Over the past few decades, Song Miaozhu had done little more than tirelessly collect portrait rights from beautiful and handsome ghosts, signing contracts and sealing their features into jade slips without ever putting them to use.
But she had never been idle.
In truth, she had long since sorted them into categories in her mind—each ghost carefully placed according to her personal sense of aesthetics. She knew the curve of a cheek, the shape of a nose, the light behind a pair of eyes. And she grouped them like flowers in a bouquet, selecting ones that looked best when placed side by side.
The group with Fu Feng, Qing Ya, Xian Shuang, Huai Sha, and Lin Yuan had always been her favorite. They were her first picks, the top tier in every aspect, the ones she knew best.
Whenever she visited Yunlai Pavilion to examine the new faces Fu Feng had gathered, she would always call those five to accompany her. Even then, a vision had been forming in her heart: a single Lingxi paper doll that merged all their strengths into one, radiant figure.
And now, years later, that vision had matured.
Her artistic eye, sharpened through decades of refinement and hundreds of artisan soul fragments, saw things she could never have imagined in her youth. Her skill had grown, her hand more confident, and her heart more certain.
Originally, she planned to start with a group portrait—a Five Beauties Scroll, she told Fu Feng with a casual wave of her hand. She would sketch their features side by side, then refine the design for the doll gradually.
But the moment she sat down at her worktable, brush in hand, the vision that had haunted her dreams leapt forward with perfect clarity.
What began as five faces quickly merged into one.
She had thought it would take careful planning to balance their distinct features—Fu Feng's deep, remote gaze; Qing Ya's graceful bone structure; Xian Shuang's sculpted lips and slender neck; Huai Sha's flowing ink-black hair; Lin Yuan's poised, statuesque build.
Instead, her brush moved with frightening ease, like her fingers had been waiting years for this very moment. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Each stroke was instinctive, guided not by logic but longing.
When she finally pulled back, her heart skipped a beat.
The woman in the painting was everything she had ever admired, everything she had quietly yearned for yet never dared to seek. Feminine, but not fragile. Elegant, but not cold. Her expression was enigmatic, as if she had stepped out of a dream and had no interest in returning.
This, Song Miaozhu thought, would be the leader of her Lingxi paper doll troupe. No other could command such grace.
Satisfied, she tossed a few golden ingots toward the ghosts lounging nearby.
"That's enough for today. I'll call you next time I need to borrow your beauty."
The five ghosts—long used to her eccentricity—crowded in with curious smiles.
"Boss Song, can we see the portrait?" Fu Feng asked, tilting his head like a cat angling for affection.
"Of course," she replied, a rare hint of pride in her voice as she turned the scroll toward them.
They leaned in, jostling each other to get a better look.
"Well? What do you think?" she asked, her eyes glinting.
These ghosts had worked in Yunlai Pavilion for decades, their senses honed through endless flirtation and the subtle arts of seduction. If anyone could appreciate beauty, it was them.
"...She's stunning," Huai Sha murmured. "Not just beautiful. She has presence."
"It's strange," said Qing Ya, brow furrowed. "She feels familiar, but not exactly any of us."
"Look closer," Song Miaozhu encouraged. "You'll see it."
And slowly, they did.
"Her eyes... they have that same distance as Fu Feng's," said Xian Shuang.
"And the nose, the facial shape—definitely Qing Ya," Huai Sha added.
"My lips!" Xian Shuang cried, tracing her own mouth with a mock gasp. "And that collarbone... it's mine. You thief!"
"And the hair is mine," Huai Sha declared, flipping her long tresses with flair. "That's unmistakable."
"As for the body," Lin Yuan chimed in with a smirk, "there's only one person tall enough and sculpted enough to provide the base."
"Is it really all of us?" Fu Feng asked softly. "Combined?"
Song Miaozhu gave a small nod, still gazing at the painting. "Not just your features. Your temperaments too. Everything you've shown me over the years. All the little details you didn't know I was collecting."
"If this woman stepped into Yunlai Pavilion," Xian Shuang sighed dreamily, "she'd rise to the top of the Heavenly Fairy List overnight."
"She wouldn't even need to flirt," Qing Ya said. "She'd win just by existing."
"Too bad she's paper," Huai Sha laughed. "If she were real, I might fall in love."
"Enough!" Song Miaozhu rolled up the scroll in a fluster, hiding her faint blush. "She's not meant for you lot to ogle at!"
"But she's so well-made," Lin Yuan said innocently. "Surely you could make a few more? A whole harem of beauties to keep you company?"
"Absolutely not!" Song Miaozhu snapped, already turning to flee. "I have work to do!"
She gathered her scroll and left in a rush, soul-light flickering as she sped back to the Ghost Shop.
They always thought she was just a wealthy woman with extravagant tastes, buying up portrait rights like a collector of art. They teased her about her paper men and women, assuming she had a harem waiting behind every spirit seal.
But the truth was far lonelier.
She had never been in love. Not truly. In her teens, she had once felt her heart stir for fictional characters in books and dramas, but reality had quickly snuffed those flames out.
In the early years, life was about survival. There was no room for romance.
Later, after she had wealth and power, she found herself disillusioned. The characters who had once captured her heart didn't exist in the real world. And so she gave up on love.
Now, she lived alone on Xiaozhu Mountain with three cats and a garden of spirit herbs. Sometimes she felt lonely, but she found more joy in watching her cultivation rise and counting the spirit stones she earned.
Fleeting emotions could never offer her the same security.
But ever since she first laid eyes on the Lingxi paper doll blueprint in the Secret Art of Paper Crafting, she had known.
If she reached a high enough level, she could create her ideal companions with her own hands.
Beautiful women, graceful and kind, with steady hearts and loyal minds. Each shaped by her vision, each filled with soul-light that mirrored her own desires.
They would never betray her. Never demand compromise. Never drift away.
Not lovers. Not disciples. Not children.
Something better.
Fiction, made real.
As soon as her soul returned to her body, Song Miaozhu began the work. The materials were familiar: bamboo for the bones, paper for the skin. But this time, every element required precision.
Everything had to match the proportions of a real human body.
She summoned every skill she had learned—woodworking, paper carving, brush painting, puppet threading. She sculpted each detail with reverence. The finest ink-brushed lashes. The perfect softness to the lips. A warm curve to the eyes, layered with distance and allure.
She chose the highest quality materials, down to the threads in the robe and the oils used to preserve the paper.
It took her an entire year.
When she finally placed the paper doll beside her original painting, the resemblance was eerie. The doll seemed to breathe. Her stillness was not lifeless, but poised—like a dancer just before the first note.
There was nothing left to improve.
Only then did Song Miaozhu begin preparing for the spirit infusion.
There was not a single detail left for her to improve. And only then did she begin preparing for the spirit infusion.
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But isn't you are the one that say want to take a disciple/ child to inherited Song's Secret Art of Paper Crafting? I'm confused