"I forgot to ask her," said Wu Zhuxiang, suddenly remembering something. "Does she want the old paper Grandpa used to make? There's still a decent amount left in storage!"
Why had Grandpa refused to go to the hospital for treatment?
Part of it was his fear of physical suffering—but wasn't the bigger reason money? He didn't want to burden them financially. What if... what if they could sell that paper? Maybe then he'd be willing to seek treatment?
Her parents seemed to think the same. They quickly urged her to message the buyer.
[Grandmaster Wu's Granddaughter]: Miss Song, I forgot to show you the rest earlier. We still have a large batch of handmade paper my grandfather made. It's older stock, but it's been preserved perfectly. It's just as good as new. Would you be interested?
[Miaozhu]: Sorry, I only use fresh paper.
[Grandmaster Wu's Granddaughter]: Understood. Sorry to trouble you.
Wu Zhuxiang turned to her parents and shook her head. "She only wants new paper."
"Hmph! Seems I'll have to step in myself!" A hoarse voice rasped from the doorway.
Wu Zhuxiang spun around. "Grandpa?! You shouldn't be up!"
"I heard everything," the old man said, stroking his beard with a defiant grin. "Someone out there actually recognizes my work and wants to buy in bulk. This time, don't stop me. Before the diagnosis, wasn't I still in the workshop every day? We all die someday—but lying in bed waiting for it? That's worse than death."
With that, he rolled up his sleeves, ready to get to work. But just as he picked up a blade to split open a stalk of bamboo, he paused. "Huh? Why aren't any of you stopping me this time?"
Wu Zhuxiang thrust her phone at him. "Grandpa, look at this!"
"'Medical Miracle: Suzhou's Master He Recovers from Pancreatic Cancer'?" Master Wu's eyes widened. "Now that's… lucky!"
Though he acted indifferent, who truly welcomed death?
And he had unfinished business. Despite openly teaching his craft, no one in Xiangzhigou could match his bamboo paper. The legacy was dying with him.
"Grandpa!" said Wu Zhuxiang eagerly. "Miss Song said Master He recovered while working on her embroidery. Maybe you'll heal while making paper! Why not give it a try?"
"But you can't smoke anymore," she added sternly.
"Fine, fine! Not another puff!" Master Wu waved a dismissive hand. "And all of you—quit fiddling with that internet nonsense. Set up a camera if you must, but come learn papermaking properly! Why do you think that buyer rejected your work? Because it's lacking!"
——
Meanwhile, Song Miaozhu contacted several other traditional papermakers.
No white cotton paper artisans had attracted spiritual energy, so she found none worth buying.
But for Shiqiao bark paper, she discovered a hidden source.
An account named "Shiqiao Single Mom Dai Xiaojia."
A twenty-seven-year-old woman—though she looked a decade older—raising two children alone by making handmade bark paper after her husband's sudden death.
Her account had 30,000 followers, but bark paper sales were dismal. Livestreamed snacks sold better. From her recent videos, she was on the cusp of breaking through—her paper nearly ready to absorb spiritual energy.
Crucially, she didn't just make plain bark paper but colorful variants with equal skill.
The only problem? She didn't seem to have much time for it. Most of her videos showed her cooking, cleaning, or caring for her kids. Life was clearly hard.
Calculating her meager earnings, Song Miaozhu placed a 10,000-yuan order for assorted papers, leaving a note:
["Looking forward to more of your exquisite handmade paper."]
She only hoped the money would be enough to keep her from quitting paper-making altogether and fully turning to livestream sales.
If Dai Xiaojia could hang on just a little longer, she would make paper with the spiritual glow. And when she did, Miaozhu would be back to buy more.
In the end, only the ten thousand sheets from Grandpa Wu's stock met her current requirements.
Now, all she could do was hope Wu Zhuxiang had taken her words to heart. Let the old man keep making paper—after all, spiritual energy did more good than medicine.
She followed both "Intangible Heritage Bamboo Paper Family" and "Shiqiao Single Mom Dai Xiaojia," planning to monitor their progress daily.
Closing the app, she noticed the time—nearly 4 PM.
She hurriedly shut the shop and rode her newly bought e-bike toward the old town's northern district.
It had been days since her last visit to the ancestral house. Though she'd hired a renovation company, she still inspected periodically. Otherwise, she might end up spending a fortune only to get something completely different from what she envisioned.
This time, she rode her scooter straight up to the gate.
The road from the foot of Xiaozhu Hill to her house had been rebuilt—a new asphalt bike path. The locust flowers in the yard had already fallen. After weeks of renovation work, even the tree looked a bit weary.
But the courtyard itself had been completely transformed.
The wiring and plumbing had been redone. The old, crumbling outbuildings were torn down and rebuilt. The rest of the house had been repainted and refurbished.
From the outside, it still looked like a classic traditional town residence, but the interior had been utterly reimagined.
She'd always loved the white walls, black tiles, and bluestone floors of Chinese architecture—but hated the dark, claustrophobic feeling of the interiors.
Now, the exterior retained its old charm, but the inside leaned toward a French country style—brighter, cozier, more livable.
After inspecting the front and back of the house, she was satisfied.
"Miss Song, the structural work is complete. Next is furnishing—we'll follow the design plan you approved. Any adjustments needed?" the project manager asked.
She nodded. "None. Proceed as planned."
"In that case, we should be able to deliver the house in about two weeks. All the furniture is solid wood, eco-certified—no need to worry about formaldehyde. You'll be able to move in right away."
"Perfect. I'll be waiting for your good news."
All in all, she'd sunk over two million yuan into the renovation. But it was worth every penny—no major setbacks. Bit by bit, her vision of "home" was becoming real. With a heart full of satisfaction, she left the old house.
As she passed through North Street, she loosened her grip on the handlebars. Lately, she'd been living at the paper shop, which was a little far from this part of town.
If she needed something, she just ordered it online. Most days, she didn't even bother leaving Huaihua Alley. Meals were mostly delivery.
She hadn't eaten at Aunt Chen Restaurant in ages. And unfortunately, they didn't do deliveries. She missed it—deeply.
With a flick of the brakes, she turned down Old North Street.