Shang Nan ran downstairs.

Over an hour had already passed. The teaching building was nearly empty, with only three or five classrooms still lit. The corridors were vast and hollow, his footsteps echoing loudly.

This time, going downstairs, he encountered no incidents.

The white butterfly had circled Shang Nan several times on the rooftop before settling back into his jacket pocket.

Yu Zhibai had been standing the entire time in the spot where Shang Nan first saw him—directly in front of the teaching building's exit.

Great gulps of cold air rushed into his windpipe, into his lungs, stifling and aching. But Shang Nan didn't think too much about it. He ran all the way to Yu Zhibai, stopped, caught his breath for a moment, then slightly lifted his head to look at Yu Zhibai.

Yu Zhibai's eyes were pitch-black—darker and denser than the blackness of the night itself. His gaze rested on Shang Nan without blinking, yet it was gentle.

The white mist of Shang Nan's breath obscured his displeased expression. He was unhappy, and it was written plainly on his face. There was no point in putting on an act for a monster—it might not understand.

And it might not accept it, either.

Shang Nan took the butterfly from his pocket and held it out before Yu Zhibai, slowly uncurling his fingers. The white butterfly that had just been fluttering before his eyes, blocking his path—it had now returned to its Paper Butterfly form, resting quietly in Shang Nan's palm.

Silence hovered between them.

Shang Nan felt like his fingers had gone numb with cold. He turned to glance at the rooftop he'd been standing on—six stories high, towering into the oppressively dark night sky.

"Did you want me to fall from the rooftop?"

Yu Zhibai's reaction was calm and mild. "I would never let you fall." He curved his lips upward. Shang Nan hadn't noticed before, but now, with the surroundings so desolate and his attention sharply focused, the curve of Yu Zhibai's smile seemed somewhat... formulaic.

"But I might have... could have... fallen." Shang Nan pointed to a spot not far from where they stood. "If I'd fallen, I would have landed right there. Smashed to pieces."

Shang Nan thought Yu Zhibai must understand. He truly hadn't intended to take Shang Nan's life—but at the same time, Yu Zhibai hadn't been joking with him either.

The image of Yu Zhibai being bullied refused to leave his mind.

Steel pipes cracking bone. His body curled up and trembling. The frail nape of his neck and the knobs of his wrist bones exposed to the open air. The word "whore" branded onto his cheek—those characters, Shang Nan thought, were probably referring to Yu She.

"This butterfly I sent you," Yu Zhibai smiled faintly, "could be a gift, or it could be a funeral offering. Classmate Shang Nan, don't you humans love exams? I thought I'd... test you, too."

It no longer concealed its malicious, self-serving nature in front of Shang Nan.

No human had ever approached it with goodwill. At home, there was Yu Xiaoyu, a Paper Effigy like itself. Granny Yu was old, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep all day long.

It had to live like a human—study, sleep, eat—and constantly endure malice from humans. Like Lu Yang. Like Shang Nan's mother.

It did not fear Shang Nan's approach. Not just Shang Nan—it feared no human at all.

Humans were creatures even more hollow than Paper People.

But facing the current Shang Nan, it felt a certain unfamiliarity, because this particular human was different from the others.

Shang Nan chose to step forward, not backward. And so—

The butterfly was not a funeral offering. The butterfly became a solemn gift from the monster.

[14: I told you—it was testing you. If you had stepped backward just now, that butterfly would have been a funeral offering it folded to send you to your death. Your single phrase, "be friends," it took to heart and conducted a ceremony around it. Clearly, the ceremony was a success.]

[14: Nannan, it has formally accepted you.]

Shang Nan tossed the butterfly at Yu Zhibai's chest. "Giving it back."

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked toward the school gate. There were no footsteps behind him—Yu Zhibai didn't follow. But there was a gaze.

Yu Zhibai didn't catch the Paper Butterfly Shang Nan had tossed at him, nor did he bend down to pick it up. Just as Shang Nan was about to walk out the school gate, the butterfly fluttered its wings and flew toward Shang Nan.

---

Yu Xiaoyu had been holding up a lamp and waiting for Yu Zhibai for a very, very, very long time. She was crouched behind the hallway, her knees already creased. When she heard the sound of the door opening, she stood up and patted her knees hard, trying to make the creases disappear.

She still instinctively glanced behind Yu Zhibai. "Gougou didn't come home again?"

The lamplight flickered, dim and wavering. The hallway was cramped and decrepit.

Yu Zhibai's features were submerged in the play of light and shadow, his complexion just as ghastly white as Yu Xiaoyu's. But the corners of his mouth were turned up—he was clearly in a good mood.

"Grandma made dinner. It was awful." Yu Xiaoyu walked alongside him, talking as she went, studying Yu Zhibai's expression from the side. "Xiao Bai, you seem to be in a good mood."

Yu Zhibai didn't answer her. She fell silent.

Grandma could no longer make Paper People. She, Gougou, and the other Paper People all depended on Yu Zhibai to survive. Yu Zhibai wouldn't let them call him master. They were different from Xiao Bai—Xiao Bai was a proper Paper Person, and with deliberate concealment, it was very hard for humans to discover his identity. But them—a gust of wind could scatter them.

Gougou was different from her and the other Paper People, too.

Grandma had said Yu Zhibai's resentment was too heavy; there had to be a vessel to contain and bear all that resentment. It couldn't have its own thoughts, couldn't have its own mind—it existed purely for Yu Zhibai's use. And so, Gougou came into being.

Yu Xiaoyu was very envious of Gougou, because she couldn't go to school with Yu Zhibai, but Gougou could.

---

Shang Nan was in the bathroom. He peeled back the gauze from the wound on his neck. The light was bright; he could see clearly. There were no obvious bite marks. The deep, acute pain felt almost like a phantom.

The wound was small—just a bit larger than a thumbnail.

The school nurse hadn't been speaking idly. On closer inspection, it really did look like a moth.

[14: Zhang Gou is connected to Yu Zhibai.]

Shang Nan: "You're only just figuring that out?"

When Shang Nan's peach-blossom eyes tilted upward, there was a hint of allure and coquettishness that didn't match his actual age. But what predominated in him was a quiet, understated gentleness and tolerance.

Fourteen had served several clueless hosts before. At first, it would still try to counsel them. But after each mission failure, not only would the host's life in their original world be terminated, Fourteen's own points would be docked anywhere from one hundred million to tens of billions depending on the severity of the failure. After that, it stopped caring—the sooner they died, the sooner it could swap to a reliable host and start earning points again.

When it received the non-human mission, Fourteen had come in fully expecting defeat. Monsters were capricious, ruthless, seemingly composed and courteous on the surface, but in truth nothing of the sort.

Just like tonight.

The Paper Person had constructed that entire illusory scenario because of a single remark from the host. It had been very thorough—sending the butterfly to the host in advance. If the host had betrayed his earlier words, then that butterfly would have been a funeral offering from the Paper Person to the host.

Respect for the dead—Paper People were very particular about such things.

Fortunately.

By the greatest of fortune.

Fourteen's fondness for this host, Shang Nan, had reached its peak.

[14: It was when I saw the bite mark on your neck that I sensed the connection.]

Shang Nan returned to his room. He left the desk lamp on, expecting tonight to be as chaotic as the last. He lay there with his eyes open until they stung with soreness, when a white butterfly drifted in through the floor-to-ceiling window, its wings beating softly. It alighted on the edge of Shang Nan's pillow and went still.

Seeing the butterfly, Shang Nan thought of Yu Zhibai.

Whether Yu Zhibai had a good temper or not, he didn't know, but the obsessiveness and coldness were real. The butterfly that should have been a funeral offering had, because of Shang Nan's compassion, become a gift.

This ceremony had been held for Shang Nan from the very beginning.

Shang Nan was the one who decided whether it would be a funeral—or a formal rite of friendship.

The butterfly rested quietly.

Shang Nan rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

The butterfly fluttered its wings a few times, lifted off, and landed on Shang Nan's fingers where they gripped the edge of the blanket.

---

Dai Lili had gone to the countryside again yesterday. Shang Nan ate breakfast while listening to the housekeeper talk.

"Young Master, you really must do something. The Madam's gone mad with it," the housekeeper gestured emphatically with both hands. "She's got several Paper Effigies set up in her room—big ones, small ones—and she won't let any of us touch them."

The housekeeper glanced around, her expression turning complicated. "And one of the Paper Effigies looks like the late Master. Young Master, I mean really—they were husband and wife after all. Why curse the man after he's already dead?"

Shang Nan looked upstairs. Dai Lili's door was shut tight, but the atmosphere around her room was inexplicably oppressive and eerie.

He slowly spooned porridge into his mouth. His mother didn't mean to do it.

[14: She's not only cursing your father—she's cursing other people too. Everything in this world has its cause and its consequence. Others' causes will naturally bring their consequences. The art of cursing has an extremely high chance of backlashing on her.]

The housekeeper was thinking it over too. After a moment, she said to Shang Nan: "Young Master, you mustn't let her keep doing wicked things. When the Madam comes back, you absolutely must talk some sense into her."

"Where did Mother go?"

"She said she went to pay respects at the late Master's grave." The housekeeper's expression shifted the moment she finished speaking. Cursing him on one hand, visiting his grave every year on the other—she truly could not figure this mistress of the house out.

"All right," Shang Nan set down his spoon. "I'll find a time to talk with her."

The housekeeper left, reassured.

But Shang Nan was thinking that Dai Lili's mental state had been deteriorating for a long time. She was volatile, easily angered, and refused to communicate—even when it was Shang Nan trying to speak with her.

A long time ago, "Shang Nan" had already become estranged from this neurotic mother of his.

"I'm heading to school."

The housekeeper walked Shang Nan to the door. She spotted the boy standing outside the courtyard before Shang Nan did. She paused, then broke into a smile. "Young Master, is that a classmate of yours?" She noticed the uniform on the boy matched Shang Nan's.

Dawn hadn't fully broken. Morning mist still hung over the villa district. Yu Zhibai was holding a large black paper bag. He had changed into a pure black uniform, which made his face look even whiter. His bearing was pure and cool as ice and snow, his slender frame as straight and upright as a pine.

He stood amid the gradually dispersing haze, his gaze drifting toward Shang Nan as soft as the mist itself.

Shang Nan saw Yu Zhibai too. What was he doing here?

Wait—the security here was extremely strict. How had he gotten in?!

[14: Nannan, it's not human, remember?]

"All right, you go back inside. It's cold out," Shang Nan told the housekeeper, pulling his jacket zipper higher. Today he wore a cream-colored puffer over his uniform—puffy and soft—which softened his usually aloof, languid aura considerably.

He walked toward Yu Zhibai. Stepping through the courtyard gate, he stood before him. "Why are you here?"

Yu Zhibai looked down at him slightly, his gaze warm and gentle. "I wanted to walk to school with you."

The author has something to say:

The Paper Person has its own standards—once someone passes its test and meets those standards, it will take the initiative to draw closer.