Chapter 91: The Paper Santana

The woman led Li Zhuiyuan and Uncle Qin upstairs. During their brief exchange, Li Zhuiyuan learned that although Xue Liangliang had just been rescued, his condition remained critical, with the risk of multiple organ failure.

In the hospital room, Luo Tingrui stood beside Xue Liangliang's bed, looking on anxiously.

He truly couldn’t understand it. How had a brief jolt from the boat, a quick fall into the water followed by an immediate rescue, led to this?

Xue Liangliang’s face was deathly pale, and he was muttering deliriously:

“No, no, no… I don’t want to stay here. I won’t be a live-in son-in-law. I won’t be a live-in son-in-law…”

Luo Tingrui adjusted his glasses, confused by the strange things Liangliang was saying in his sleep.

He hadn’t even introduced his daughter to the boy yet, and he had no interest in recruiting a live-in son-in-law. So who was pressuring him?

But then again—who could possibly pressure someone like him?

Luo Tingrui knew about Xue Liangliang’s affairs at school. The kid was pretty good at making money and had no intention of staying on campus or in the local area after graduation. He had his eyes set on the great Southwest, where he was planning to contribute to infrastructure development.

Frankly, as a top graduate of Haihe University, with the current job environment and benefits in the Southwest, they’d be thrilled to have someone like him. There was no need for connections or backdoor deals.

Still, although Luo couldn’t make sense of it, the words were clear. Earlier, Xue Liangliang had been muttering:

“Don’t lock me up… don’t hit me… don’t strangle me… it hurts… it hurts so much… I’m begging you, let me go… stop torturing me…”

At that moment, Luo Tingrui had even started to wonder if Xue Liangliang had suffered some inhumane abuse in his childhood that left lasting trauma.

The door to the room opened. Li Zhuiyuan entered with Uncle Qin. Luo Tingrui nodded to Li Zhuiyuan but quickly focused his gaze on Uncle Qin.

Ignoring the boy made sense—Luo had already guessed the real help would come from this middle-aged man.

The doctors had done all they could. The monitors were still hooked up, but all they could do now was passively observe. If his vitals deteriorated any further, it would be beyond saving.

Luo Tingrui wasn’t a superstitious man, but given what had happened to Zhao Hequan and the strange events surrounding Xue Liangliang, he had every reason to suspect that what started with that statue wasn’t over.

“You can go now,” he said.

“Yes, Director.” The woman quietly left the room.

Then Luo Tingrui pointed to himself. “Should I leave too?”

Uncle Qin didn’t reply. He walked straight to the other side of the bed and placed a hand on Xue Liangliang’s forehead, gently rubbing it.

Very quickly, cold sweat broke out on Xue Liangliang’s face—so much that it soaked his pillow.

Luo Tingrui picked up a towel to help, but as soon as he wiped the sweat, he felt something strangely slippery—like industrial lubricant.

Human sweat wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Uncle Qin then clenched his fist and swung it toward Xue Liangliang’s abdomen.

“Don’t—!” Luo Tingrui didn’t have time to stop him.

Bang!

Li Zhuiyuan noticed that Uncle Qin’s fist hadn’t actually struck Xue Liangliang—it halted just before impact. But the blanket on Liangliang’s body still sunk down rapidly.

A piercing scream erupted through the room.

Li Zhuiyuan immediately covered his ears, but it was no use. His eardrums throbbed with pain, as if being stabbed, his mind pounding like someone was smashing it with an iron mallet.

Luo Tingrui had only faintly heard a strange sound and turned to look at Uncle Qin in confusion. Then he noticed the boy curled up in the corner, and wondered—what’s wrong with him?

Uncle Qin’s gaze shifted to Li Zhuiyuan too.

There was surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected Little Yuan to be so sensitive to this kind of presence.

He couldn’t help but recall Liu Yumei’s instructions: Only teach him hand-to-hand combat.

Uncle Qin swallowed hard.

A child like this… and you want me to teach him only fists and feet?

Over on the bed, after sweating and the “phantom punch,” Xue Liangliang hadn’t woken up, but he looked visibly more at ease.

Luo Tingrui finally relaxed and let out a long breath.

“Ah…”

The screaming stopped, but Li Zhuiyuan’s head was still buzzing.

He tried to stand, using the wall for support, but as soon as he raised his head, he saw something in the room’s southwest corner—a pair of red embroidered shoes. Above them, pale bluish-white ankles. Higher up, the hem of a red skirt.

And then—he dared not look further.

He had seen corpses before, but none had ever filled him with such raw terror.

She wasn’t something he was allowed to observe. Not even sneakily. If he kept looking, something horrific would happen to him immediately.

Strange Tales of the Rivers and Lakes had described entities like her… to see is to lose.

The term used wasn’t “death,” but “loss.” And sometimes, loss was more terrifying than death. Beings like this—just making eye contact was enough to bring disaster crashing down on you.

Uncle Qin noticed Li Zhuiyuan had shifted how he was crouching.

He followed the boy’s earlier gaze, then looked back at him, his mouth going dry.

Not because of who—or what—stood in that corner.

But because…

Little Yuan, you can see even her?

He knew Ah Li could see things too. But what did that matter?

She’d shut herself off from the world completely.

But this little boy—he could talk, act, live!

Li Zhuiyuan heard footsteps. Uncle Qin was moving—from the bedside to that corner.

Uncle Qin was going to confront that woman.

And indeed, from Luo Tingrui’s point of view, the middle-aged man had simply walked to the wall and stood there silently, as if being punished.

Luo Tingrui didn’t understand. But he also knew—if he could understand these things, he wouldn’t be working this job.

Meanwhile, Xue Liangliang’s condition had improved, and he was muttering again:

“I’m not staying here… I can’t stay here… I still have a future to build… I have dreams to chase… you can’t keep me here… I won’t allow it!”

Luo Tingrui wondered—was it because he felt better, that his tone had gotten stronger?

Li Zhuiyuan, back turned to Uncle Qin, walked slowly to the bedside and looked down at Xue Liangliang.

He hadn’t heard the earlier muttering—only this part—so the information didn’t mean much to him.

His own situation was conflicted: danger all around, yet he felt secure with Uncle Qin nearby.

Luo Tingrui gestured toward the corner where Uncle Qin stood. Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. Luo understood—stay put.

Xue Liangliang stopped muttering again, and the room fell into a long, eerie silence.

Finally,

Uncle Qin broke it.

He returned to the bedside, took off his undershirt, and tossed it over the IV stand.

Then, he began using his index fingers to draw over his arms, shoulders, and chest.

Each stroke left bruises—long, short, deep, shallow.

Any one of these would’ve made an ordinary person howl in pain. But Uncle Qin moved like he was painting himself with ink.

His expression was calm, like this was the most routine thing in the world.

Luo Tingrui couldn’t make sense of it. But Li Zhuiyuan, noticing the symmetrical bruises, suddenly understood.

Uncle Qin was drawing a talisman.

His fingers were the brush, his body the paper, and the bruises his ink.

Once finished, Uncle Qin walked to the door and opened it.

He looked again toward the corner he had stood in earlier.

Then he spoke:

“I know why the Matron of the Bai Family sent me today. You want me to tell the Bai Family—Qin’s bloodline is not yet extinguished!”

He pressed his thumb to his forehead, then removed it, leaving a streak of blood—the final stroke of the sigil.

Suddenly, a wind stirred in the room.

Not strong—but cold. Li Zhuiyuan shivered. Luo Tingrui instinctively crossed his arms.

The wind wasn’t just in this room—it spread across the whole floor, maybe even up and down several levels, all funneling toward them.

Li Zhuiyuan thought he saw shadows swirling in the wind, merging into Uncle Qin’s body—including a red one from this very room.

He’s absorbing all the unclean things?

Uncle Qin stood still for a long while before stepping back to the bed, retrieving his shirt and putting it back on.

At first, his movements were stiff, his expression dull. But after dressing, he seemed fine—perhaps he’d just adapted.

The lighting in the room brightened. Not just here—the entire building seemed more luminous.

Hospitals at night often felt foggy—not because of the lights, but because of the things that lingered in places like this.

And the appearance of that woman driver and the Paper Santana earlier meant that this terrifying unclean thing had long shrouded this room. Even Luo Tingrui’s every move had been under its gaze.

Uncle Qin turned to Luo Tingrui. “I need a car. There’s somewhere I must go.”

“The one I sent to pick you up should still be downstairs,” Luo replied.

“That car’s not there,” said Li Zhuiyuan.

“Then how did you get here so fast?”

“We came by rickshaw.”

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