[With arched brows and cherry lips, her form, her bones, her very skin—all are shaped by his hands alone]

At six or seven on a summer morning, a light breeze swept through the alleys of Yuqing Alley ^[1] A traditional Shanghai alleyway residence, blowing open the windows and doors of every household.

A little girl leaned on the windowsill, her big eyes fixed on the deepest corner where a two-story house stood. Her mother was combing her hair with a fine-toothed comb, and the fallen strands were casually tossed out the window.

Momma’s rough touch made Little Yan hiss and clutch her scalp, yet her eyes remained fixed on the two-story building’s black door, not moving even as a sliver of it finally opened.

The girl’s eyes lit up. Her braids had only just been finished when she turned and bolted downstairs. Her mother shouted after her, “Little Yan! Little Yan! Where are you going?”

Little Yan was already downstairs, hiding in the shadows, watching the woman emerge from behind the door.

Her skin was snow-white, her hair jet-black, with a thick braid hanging over her chest. She wore a close-fitting qipao of white fabric patterned with blue flowers—slim back, narrow shoulders, willow waist—gliding gracefully out from the depths.

The entire alley fell silent. People dusting their clothes stopped, the peddlers with carrying poles paused, and all eyes were drawn to her face and figure.

Someone greeted her: “Ah Xiu, out buying breakfast?”

Another’s eyes lingered on her dress: “Ah Xiu, your brother made you a new outfit again?”

Ah Xiu nodded, lifting her food box and walking away. Once she left the alley, people resumed dusting and carrying. Yuqing Alley came alive again.

Naturally, people gossiped about her—because Ah Xiu was strikingly beautiful, and the Bai family was full of mystery.

“So pretty, what a shame she’s mute.” Nothing in the world is perfect, and this small flaw made everyone in Yuqing Alley sigh with regret.

“What’s wrong with being mute? I don’t think those beauties from the Courtesan Queen Selection are even half as good-looking.”

The selection of the Courtesan Queen has recently been major news in Shanghai, known to everyone in the streets and alleys. Each vote cost a large silver dollar, and the proceeds went to disaster relief.

Brands like Pechoin ^[2] a Chinese skincare brand released monthly calendars featuring twelve beauties, and cigarette packets were printed with their photos. Though ordinary folks hadn’t seen them in person, they’d all seen the pictures.

“Don’t talk nonsense. That contest was for dance girls. Ah Xiu’s a decent girl from a good family. Better not let Boss Bai hear you.”

Boss Bai was Ah Xiu’s brother. Ever since they moved in, no one had seen him step outside or socialize. Even Ah Xiu’s name had only been overheard through the door.

But no one in Yuqing Alley looked down on Ah Xiu. Though the Bai family lived in the old part of the city and hadn’t moved into the foreign concessions, they were clearly wealthy.

Ah Xiu’s qipao changed frequently. Her brother had refined tastes—never cooked at home, and had his sister buy all their meals or have them delivered.

Places like XX Restaurant and Tianxiang House delivered different meals every day.

One look at their food and clothing told you everything—this was the life of the rich.

Little Yan stood at the doorway, half her hair still undone, listening to the gossip. Her mother came downstairs and poked her in the forehead. “Daydreaming again!”

Little Yan pouted. Her mother, displeased, tied her second braid even tighter, making her head bob, the end of the braid sticking up. Slapping her schoolbag on her, she pushed her out. “Off to school!”

Little Yan rounded the corner of the alley and saw Ah Xiu waiting in front of the teahouse for pan-fried buns.

The lid lifted, revealing the steaming buns glistening in oil, topped with sesame seeds and scallions—so fragrant it made Little Yan’s mouth water.

“Ah Xiu!” Little Yan called brightly.

Ah Xiu turned her face slightly. She couldn’t speak—not even smile—but Little Yan felt as though she was smiling at her. Blushing, she walked over and said, “Your qipao is so beautiful.”

Ah Xiu lifted her food box and turned back. Little Yan followed her, enchanted. Someone nearby was stoking a coal stove, and sparks flew.

One ember nearly landed on Little Yan. Ah Xiu reached out and pulled her back, and the ember instead burned a hole in her new qipao.

Little Yan froze, eyes brimming with tears. That qipao was far too expensive for her family to replace. Her mother would surely beat her.

But Ah Xiu didn’t mind. Her arm, pale as lotus root, gave Little Yan a gentle push, then pointed to her schoolbag, telling her to hurry to school. Ah Xiu turned and walked back to Yuqing Alley with the food box.

She pushed open the black door, placed the food box on the table, opened the buns and soup, and gave the copper bell hanging in the house a tug.

The silk curtain in the inner room lifted, and Bai Zhun wheeled himself out from inside. He was very young and very slender. In this day and age, he still wore his hair long, flowing down his back and so sleek it shone like a mirror.

His features were delicate to the point of being almost androgynous, and his expression was filled with impatience.

He didn’t even lift a hand—the two wheels of his chair turned with his will, rolling smoothly to the table.

Ah Xiu handed him a spoon. Bai Zhun lowered his head and tasted the soup, catching sight of the hole in Ah Xiu’s qipao. He frowned and said, “Go pick a paper you like.”

Ah Xiu went to the back of the house, where the room was filled with wooden shelves stacked with colored paper. On the top shelf lay the white paper with blue flowers—the very pattern of the qipao she was wearing.

Bai Zhun used his chopsticks to pierce the thin skin of the pan-fried bun, sucking out the broth inside like a soup dumpling before digging out the meatball and eating it.

He loved those meat-filled dumpling balls—but if you made only the meatballs and served them to him, he wouldn’t touch them.

The people of Yuqing Alley speculated wildly about the Bai family, and most of it was wrong. The only thing they got right was that Bai Zhun was incredibly picky. He took one meatball out of the bun and tossed the rest aside.

Ah Xiu picked out a piece of celadon-blue paper, green-tinged like spring water in February.

Bai Zhun’s wheelchair rolled to the long table inside the house, where bamboo scissors, blades, and colored inks were all arranged in order. Ah Xiu spread the paper on the table.

Without her needing to move, the bamboo scissors and knife floated up into the air. With a few crisp snips of paper, a celadon-blue paper qipao stood completed on the table.

In front of Bai Zhun, Ah Xiu undressed. The qipao that had enchanted Little Yan just a moment ago fell to the floor, now nothing more than a pile of discarded paper.

She changed into the new paper dress and spun lightly to show it to Bai Zhun, as if asking, “Do I look beautiful?”

Bai Zhun leaned his head on one hand and looked at her with the gaze of an artist admiring his creation. Of course she was beautiful—willow brows, cherry lips, her entire body and skin crafted by his own hands. How could she not be beautiful?

After cutting the paper clothes, Bai Zhun felt utterly exhausted. His bamboo wheelchair rolled itself back into the inner room, and he told Ah Xiu, “For lunch, I want the Hibiscus Chicken from Cuihua Tower.”

By the wall stood two paper effigies shaped like male servants. Their eyes were blank, pupils unpainted.

Bai Zhun yawned, and the two paper men stepped forward, lifted him from the bamboo chair, and carried him to the bed.

The thin quilt was pulled over him—he was ready to take his mid-morning nap.

But peace wasn’t meant for today. Bai Zhun had barely shut his eyes when someone began pounding on the door. Ah Xiu walked over and opened it just a crack.

The person outside spoke urgently: “Miss Ah Xiu, is Seventh Master in? My senior brother’s been arrested by the constables!”

Ah Xiu pressed both palms together beside her ears, signaling that Bai Zhun was still asleep. She reached out to close the door. No matter how urgent, anything that needed saying would have to wait until Bai Zhun woke up.

The visitor grew anxious and pushed with force, but surprisingly, was unable to push the door open.

Bai Zhun had never drawn a smiling face for Ah Xiu—her expression was naturally blank. At this moment, her pitch-black paper eyes locked on the intruder. With a burst of strength from her palm, she shut the door.

The residents of Yuqing Alley saw what happened and began shouting: “Who are you? Who are you looking for? Don’t you bully Ah Xiu just because she can’t talk!”

The visitor no longer had time to explain. He crouched low against the wall, pushed off with the tips of his feet, and leapt lightly into the courtyard.

The entire alley erupted in an uproar.

“I’m going to call the patrol! Broad daylight, and no respect for the law?”

Ah Xiu was furious. Though she was a paper person, she held considerable authority. Every paper figure in the house followed her command. With a clap of her hands, a flood of paper effigies poured out of the house.

Each was dressed in vibrant reds and greens, wielding swords and knives. One “Mu Guiying ^[3] female warrior and heroine of the Yang Saga” raised her silver spear and thrust it toward the intruder’s chest—the bamboo-and-paper spear tip tearing through the front of his clothing.

The man didn’t dare damage Bai Zhun’s precious creations. He knew trespassing was a grave offense and immediately knelt in the courtyard, calling loudly, “Seventh Master, I beg you—please save my senior brother!”

This morning, Bai Zhun had only eaten a single meatball and slept just half a nap. He woke in a foul temper. The paper figures in the room could all sense their master’s anger, their paper robes and shoes rustling ominously.

The intruder lowered his head and banged it against the bluestone tiles of the courtyard three times, each strike ringing out. In a mournful voice, he pleaded, “Seventh Master, before my master passed, he said you would take care of my senior brother and me.”

The Wu Hua ^[4] Five Flowers Sect had existed since ancient times. Bai Zhun belonged to the Seventh Branch—known as the Branch of Harmonizing—dealing specifically with matters of life and death, yin and yang. Though young, he led the branch alone. Those in the know all respectfully called him “Seventh Master.”

The visitor was a disciple of the Third Branch—known as the Branch of Colors, inheritors of traditional illusionary arts. In early May, Master Han of the Third Branch passed away, and the full funeral procession, including all ceremonial paper horses and figures, had been personally crafted by Bai Zhun.

Master Han had two disciples: Liu Da and Liu Er. Before dying, Master Han had arranged for his only daughter to marry Liu Da, who also inherited leadership of the Third Branch.

Now the one begging Bai Zhun for help was Liu Er. His forehead split from kneeling, but he dared not leave bloodstains in Bai Zhun’s domain. He quickly wiped the blood away and looked pleadingly toward the curtain of the inner chamber. “My master said you would surely take care of us, Seventh Master.”

Bai Zhun turned over in bed. Back when Master Han was alive, he had helped the Seventh Branch more than once. That debt, carried through the years, was now Bai Zhun’s to repay.

“Speak.” Though the voice came through the door and walls, it seemed to ring right next to Liu Er’s ears.

Of the Wu Hua Sect, apart from the Seventh Branch, the rest were all folks scraping by on the bustling docks, making a living with slick tongues. In his panic, Liu Er managed to speak clearly: “My senior brother’s mind has been clouded by lard!”

Though Liu Da and Liu Er were biological brothers, once they became disciples, they had to address each other according to their ranks within the sect.

Gritting his teeth, Liu Er confessed that Liu Da had been arrested because of the Courtesan Queen selection.

Over a hundred dance hall girls were competing. The twelve with the most votes would make it to the final round, and from those, three would be chosen: one to be the Courtesan Queen, and two as Imperial Concubines.

Each beauty had to showcase her talents on stage. Most were dance girls, so singing and dancing wasn’t anything special.

But that “Moon Beauty” Jin Dangui, though she couldn’t sing, took a unique approach—she spent a fortune hiring Liu Da to teach her ancient illusion tricks. With just a few flourishes on stage, she won waves of applause.

Jin Dangui was charming and passionate, and Liu Da, bewitched, even abandoned the only daughter of Master Han to be with her.

Bai Zhun snorted coldly: “Your master’s grave is still fresh, and his disciple is already betraying his orphaned daughter like this?”

Liu Er was overwhelmed with shame. Because of Jin Dangui, their senior sister had cried countless tears. He had fought with Liu Da, argued with him too, but it was as if Liu Da were possessed—his eyes and heart held only Jin Dangui.

“Jin Dangui is dead.”

The Moon Beauty died on a Western-style spring bed in a private room at the Ritz Hotel, in the middle of a tryst with a man and a woman.

After listening to this whole mess, Bai Zhun found it dull and boring. He drawled lazily, “Hm?”

“I beg you, Seventh Master, please save my senior brother!”

The Seventh Branch hovered between life and death. Bai Zhun might not always know the affairs of the living, but when it came to the dead—if he wished to know, he surely would.