Zhiren Zhang is the most famous paper craftsman in our village.

Perhaps because he deals with the business of the dead, there's always an indescribable aura of wickedness about him.

Unless there's a pressing need, no one would actively seek him out.

I entered his yard and found him sitting in his house, very focused and busy, not even noticing my arrival.

Just as I was about to greet him, I turned my head and suddenly saw a woman beside him, her head covered with a red cloth.

I was startled by this eerie attire. The woman was slim, wearing bright opera clothes, with both hands pinched into orchid shapes held at her chest.

Under the red cloth was a woman's delicate chin and a small, bright red cherry mouth.

Zhiren Zhang looked up and noticed me. His face turned anxious as he quickly picked her up and rushed into the house.

Only then did I realize she was a paper figure.

I followed him into a side room filled with finished paper crafts—horses, cars, houses, and even young boys and girls with talismans pasted on their faces.

"Bang!"

A glass of water was slammed heavily in front of me, startling me.

Zhiren Zhang was very unhappy with my sudden visit, especially since I had seen the opera-clothed paper figure, as if I had uncovered some unspeakable secret.

I coughed dryly and explained my purpose of coming.

This old man, who looked nearly fifty, had been alone for as long as I could remember.

A fire at the theater had taken dozens of lives, along with Zhiren Zhang's zest for life.

Some gossipy villagers speculated that Zhiren Zhang must have had a lover in the theater who died in the fire.

Over time, the lone Zhiren Zhang inexplicably became known as a widower.

He neither confirmed nor denied it.

His paper crafting skills advanced rapidly. Previously, his crafts were just exquisite; now, they emanated an indescribable vitality, as if they were alive.

Zhiren Zhang quickly crafted the paper figure's head according to my appearance.

I finally understood what it meant to be "lifelike."

The paper head in his hand, aside from being bloodless and having no painted eyes, was almost identical to me.

Seeing a face that looked exactly like mine being manipulated like an object in his hands made me feel uneasy and unsettled.

It felt as if... he was caressing my face.

"Why don't you paint the eyes?"

He paused slightly at my words, then continued without looking up, saying in a muffled voice, "No need to paint, they will gradually grow out..."

The eerie tone in his voice genuinely gave me goosebumps.

What did he mean by "grow out" later? Did paper figures grow eyes on their own?

He seemed to sense my discomfort and told me to go back and wait. At night, an elder from my family could come to pick it up.

On the way back to my aunt's house, I kept thinking, what a bunch of superstition! Why did it keep getting creepier?