A few peaceful days slipped by, and life proceeded smoothly enough.
No one could have imagined that the old mansion burial case—which had stirred up such a massive storm—would unravel in a way that caught everyone completely off guard.
While investigators were still wracking their brains with searches and screenings, the killer delivered herself right to their doorstep. She arrived in the form of a bloated, highly decomposed corpse, dead for more than twenty days.
Yu Xiaomei was an utterly ordinary country woman, fifty-nine years old. She ran a small nursery near Xinzhi Pit on the outskirts of the city, her main business fruit tree seedlings and landscaping maintenance.
The nursery, named Fangxinyuan, was run entirely by her single-handedly. She only hired two or three familiar locals to help out during large shipments, paying them modest temporary wages at the end of each month.
Mid-October was approaching, but there had been no word about settling September’s pay. Those two or three idlers decided to drop by together. They hadn’t even knocked on the door of the bungalow beside the nursery when a putrid stench overwhelmed them. Realizing something was terribly wrong, they called the police on the spot.
Officers from the local station forced their way in. They found the woman sprawled on the bed, already in an advanced state of decay. There were no signs of a struggle or theft at the scene; it appeared to be sudden death from an acute illness.
This wouldn’t have qualified as a criminal case on its own. But the real shock came from a large freezer in the house, which concealed another male corpse—estimated to have been dead for at least a decade. It was the long-missing male head of the household, Wang Moumou.
Two deaths in one home elevated the case to the Municipal Bureau Criminal Investigation Detachment. A meticulous search turned up six wedding rings of various styles and sizes in a bedside safe belonging to Yu Xiaomei.
The investigation ramped up immediately. Five more sets of remains were unearthed from her nursery grounds, buried in the exact same manner as those in the New City old mansion.
After identification by the victims’ families, the rings connected to their owners. Genetic traces from the victims were also found in Yu Xiaomei’s usual pickup truck.
The burial case thus drew to a regrettable close.
Public reaction exploded once the results were announced. The killer’s demise brought widespread relief, but the way she had died left a lingering sense of unease.
An extraordinarily brutal serial killer with no shred of humanity had committed crimes for over twenty years without a hint of suspicion or punishment. She was only exposed after dying of natural causes.
Criticism poured in against the government’s law enforcement agencies. Keyboard warriors latched onto the story, thoroughly lambasting J City’s public safety.
That day, the social news feeds were already buzzing with shock and outrage. But the entertainment headlines were no less chaotic. He Qin, the titan of the art world, saw his son—the celebrated young painter He Ze—accused of plagiarism and identity theft. Marketing accounts broke the story, and it swiftly climbed the hot search lists, piggybacking on the “39 Lives Female Devil” tag.
It should have been a niche issue confined to the art world, hardly worth nationwide debate. But the bombshell dropped at the world-renowned ACD Art Grand Prix, right there in the winners’ exhibition at New York’s premier art gallery. Local media jumped on it immediately, amplifying the scandal.
The humiliation had gone global, and as the son of a famous painter, He Ze’s downfall carried an extra layer of juicy novelty. It drew in gossip hounds by the horde.
That evening, just after finishing dinner, Bai Yiyi got a call from He Ze. It was hardly a surprise.
The man in New York unleashed a torrent of frenzied curses. He demanded to know why Bai Yiyi had broken their agreement—submitting a university sketch to the contest. Was it a deliberate trap, propping him up to the heights of glory only to shove him off? What insidious malice!
He Ze had every reason to lose it.
He had been holding court with the interviewing media, expounding on his creative process, when someone confronted him point-blank: Why did the mark on his painting match the one on the silver prize winner’s work in the neighboring hall?
With nearly ten thousand entrants from around the world and hundreds of award-winning pieces on display, how was he supposed to know who was hanging in the next room?
Blazing with fury, he stormed over with the media in tow. The signature on the painting read… Bai Yiyi.
He was all set to accuse the other of ripping him off when it turned out the entrant—and the one who had collected the award—was Dean Yan from C Province Academy of Fine Arts. He testified on the spot that all three silver prize works had been completed years earlier, during the artist’s university days.
In an instant, the pinnacle of glory—tidal waves of praise, his father’s proud gaze, invitations for personal exhibitions around the world—evaporated like mist. He Ze’s reputation shattered beyond repair.
And it all traced back to that one time he had brought his friend’s painting back to the gallery to sell. His father had mistaken it for a new work of his own and praised it offhand. In a moment of delusion, he had gone along with it?
…
Bai Yiyi fell silent for a long moment.
He had no idea what to say. He’d even caught a bit of his boyfriend’s wicked streak; hearing He Ze unravel like this didn’t soften his heart as it once might have. Instead, a dark thrill of vindication welled up.
He hadn’t been the one to leak it or expose the truth, but he had pushed things to this extreme. He couldn’t entirely escape the blame.
In hindsight, he regretted it deeply. Half a year earlier, when he’d learned of the impersonation, a few glib words had swayed him. He hadn’t put his foot down and refused outright. His indecision had only fed the greed, and now it had cost the nation face on the international stage.
He had gone viral too, unwittingly climbing He Ze’s carefully built ladder, wearing the wedding gown the man had tailored for him.
At first, the netizens eating the melon couldn’t believe that in this hyper-connected age, someone could be impersonated for years without noticing. Wild speculations flew—idiotic naivety, willingly playing the ghostwriter—negative takes everywhere.
But then they followed the trail of He Ze’s fraud and dug up everything on Bai Yiyi: his university years, middle school exam scores, even when he’d joined the Young Pioneers. Every tiny detail got exposed, backed by ironclad proof.
And it was all effusive praise.
Public opinion began to shift. In the end, they recast him as a reclusive painting savant, utterly devoted to perfecting his craft, deaf to the world outside. With zero personal photos or videos, it only added to his enigmatic artist aura.
Staring at those exhaustive reveals, Bai Yiyi finally realized that no matter how much he walled himself off, the traces of his existence couldn’t be erased. All those past rejections and exclusions? Maybe they stemmed from awe, a subconscious reluctance to approach.
When He Ze’s tirade finally petered out into exhausted sobs, Bai Yiyi had his fill of the mad-dog spectacle. He hung up decisively and blocked the number, putting a silent end to their nearly twenty-year friendship.
He turned to his boyfriend, whose face wore a look of perfect understanding. Curiosity sparked. “How did you pull it off?” Then, a touch hesitant: “It was… you, right? I only told you about the code.”
Yan Tuo dumped the bowls in the sink, hauled Bai Yiyi onto the sofa, and pinned him down. He pinched his nose and put on a fierce scowl.
“Bullied that badly and you don’t even fight back? I ache for you if you don’t. He wanted fame? I gave him the biggest spotlight imaginable—one he’ll never forget. What, going soft now?”
Bai Yiyi shook his head frantically, his eyes shining with pure admiration. In a muffled voice, he said, “No, it’s just… how are you so capable? New York’s a world away—how’d you get your hands in it? And where’d you even get my university paintings?”
Yan Tuo wasn’t one to inflate his role. He let go and switched to gentle stroking, chuckling wryly. “Not that complicated. Just a quick power flicker in that hallway, swap out a bulb. No harm, no foul. Costs peanuts, and plenty of folks are happy to handle it. Shine a UV light, and your little ‘2’ code practically glows. Pair that with the near-identical styles, toss in a few pointed questions from the crowd—boom, case closed easy.”
“Your works were simple to come by too. You know your old dean, the one who retired last year, Dean Yan? He’s my grandpa’s poker buddy. Borrowing your prizewinners from his university days took zero effort.”
Then he launched into praise for his boyfriend. “Mainly, it’s my Yiyi who’s brilliant. University sketches snagging silver prizes and making the exhibition? The side-by-side comparison did all the work. That idiot was too busy crowing over his own top award to notice your name on the winners’ list. Only regret is you didn’t get to see his face when panic hit.”
It sounded simple coming from Yan Tuo’s mouth, but keeping tabs on He Ze’s every move, orchestrating the painting’s entry under his name, planting the doubts on-site, hyping it online—it was a chain of meticulous steps. Who knew how much time and effort it had taken? And he’d kept it airtight, leaving Bai Yiyi—the star of the show—as the very last to know.
Bai Yiyi’s heart melted into honey-sweet warmth, though he play-acted a complaint. “Why not loop me in ahead of time?”
Yan Tuo leaned in close, toying with his little boyfriend’s soft earlobe. His gaze roamed the tempting face, hunting for the perfect spot. Distractedly, he murmured, “Scared you’d go soft on me. Hey, that’s gotta count as major merits earned. Time for a reward?”
Pinned beneath that scorching stare, Bai Yiyi sensed danger in his position—like a little rabbit caught and toyed with by the big bad wolf, moments from being devoured.
But how could he resist? This wolf was so strikingly handsome, and his deeds so dashingly clever. Heart conquered.
The little rabbit gritted his resolve, squeezed his eyes shut, and offered himself up for the wolf’s kiss.
Yan Tuo nearly lost it at the uncharacteristic initiative. He kissed back ferociously, seizing control once more.
A tingling sensation sparked at the tip of his tongue, swiftly racing through every inch of his body.
In the heat of their tangled embrace, the sofa groaned under their weight, its creaks harmonizing with the wet smacks of their dueling lips and tongues. The sounds only stoked their rising desire, leaving them flushed and breathless, reason utterly abandoned.
His little white rabbit had been stripped bare and seized in a firm grip, mouth sealed at an awkward angle. He couldn’t cry out even if he wanted to—just muffled grunts escaped.
Bai Yiyi felt mortified beyond words. They were both men—why was he so damn inexperienced?
Just when he thought he was doomed tonight, the man atop him gradually slowed. He buried his face against Bai Yiyi’s neck, taking long moments to steady his breathing, finally wrestling back control. With a soft kiss to the corner of Bai Yiyi’s lips, he murmured, “I’ll let you off the hook for today.”
Yan Tuo didn’t dare linger. He pulled away swiftly, snatched some tissues from the coffee table to wipe his hands, and headed straight for the bathroom.
The timing was impeccable. Two or three minutes later, Bai Yiyi had shifted into his bird form, curling up alone on the sofa to catch his breath.
Yan Tuo emerged with damp hair, exuding a chill aura. He’d braved a cold shower in the dead of an autumn night.
He returned to the sofa and gently preened the little white dumpling’s feathers before settling at the desk with his reference books.
Some time passed before Bai Yiyi regained his composure. The embarrassment ebbed away, replaced by the urge to snuggle close again.
He fluttered to the desk, gazing at Yan Tuo’s intense focus on his studies. Deep down, he admired the man’s ironclad self-discipline. How did his owner manage such restraint? A true role model.
“Yiyi, what is Guanyin Sitting on a Lotus?”
???
Bai Yiyi blanked out at the abrupt chime of the system voice. “What the hell?”
The system’s childish tone rang out innocently. “Didn’t you want to know what Yan Tuo’s thinking? I peeked for you, but I don’t get it… And Old Man Pushing a Cart—why make an old guy push a cart? That sounds exhausting at his age…”
Bai Yiyi nearly imploded from sheer mortification. He yelped internally, “Stop! No need, no need! I was just musing aloud—don’t take it seriously. I… I absolutely don’t want to know!”
Once his frantic mental outburst subsided, he glanced back at Yan Tuo, utterly absorbed in his reference book with that grave, earnest expression…
Bai Yiyi wanted to smash every ounce of his earlier admiration to pieces—at least it would make a satisfying crunch.
His emotions churned in a tangle too messy to unravel. Who knew his owner was like this?
