Chapter 9: You Have a Home in Jiangzhou?

White Float Mountain, Pine Wind Temple.

The Daoist temple sat halfway up the mountain, tucked among pines and cypresses.

His childhood friend Yan Tingnan had told him that when life got too loud, a few days here beat sedatives.

Yan Tingnan was a famous "Buddha boy" in Beijing circles—before he married, any time trouble hit, he'd hole up in a temple.

He Sichen used to laugh at him for being dramatic.

Now he figured dramatic beat horny.

He needed to quiet his mind.

Needed to carve that woman out of his skull.

He sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, eyes shut, trying to empty his thoughts.

Three rounds of the *Qingjing Jing* later, that face was still there.

Yan Tingnan's feudal-superstition nonsense really couldn't be trusted.

Science it was.

He got up and pushed open the door of the meditation room.

Pine wind poured in, carrying the crisp, damp breath of the mountain.

He stood under the eaves for air. By the incense burner in the back courtyard, a woman's voice drifted over.

Soft and syrupy, chattering away.

"This one's handsome—broad shoulders, narrow waist, eight-pack abs. Keep him as a bodyguard."

He Sichen's steps halted.

He'd heard this voice twice last night.

Once in the treatment room, once in his dream.

He stepped sideways behind a corridor pillar and looked past the pine branches.

In the corner of the courtyard, a small figure squatted before the incense burner.

A plain cotton-linen dress, hair loosely pinned up, a slender white nape exposed.

It was Si Yimian.

In front of her, a queue of paper effigies of men waited to be tossed into the brazier.

Firelight lit her profile—she looked as devout as a little wishing bodhisattva.

"Number two: sunny puppy type, clingy and good at acting cute. Tell him east, he won't dare go west."

"Number three: domineering CEO, knows how to dote and how to spend. Downside is the machismo—you'll have to put up with it."

"Number four: gentle house-husband, cooks and takes care of kids. Good for settling down."

"Number five..."

He Sichen stood at the corner, hidden in the shadow of the pines.

He knew he shouldn't watch, but his legs wouldn't move.

His brow twitched as he listened.

Plenty of demands. Eclectic taste.

Just then a young Daoist priest in a gray cloth robe passed by, and he called out.

"Daoist priest."

The young priest stopped and turned.

"How may I help you, benefactor?"

He Sichen tilted his chin toward the back courtyard corner.

"Who is she burning those for?"

The old Daoist followed his gaze and said, "Oh."

"That female benefactor."

"She said she's burning them for someone named Si Yimian."

He Sichen's brows knitted tight.

Si Yimian burning men for herself?

What kind of operation was this?

He paused, then asked again.

"Can the dead receive paper effigies?"

The young priest blinked, then nodded. "Yes. They're accepted in the underworld."

He Sichen was silent for three seconds.

"Then if a living person burns them for herself, can she receive them?"

The young priest: "......"

This question was above his pay grade.

The young Daoist scratched his head and spoke carefully.

"Theoretically, burning them for yourself is not recommended."

"But some people do burn ingots for themselves. Generally it's about supplementing what you lack."

"Things you can't get in reality—you burn them for yourself. A self-compensation mechanism, you could say."

He Sichen's brow knitted tighter and tighter.

Supplement what you lack?

So she lacked men?

Lacked them so much she had to burn ten paper effigies to form a boy band?

Burning that many—could she even keep up?

A scene from that night flashed through his mind—the two of them tangled up together.

Would a woman like this lack men?

What she lacked was ten men serving her alone.

He Sichen didn't ask any more. He raised a hand and pressed his brow, feeling like he was sick.

Otherwise why would he be standing here, analyzing a woman's motives for burning paper effigies?

And even wondering whether ten men would be too much for her to handle.

What was going on in his head?

He Sichen turned and left the back courtyard, his steps faster than when he'd arrived.

If he stayed any longer, he was afraid he'd rush over and ask her, "Want a real one?"

Si Yimian squatted by the incense burner, unaware that someone was watching her.

She propped her chin on both hands, watching the flames lick at the paper effigies, black ash curling up into the sky.

"Alright, all ten burned for you. Should be enough."

She murmured softly at the brazier, like chatting with an old friend.

"I found the craftsman overnight. Had them molded after the faces of the top ten entertainment industry stars."

The flames leaped higher, making her eyes sparkle.

"Original-body baby, you need to cut out the lovesick brain and protect your mammary glands."

"Scumbags don't deserve you. The good men are all in the brazier."

"If you don't like them, swap them out. Don't shortchange yourself."

"All the grievances you suffered—I know them all."

"It's not that you don't deserve to be loved. It's that the author didn't give you the courage or any ability to resist."

"She made you miserable, so you had to be miserable. But remember—that's what she wrote, not what you chose."

She paused, using a stick to stir the ashes, making sure everything had burned through.

"If you transmigrated into my world, just settle in and be my mom and dad's daughter. They're the best parents."

"You don't have to be good. You can be willful. You can do anything you want. You don't have to live by the script someone else set for you."

"You just have to stand there, and they'll love you."

She lowered her head, looking at the fire, her voice nasally.

"Even though I really want to go back to them too..."

"But you need to be loved more. You need salvation more."

She stood up and patted the ash off her hands.

"You go to my place. Live well. And help me love them well."

"I'll take your place here and live better than anyone."

The ash settled. Pine wind swept through the courtyard.

She squatted there, the last bit of firelight reflected in her eyes.

……

The next afternoon, Si Yimian showed up at Yu'an Hospital right on time.

He Nanxian had given advance notice. The girl at the nurses' station looked up at her with a polite smile.

"Miss Si, please wait a moment. Dr. He is still doing rounds. It might be a while."

Si Yimian nodded and sat down on the bench in the corridor.

When He Sichen appeared around the corner, she was looking down, picking at her nails.

A male doctor followed beside him—young, fair-skinned, talkative.

"Dr. He, are you coming to the dinner tonight?"

"No."

"Come on, the new residents all want to pay their respects to you..."

Si Yimian looked up.

He Sichen's steps paused slightly. His gaze rested on her face for a second, then moved away.

Si Yimian stood up and waved at him, eyes curved into crescents.

"Dr. He."

She stood right in the corridor light, a soft, syrupy little bundle.

A cream-apricot shirt underneath, a cream-peach-pink cable-knit cardigan over it, a dark brown short skirt that just covered the wound on her thigh.

Her hair was in a loose braid draped over her left shoulder.

She looked like a well-behaved student on a tour.

Zhou Mu's eyes lit up. He lowered his voice and asked,

"Dr. He, who's this milky-soft little sister? She's so well-behaved."

He Sichen didn't answer.

Si Yimian walked a few steps closer and looked up at He Sichen.

"I'm here to change my dressing."

He Sichen glanced at his watch, his tone distant.

"No time."

"I'll arrange another doctor for you."

Si Yimian suddenly smiled.

Dr. He's mouth really was stubborn.

Fine. Playing hard to get, huh?

She turned to Zhou Mu beside him.

"Then could this doctor-gege help me?"

Zhou Mu nodded immediately.

"Sure, changing a dressing is a simple procedure. I'll help you."

Si Yimian gave Zhou Mu a mental thumbs-up.

Good people live in peace.

"Zhou Mu."

He Sichen's face suddenly darkened. He spoke abruptly.

Si Yimian's wound was on her inner thigh.

Let another man see it?

Countless images flashed through his mind.

None of them were acceptable.

"The ten a.m. medical records filing—did you submit it?"

Zhou Mu blinked. "Not yet. This afternoon..."

"If it's not submitted by ten, your quality control score is gone for the month."

His tone was light, but the weight was heavy.

Zhou Mu's expression changed.

Lose all quality control points, and his bonus gets cut in half.

Zhou Mu looked at him, then at Si Yimian, and nodded tactfully.

"Alright, I'll head over first."

He gave Si Yimian an apologetic smile and quickly walked away.

Only the two of them were left in the corridor.

He Sichen lowered his eyes to Si Yimian, his tone flat.

"Come with me."

Si Yimian lowered her head and secretly pressed her lips together.

See? Wasn't that easy?