As Song Miaozhu watched Zhangli leave the paper crafting studio, she quietly closed her eyes and merged their senses.
Unlike lesser paper servants, a Lingxi paper doll shared a deep spiritual tether with its creator. Through this link, Miaozhu could see what Zhangli saw, hear what she heard, and issue silent commands at will. The connection extended even further—it translated thoughts, resonated intent, and granted her access to any unspoken communications exchanged between Zhangli and the spirit beasts dwelling across Xiaozhu Mountain.
Once Zhangli stepped into the courtyard, she wasted no time.
First came the little paper servants. With quiet authority, Zhangli summoned them, gathered the paper soldier constructs, and began the daily cycle of spiritual infusions—just as Miaozhu had done for years.
At first, the paper servants hesitated. Though constructs, they were imbued with her energy and were not accustomed to obeying anyone else. A ripple of disobedience ran through them, faint but noticeable.
Miaozhu, still resting, issued a simple thought through their shared bond.
They fell in line instantly.
Zhangli's movements were steady and composed. When her spiritual energy dipped low, she prepared a Gathering Fortune Dolls and drew in ambient qi to replenish herself. Every action was seamless, habitual, efficient.
Spirit tools were rotated and checked. The relics in metamorphosis were relocated to the storage pavilions, and a new batch was placed in the absorption array. Zhangli handled it all with minimal input, using protocols Miaozhu had only ever stored in memory.
Next, she borrowed the Chixiao Fire Fan and led the soldier constructs to a secluded bamboo grove where an old spirit house stood—a structure with no windows and a single obsidian door.
Inside, Zhangli arranged flammable relics and waited for the energy within them to awaken. Once they began transforming into unbound spirits, she activated the fan. A dragon of fire surged forth, swallowing the room in brilliant flame. As the essence was released, she inhaled it into the spiritual platform within her chest.
Miaozhu felt the rush echo faintly through their bond.
But Zhangli didn't stop there.
She organized outgoing spirit items, matching batches of fortune babies to customer orders, and launched them across the skies on paper kites reinforced with spirit seals.
After that, she opened a gateway to the Underworld and crossed over to the ghost-run shop nestled between illusion-wrapped alleys. There, she reviewed inventory records, checked the ledgers, and adjusted rotation schedules for the week ahead.
Then she visited the relic warehouse, selecting artifacts suitable for dismantling and refining into paper materials. Each item was chosen for its compatibility with specific crafting techniques. Her judgment was swift and accurate.
From there, she traveled to the vaults beneath the mountain and submitted a formal request to the Tiandi Bank. The spirit treasure bowl shimmered to life as she deposited yuan from Miaozhu's recent trades and exchanged the ghost shop's earnings for a fresh stack of hell coins. The combined wealth was immediately converted into top-grade spirit stones, which she carefully added to Spirit Stone Mountain's heart chamber.
Returning to the living realm, she stopped by the spirit house nestled at the far end of the estate. Within it lay three elderly cats—Miaozhu's longtime companions. They were rarely active these days, their spiritual roots old and calm.
But when Zhangli approached, they didn't retreat.
Miaozhu's residual aura still clung to her like incense to silk. The cats sniffed, then allowed themselves to be gently brushed. She fed them fasting berries, rubbed behind their ears, and spoke to them in the same soft tones Miaozhu often used.
The cats blinked slowly, as if in approval.
Only after all of this—after seeing to every task, every item, every breath of Xiaozhu Mountain—did Zhangli return to the study.
She picked up the books on management Miaozhu had prepared and began reading.
When she finished a chapter, she turned inward and absorbed a set of artisan memories embedded in her soul core. Then she quietly sat in meditation and cultivated, refining her qi into threads of clarity.
She filled the day with discipline and purpose. Every movement was focused. Every choice aligned with her creator's intent.
Watching her from afar, Miaozhu finally allowed herself to relax.
"Zhangli," she called softly in her mind.
Zhangli rose and appeared at her side moments later, her footsteps light, her aura even.
"From today on," Miaozhu said, "you have full authority over the estate. The spirit tools will follow your instructions. You have access to all ghost shop operations—warehouses, treasuries, the vault. Later, I'll take you to meet the managers. I'll also make a formal announcement on WeChat. From now on, the businesses spanning both realms are yours to oversee."
She was not just entrusting Zhangli with errands, but with her empire.
Zhangli nodded once. "Understood, Miss."
Her tone was calm as ever, her face unreadable.
Miaozhu narrowed her eyes.
"…Zhangli, try smiling. Does your face feel tight?"
Zhangli blinked. "No, Miss. My facial structure is perfectly functional. I simply prefer not to smile often."
"Why?"
"Because I believe your aesthetic preferences favor restraint. Also, a calm and professional appearance is more suitable for a house steward."
With impeccable logic, she added, "However, if you would like a demonstration…"
She gave a wide, cheerful grin.
It was flawless—and absolutely horrifying.
The transformation was instant. That poised, noble aura crumbled into something that looked like a grinning villager from a countryside play. Miaozhu flinched.
"Stop! Stop! You're right, expression control is very important!"
Zhangli withdrew the smile immediately, though Miaozhu caught a faint upward twitch at the corner of her lips, and a brief glimmer of amusement behind her eyes.
There it was again.
That flash of something alive.
Miaozhu had shaped every line of her body, crafted her with discipline and elegance. But moments like this reminded her: Zhangli was more than craft. More than design. There was a will forming behind that perfect face.
If she hadn't built her herself, she would never have guessed she was made of paper.
Later that day, Miaozhu brought Zhangli to the ghost shop and introduced her to the senior staff. Zhangli bowed with practiced elegance and answered every question with clarity. By the end of the meeting, the staff were exchanging glances.
That night, Miaozhu made the announcement.
[Miaow Zhu]:Xiaozhu Mountain's new steward, Zhangli. Please give her your support.[Image attached]
The photo, taken by a helpful paper servant, showed Zhangli seated in the main hall on a lacquered throne chair. She wore a long cyan robe with pale ink trimmings, expression serene, posture flawless.
The comments poured in.
[Zhao's Woodworks]:So refined!
[Wood & Flow]: Is she single?? (≧▽≦)
[Twin Sprouts]:Are these limited-edition resources? I'm willing to pay double!
[Master Cheng of the Eerie]:Please let me apply to be her assistant. I do dishes and know four dialects!
[Grandmaster Wu's Granddaughter]:She looks like a heroine from an immortal romance drama...
Then came a private message from Chen Yuanyuan:
[Smooth as Yuanyuan]:Girl. Be honest. Is that your steward or your girlfriend? Where did you find someone like that?? She'sgorgeous.
[Miaow Zhu]:Proper steward! As for where I found her… let's just say it's a trade secret~
Miaozhu chuckled to herself and closed the chat. She trusted Yuanyuan, of course. But some truths didn't belong on Green Bubbles.
Meanwhile, elsewhere within the SEIUt, Zhao Huoyan stared at the post with a furrowed brow.
He liked it, rewrote his comment six times, then finally sent:
"Congratulations to Master Song on acquiring such a fine assistant."
Then he forwarded the image to his team and began a full background check on Zhangli.
The SEIU had tried to win Song Miaozhu's trust for years—with no success. So how had this mysterious "Zhangli" appeared on Xiaozhu Mountain overnight, becoming her steward without warning?
They searched. And searched. But there was nothing. No record. No soul registration. It was as if she had materialized from air.
Which, in a way, she had.
Still, whether the world believed it or not, those tied to Song Miaozhu now knew she had a steward.
From this point forward—negotiations, auctions, trades, invitations—Zhangli could stand in Miaozhu's place.
And no one would dare question her authority.
As for Miaozhu herself, she finally had what she needed: freedom to focus on her paper crafting and cultivation.
And, just maybe, the quiet beginnings of something more.