[Even her skin’s been torn off]

Bai Zhun’s gaze swept over the little yellow finch, and he pressed his lips together. “If it’s broken, it’s broken. Why’d you bother bringing it back?”

Though he said that, his hand had already reached out, and his fingertips gently brushed the broken edge of the finch’s wing.

Huo Zhenye caught the moment and smiled—this man always has a sharp tongue and a soft heart.

He grabbed Bai Zhun’s wheelchair and pushed him into the inner room. “It did save my life once. I can’t just leave it be. Take a look—can it still be fixed?”

He pushed Bai Zhun to the table and pulled open the drawers of the bamboo box layer by layer, finally taking out a fine bamboo knife.

Bai Zhun raised an eyebrow. Huo Zhenye had only watched him make a paper spirit boat once, but he had memorized the process. Bai reached out and took the bamboo knife. The tip of the blade moved, lifting the broken side of the finch’s wing.

He split a small opening in a bamboo strip and pulled out bamboo fibers. Flexible and thin, the bamboo silk bent without breaking—this would become the bird’s bone.

Huo Zhenye squatted beside the table, watching intently. There were no chairs in the room, and he didn’t ask for one.

Bai Zhun’s fingers were long and well-defined, nimble yet strong. He folded the bamboo silk as if it were paper, his ten fingers dancing midair. In his hands, a three-inch sliver of bamboo became a bird’s wing.

Then he picked up a piece of white paper, dipped a brush in black and yellow pigment, and painted the bird with a yellow waist and black wings.

After he finished, Bai Zhun shook the paper gently. “It’s called Jin Chi ^[1] Golden Wing.” The name Ah Jiu, he thought, didn’t suit such beautiful plumage.

“Then… how about calling it Ah Jin?”

The paper met the bird-bone, and Jin Chi instantly came to life. Still small and round, it strutted a few steps with its tail lifted, flapped both wings, and its eyes spun with life.

It tilted its head toward Bai Zhun, opened its beak in silence, then suddenly lifted into the air, circled, and landed on Bai Zhun’s shoulder, affectionately rubbing his earlobe with its beak.

The touch made Bai Zhun itch, and he reached up to rub Jin Chi’s head, the corners of his lips lifting into a soft smile.

Huo Zhenye had been watching the whole time. Suddenly, he spoke: “How about I give you a real bird? One that can sing—or do you prefer one that recites poetry and talks?”

He always wanted to bring a bit of sound into this quiet room—he couldn’t bear to see Bai Zhun find joy in such solitude.

Bai Zhun tilted his face slightly, about to respond, but before he could say anything, Jin Chi suddenly darted up and lunged at Huo Zhenye’s face, jabbing him with its tiny sharp beak. If it could make a sound, it would be shrieking furiously right now.

Huo Zhenye staggered back a few steps, covering his forehead. “Does it hate the name I gave it?”

Bai Zhun rested his head on his hand, his elbow propped against the armrest of the wheelchair, watching him with a smile for a long moment before finally saying, “It saved your life, and now you want to bring in another bird to compete for its affection.”

So this little thing… gets jealous?

Huo Zhenye half-laughed and half-hid his face with his hand. “Then I’ll find it a female companion! How about a white-bellied, red-crowned one?”

Jin Chi instantly stopped its attack. It tilted its round little head, body wobbling slightly as it twisted—accepting Huo Zhenye’s offer.

Rubbing his cheek, Huo Zhenye muttered under his breath, “Truly, a creature reflects its master.”

“What did you say?” Bai Zhun didn’t catch that.

“It’s nothing,” Huo Zhenye quickly shook his head. “Have you eaten yet? Want something? I’ll go buy it.”

“It’s already been delivered,” Bai Zhun said with a faint smile as he rolled his wheelchair into the living room. Ah Xiu had already set the table—simple stir-fried vegetables and, in the center, a dish of Eight-Treasure Gourd Duck.

Eight-Treasure Gourd Duck is a highly elaborate dish. First, the duck must be gutted and deboned entirely, then stuffed with ingredients like sea cucumber, chicken breast, ham, dried scallops, and glutinous rice. It’s tied into the shape of a gourd and must be ordered in advance.

Bai Zhun smiled pleasantly, tapping the duck lightly with the tip of his chopsticks. “Please.”

Then, with one stroke of his chopsticks, he split open the duck’s belly and scooped out some ham and shrimp.

The sight instantly reminded Huo Zhenye of the dead bodies in the Hongkou warehouse—thin, hollowed-out skin sacks, intestines spilled across the floor—his face turned green.

He looked at Bai Zhun. This man has definitely done this on purpose!

Bai Zhun continued smiling as he brought the shrimp to his mouth with his chopsticks. Huo Zhenye’s face turned an even deeper shade of green.

In the end, Huo Zhenye only ate the vegetables. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to stomach meat for half a month. Bai Zhun, however, was in excellent spirits and ate nearly half a bowl of the Eight-Treasure Gourd Duck.

Once tea was served, Huo Zhenye took a big gulp. The paler his face looked, the more slowly—and the more cheerfully—Bai Zhun ate. Eventually, he even started putting on a gloomy face on purpose, just to coax him into eating more.

“Why haven’t you brought up the case today?” Bai Zhun held a celadon teacup, using the lid to skim off the tea’s surface foam, then gently blew on it. He was actually feeling a little overstuffed.

He sipped the red tea, and the pale color of his lips was stained slightly darker, making him look noticeably more vibrant.

Huo Zhenye hesitated.

Bai Zhun’s expression was unreadable. His gaze subtly swept over Huo Zhenye’s suit pocket. With a small flick of his finger, the yellow finch sprang to life, dove straight into Huo Zhenye’s chest, and burrowed into his pocket.

“Hey, hey—” Huo Zhenye tried to pull the little bird out, but he didn’t want to hurt it. Just as he grabbed its tail feathers, it whipped around and pecked him, leaving a white mark on the web between his thumb and forefinger.

The finch pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and fluttered into Bai Zhun’s hand. It gave its head a proud little shake, looking extremely pleased with itself.

This bird is truly ungrateful! Huo Zhenye shot it a glare.

But Bai Zhun simply stroked the ring of yellow feathers around its neck and praised it, “Well done.”

After reading the paper, he folded it up again. The finch gently took it back in its beak and returned it to Huo Zhenye, trying to burrow into his pocket once more. Huo Zhenye caught it mid-dive and gave it a playful scolding, rubbing it a couple of times in his palm: “You little troublemaker!”

“Who are you scolding?” Bai Zhun asked, suspicious he was using the bird as an excuse to insult someone else.

“Myself,” Huo Zhenye replied, dragging over a small bamboo stool to sit beside him. “Song Fusheng and his wife were raising a paper child. That paper doll… seems to have developed a spirit. This is the address of the paper figure shop.”

“A paper child?” Bai Zhun’s face didn’t change. Anyone capable of such a craft had to be a practitioner from one of the Seventh Branch. And if that was the case—why hadn’t they come to pay their respects?

“What exactly was inside that paper doll?” Huo Zhenye was incredibly bold—he had faced ghosts before without flinching—but just thinking of the paper doll still gave him the creeps.

“It could be anything. But it’s definitely not their son.”

“Beings of great age and wisdom—their spirit may borrow human form,” Bai Zhun murmured, sipping his tea slowly. For things to become spirits after a long time, and then to take human form, it takes hundreds of years of effort. For wandering ghosts and lost souls, there’s no better vessel than a paper doll.

Of course, paper dolls can become sentient too. Strong emotions—especially love—can make them grow more and more… “alive.”

Bai Zhun lowered his eyes to sip his tea, then looked up toward the courtyard.

Across the courtyard wall, the rhythmic sound of someone kicking a shuttlecock could be heard. Little Yan clapped her hands, helping Ah Xiu count: “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!”

The colorful feathered shuttlecock flew nimbly around Ah Xiu’s feet, going higher with each kick. It occasionally appeared above the grey eaves, visible even from inside the room.

The more Ah Xiu kicked, the more excited Little Yan’s voice became: “Ah Xiu! You’re amazing! Do you know how to jump rope? I can teach you!”

Ah Xiu was becoming more and more like a living person—because she had received enough adoration from Little Yan. That’s how she learned to want pretty clothes, to play house and host afternoon tea, and now, to kick a shuttlecock.

Bai Zhun didn’t stop it—because Little Yan’s affection was pure and innocent enough.

“Then why did it kill someone?” Huo Zhenye asked. “It wasn’t really Little Jie, and yet it killed the kidnappers who took him.” He couldn’t understand. He had originally assumed the spirit inside the paper doll was Little Jie’s ghost.

“Someone gave it enough love—and enough hatred,” Bai Zhun replied softly, rubbing his stomach. Glutinous rice really was hard to digest—he felt a bit overfull.

The paper doll had fully inherited Mrs. Song’s hatred and desire for revenge against the kidnappers. That’s why it killed them—and did it in such a brutal, merciless way.

“Song Fusheng said it wanted to become human. How’s it supposed to do that?”

Bai Zhun’s long lashes drooped as he yawned.

Seventh Master was tired—Seventh Master didn’t want to say anything.

Huo Zhenye let out a soft, indulgent chuckle. He pushed Bai Zhun into the inner room, then bent down to lift him up and place him on the bed. This close, even the individual strands of his eyelashes were clearly visible.

Huo Zhenye wrapped his arms around Bai Zhun. But the act of “placing him down” dragged on a bit too long. Bai Zhun’s eyes opened slightly, staring deeply into Huo Zhenye’s.

Huo Zhenye’s throat bobbed. Being stared at like that made his heart skip—and then race.

Still, he didn’t let go.

Bai Zhun shifted slightly on the pillow and generously offered, “It wants a human skin. If it can’t get one, it will keep looking.”

That’s why Mrs. Song abducted those children—she was trying to find a suitable “skin” for Little Jie.

Huo Zhenye found it both absurd and chilling. “So with a human skin, a paper doll can become a real person?”

Bai Zhun turned his head away. “I don’t know.” Attaching paper to bone and covering it with human skin was a forbidden technique within the sect. Those who practiced it would be cursed by the heavens.

“Does this have anything to do with you?” Paper dolls, the number seventy-seven—Huo Zhenye instinctively felt there was more to this. It felt targeted. It felt like this was meant for Bai Zhun.

“Yes.” Bai Zhun’s voice softened. In fact, he owed Huo Zhenye a favor—if not for him investigating the Song family so quickly, who knows what disaster that paper doll might have caused.

Whether it was aimed at him or not, the Seventh Branch still couldn’t escape responsibility. Allowing a paper figure to commit murder—how could they possibly explain that to the Chenghuang?

However, he had no intention of advising Huo Zhenye.

As Bai Zhun spoke, his breath brushed against Huo Zhenye’s cheek, carrying the faint scent of tea.

Huo Zhenye abruptly let go of him, looking a little awkward. “Then I’ll head back to the police station. We need to step up the manhunt.” That thing might start killing and skinning people. “Is there any way to stop it?”

“Fire,” Bai Zhun replied lazily, stifling a yawn, snuggled in his blankets.

After asking, Huo Zhenye turned and left the Bai family residence. Bai Zhun propped his head up and looked toward the doorway. That man, usually thick-skinned as a city wall, was that… shyness just now?

Bai Zhun chuckled quietly. Every paper figure in the room could tell their master was in a very good mood. After he laughed, he half-lay on the pillow, flicked two fingers, and instantly more than a dozen paper birds flew out.

“Go find that paper figure.” Who dared play tricks right under his nose?

A dozen paper birds flew out into the courtyard, flitting through corridors and alleys, vanishing into the blue sky.

Huo Zhenye arrived at the police station and first asked about the case progress. Da Tou looked glum. “No clues at all—just several false alarms.”

The various tabloids did their best to sensationalize this child disappearance case. No one knew where they got the information, but they dug up the fact that all these children shared the same birthday. They even fabricated a “borrowed corpse, returned soul” gimmick, terrifying families with children. A few kids had just gone out to play, but when the parents couldn’t find them for a moment, they rushed to the police to report a kidnapping.

There were also several reported sightings of Mrs. Song, but when patrol officers rushed to investigate, they either came up empty-handed or caught the wrong person.

Their superiors now ordered round-the-clock patrols. Where before only one shift went out a day, now both shifts had to comb the streets—riding bicycles around the International Settlement, stopping suspicious people for questioning. They caught a few petty thieves that way.

“Where have you all been looking?” Huo Zhenye asked.

“The train station, the docks, places like that.” They were afraid she’d already fled Shanghai. Since Mrs. Song was a woman, they hadn’t searched brothels or opium dens.

Huo Zhenye thought for a moment. “Mrs. Song was pampered all her life. Even if she ran, she wouldn’t hide in places like that. She’d pick somewhere safe, comfortable, and quiet.”

Da Tou thought hard. “Where could she just waltz into like that?”

“Hotels.” As long as she used a false name, she could easily stay in a hotel—and Mrs. Song still had money.

Just as Huo Zhenye finished speaking, news came in: the Song family car had been found, parked along the Pujiang River—right in front of a row of luxury hotels.

The police immediately began checking each hotel for solo female guests. The Indian doorman and room service staff remembered Mrs. Song clearly—she was strikingly beautiful, carrying a small leather suitcase and accompanied by a boy around six or seven years old.

Mrs. Song had not left her private suite once—but when officers burst in, the room was empty.

She had escaped again.

Huo Zhenye searched the room thoroughly. Maybe Mrs. Song had left a clue pointing to her next destination. Then he heard a *tap tap tap* at the window.

He looked up: the little yellow bird, Ah Jiu, was perched on the windowsill of the hotel suite’s outer wall, tapping the glass with its beak.

Huo Zhenye opened the window, and the bird flew in, landing on his shoulder and fluttering its wings.

“You found Mrs. Song?” he asked in a low voice, stepping aside to avoid attention.

The little bird puffed out its chest and nodded proudly.

While the other officers continued searching, Huo Zhenye patted Da Tou on the shoulder. “Come with me—we’re going to search somewhere else.”

The bird flew ahead while Huo Zhenye drove behind. Da Tou slowly caught on: “Young Master Huo… are we following a bird?”

Huo Zhenye had no way to explain, so he said nothing.

They drove out of the city, deep into the countryside, where a crowd of a dozen people had gathered around a rice field. The bird landed in a tree nearby.

Huo Zhenye parked the car, and he and Da Tou approached.

They found Mrs. Song.

To be exact, they found her corpse. She was curled up in the middle of the field—her back skinned.

—-

Author’s Note:

Bai Zhun: Shy, were you?

Huo Zhenye: …A little.