?”
With Bai Zhun’s temperament, probably only Huo Zhenye could stand looking at him for long.

“All of the above, probably.”

Huo Zhenye had been sipping tea and nearly choked. He hadn’t expected Bai Zhun to be this clear-eyed about his own popularity—or lack thereof.

Bai Zhun took another bite of meat filling, glanced leisurely at Huo Zhenye. That paper spirit had taken a full year to raise. Three street punks, four virgin boys—seven human lives in total—it was finally starting to take shape.

And then Huo Zhenye went and ruined it.

“What are you looking at me for?” Huo Zhenye asked.

Bai Zhun withdrew his gaze. “Just thinking… you’ve really got some luck.”
Four lives’ worth of merit, and Huo Zhenye had reaped it all in one go.

Didn’t sound like a compliment to Huo Zhenye. “…Thanks, I guess.”

Bai Zhun’s brows twitched slightly. “I’m heading into the temple tonight.”

All the giant paper figures for the deity parade had to be prepared inside the Chenghuang Temple. On the appointed day, when Chenghuang made his inspection tour, the paper offerings would lead the procession.

They’d circle the altars for wandering spirits in the four directions, and in the end, be burned before the deity.

“I’m going to find them,” Huo Zhenye said, chewing through the last of the bun skin and standing up to leave.

“You?” Bai Zhun shot him a glance.

Huo Zhenye gave a soft chuckle. He pulled out a small square box, flicked his finger, and the lid popped open. With a soft *fwoosh*, a flame flared up from the silver box.

“I thought it through. That thing wasn’t scared off by the gunfire—it was the smell of the fire. It’s afraid of flames.”
And especially the kind that doesn’t go out easily.

Smart enough, Bai Zhun thought. He lowered his head and took a sip of duck congee.

Just as Huo Zhenye opened the door to leave, the little yellow finch flitted onto his shoulder again.

“You want to come too?” he asked.

The finch gave a small hop.

Huo Zhenye grinned. “Alright, let’s go together.”

Then he glanced back into the room at Bai Zhun, clearly watching him. Bai Zhun knew it but didn’t spare him a look. “Get lost already.”

Huo Zhenye grinned wide, walked off with a spring in his step—happily “getting lost.”

He drove to San Guan Tang Road.

The whole street was lined with businesses selling funeral goods—coffins and burial clothes, silver foil ingots, and all sorts of paper effigies.

In front of the paper shops, there were flower baskets made of gold paper and paper children—Golden Boys and Jade Maidens. The paper people had round blushes painted on their cheeks; some were roughly made, others finely crafted. You could get just about anything made.

Wealthy families hosting funerals even had entire paper bands crafted—drums and all—to be burned and sent along.

After seeing the paper figures Bai Zhun made, then looking at these others, Huo Zhenye couldn’t help but think of one of those pretentious modern poems—“soulless.”

He carefully checked each shop number: No. 75, No. 79…

No. 77.

The door to No. 77 was tightly shut. Huo Zhenye stepped into the neighboring shop and asked the owner, “Why isn’t No. 77 open?”

The shopkeeper gave him a curious look. Judging from his well-dressed appearance, like some rich young master, he asked, “You looking for Old Zhou? Are you a relative of his?”

Huo Zhenye took out a cigarette from his case and offered one. The owner waved it off. “No need. In our line of work, we don’t smoke that stuff.”

The store was filled with paper offerings—one stray spark and it’d all go up in flames.

“Old Zhou’s getting on in years. Went back to the countryside. This shop’s been rented out for over a year now.” The owner was straightforward about it. On this street, everyone sold paper effigies—it all came down to skill. The fancy ones sold at a high price; the cheap ones still had their own market.

Hasn’t been open in a year? Then where did Song Fusheng and his wife buy their paper figure?

Huo Zhenye stepped back outside and walked to the front of No. 77. The wooden boards across the entrance were tightly nailed shut, and a red transfer notice from a year ago still clung to the boards. The red paper had long faded.

It looked like a long-abandoned shop.

But the front was too clean.

He leaned in for a closer look. Though the red paper had faded, there wasn’t a speck of dust between the wooden boards.

While he was inspecting the storefront, the little yellow finch suddenly flew up, pecked hard at a gap in the boards, and from behind them came the soft rustling of paper and bamboo. There really was something inside.

Huo Zhenye went next door and borrowed a phone, called up Da Tou. “Look into this shop for me—find out who owns it.”

He waited in the car.

Da Tou soon returned. “Young Master Huo.” He looked puzzled. “This whole street… isn’t it all owned by the Huo family?”
And he’d gone to the trouble of running around to check.

The entire stretch of San Guan Tang Road was owned by the Huo family—every deed, every lease had the surname Huo on it.

Huo Zhenye really had forgotten. When he first came back to Shanghai, his older brother had told him to start learning business. If he didn’t like running the rice mill or textile factory, just collecting rent was fine too.

“I must’ve forgotten.” Huo Zhenye cleared his throat. “Call a few guys—pry this door open for me.”

Da Tou’s mouth parted slightly. How much property does one have to own to forget an entire street?
Still, since it was Huo property, breaking in was fair game.

Da Tou called over a few men, and they pried the door open. The moment it cracked, a flurry of rustling came from inside—like countless tiny creatures scurrying into the dark. Then, silence.

The room was packed with paper figures. This was definitely not an abandoned shop.

Da Tou turned to Huo Zhenye. “Young Master Huo, what are you tearing down this place for?”

“They’re behind on rent.”

Da Tou figured the entire year’s rent wasn’t even worth the fountain pen in Young Master Huo’s pocket, but he kept quiet. After all, when Young Master Huo did strange things, there was usually a reason behind it.

Huo Zhenye walked a full circle through the shop. The person inside still refused to show themselves. He raised his eyebrows with a smile.
“Alright, brothers—move everything out and burn it.”

Since they wouldn’t show themselves, burning everything was the only option. At least that would prevent any more paper spirits from harming people.

Da Tou and the others followed orders. Huo Zhenye was generous about it—if he was going to ask for help, he’d also treat them to a good meal and hand out red envelopes as a thank-you.

When everyone heard that they’d be eating at Cui Cui Lou, they got even more motivated.

As Da Tou carried out a paper figure, Huo Zhenye glanced at it and suddenly stopped him:
“Wait—put that one down.”

Da Tou set the paper figure down. “What’s wrong, Young Master Huo?”

It was a paper maid, styled like one from the Qing Dynasty. Green top, rose-red pants, earrings in her ears. Her bangs were fine and neatly trimmed—very meticulously made.

But one of her eyes was damaged.
As if… it had been pecked through by something sharp.

The little yellow finch perched on Huo Zhenye’s shoulder lifted its head. Huo Zhenye raised an eyebrow. Just now, this paper figure had been peeking at him through a crack in the door.

He rubbed the finch’s head.
“Put this one in my car.”

Huo Zhenye personally watched the shop’s contents get burned, piece by piece. An entire roomful of paper offerings—burned from morning till afternoon.

He tossed Da Tou a cigarette and asked,
“Has Mrs. Song’s autopsy report come out yet? How is he planning to close the case?”

By this point, the outcome depended entirely on Chief Song. After all, all the missing children had been recovered, and Song Fusheng was a wealthy comprador businessman with plenty of grease to offer.

Da Tou lowered his voice:
“Chief Song’s leaning toward charging Song Fusheng with withholding information. Pay a fine, and… he’ll probably be released in a few days.”

As for the real killer behind Mrs. Song’s death—they were still investigating.
Testimonies from the Indian doorman and the hotel waiter confirmed that Mrs. Song had been with a little boy.

That child might have been taken by the murderer.

Huo Zhenye had already guessed as much. Mrs. Song was dead, and Song Fusheng, with enough money, would still buy back his freedom.
This case would probably end just like that.

Da Tou took two deep drags from his cigarette and exhaled slowly.
“I just don’t get it. Who the hell would kill someone and… skin them?”
It was a horrific way to die.

Once all the paper figures were burned, Huo Zhenye clapped Da Tou on the shoulder.
“Seal off this shop. Thanks for all your hard work. Treat everyone to dinner for me—I’m heading back.”

Da Tou grinned. “You’re too polite, Young Master Huo. This kind of thing, we’re happy to help. Just… everyone’s dying to know—how exactly did you find the body?”

Huo Zhenye just waved a hand, got into his car, and drove back to the Bai residence.

At a red light, the paper maid sitting in the backseat suddenly sat upright, arms stiffly reaching forward—aiming for Huo Zhenye’s throat.

With one hand on the wheel, Huo Zhenye used the other to flip open his silver box.
A flame sparked to life—and the paper figure immediately lay back down.

When he entered Yuqing Alley, Huo Zhenye wrapped the maid’s head in a cloth and carried her under his arm into the Bai family’s building.

The moment the paper figure crossed the threshold, Bai Zhun appeared. He immediately frowned.
“What did you bring back?”

Huo Zhenye opened his suit jacket with a grin.
“Seals are all about the carving hand; painting is about the brushwork. You’re the expert on paper figures—look at the bamboo and paper, and you’ll know who made it.”

“No need to look,” Bai Zhun said, covering his nose and waving his hand. His brows were tightly furrowed as he gestured for Huo Zhenye to set the figure in the courtyard.

“Just from the smell—I know it’s him.”

“Him? Who? Which him?”
Huo Zhenye held up the paper maid, eyes locked sharply on Bai Zhun.
Something about his reaction irritated Huo Zhenye for no reason.
He could smell him?