Exhaustion etched deep shadows under Chen Ge's eyes as he stood before the bathroom mirror, clutching the tattered prop dolls tightly against his chest. The clock was ticking down, each second dragging him closer to midnight. The bathroom lights were off, plunging the room into a murky gloom, with only the faint glow from the corridor casting eerie reflections on the mirror's surface. Chen Ge's gaze was locked on his own distorted image, his face mere inches from the glass, his palms pressed against the cold sink to steady himself. He didn't dare blink, terrified he might miss some crucial detail—a flicker of movement, a new number, or the mirror monster itself.
His focus was absolute, every nerve taut with anticipation. But as the final seconds to midnight approached, his pocket buzzed, shattering the silence. The sudden vibration of his phone jolted Chen Ge, his heart lurching in his chest. A call? At this hour? He fumbled for the device, glancing at the screen. The caller ID read "Inspector Lee." Has something gone wrong?
Answering the call, Chen Ge pressed the phone to his ear, his voice tight with apprehension. "Uncle San Bao, any updates?"
Inspector Lee's voice came through, grave and urgent, carrying the weight of bad news. "Zhang Peng's still out there, Chen. We've narrowed it down—he's likely still in western Jiujiang. You need to stay sharp. This guy's dangerous, cunning, and not thinking like a normal person. We can't rule out the possibility that he'll come back for you."
Chen Ge frowned, his mind racing. "But didn't you set up a perimeter around New Century Park yesterday? With his arms as injured as they were, he shouldn't have gotten far."
"There's been an… unexpected complication," Inspector Lee replied, his tone guarded. "I can't share the details yet, but one of our officers who intercepted Zhang Peng last night suffered some kind of trauma. He's in a deep coma now, under hospital care."
"What‽" Chen Ge's voice rose, shock rippling through him. Before he could press for more, a glint in the mirror caught his eye. His breath hitched as he turned his head slightly, and there, scrawled in fresh, glistening blood, was the Arabic numeral 1, stark against the mirror's surface. It hadn't been there moments ago—he was certain of it.
"Don't worry, Chen," Inspector Lee continued, oblivious to Chen Ge's distraction. "We're closing in. Justice always prevails."
But Chen Ge's attention was no longer on the call. He lowered the phone, his eyes fixed on the mirror, his mind spiraling. When did this appear? The mirror monster is gone—fled with Zhang Peng—so why is the number still showing up? His thoughts flashed back to the previous day's horror in the bathroom, when Zhang Peng had pressed himself against the mirror, merging with the shadowy entity in a grotesque union. The memory sent a chill down his spine.
What do these numbers mean? Yesterday, it had been a 2; now, it was a 1. Will it be zero tomorrow? The descending sequence filled him with dread, each number ticking closer to an unknown catastrophe. Zhang Peng was possessed by the mirror monster, and the number dropped to 2. Now an officer's in a coma, and it's down to 1. Does it represent victims? Does the monster need three lives to complete its plan?
The possibility that innocent lives were at stake ignited a fierce urgency in Chen Ge's chest. He could no longer afford to wait, to hope the mystery would resolve itself. The mirror monster is growing stronger.
Tomorrow night might be my last chance to stop it. Seizing a dirty cloth from the sink, he scrubbed at the bloodied number, erasing it from the mirror as if he could wipe away the threat itself. After a few more hurried words with Inspector Lee, he ended the call and strode purposefully to the Props Room, the black phone clutched tightly in his hand.
It's a new day. The Daily Missions should have refreshed. His only hope now lay in the black phone's missions—specifically, the Red Specter's Bloody Heart Mission or the newly unlocked Nightmare Mission. He opened the app, navigating to the Daily Mission interface, his heart pounding as the screen loaded.
Easy Mission: A proper Haunted House experience should thrill without causing lasting harm to its visitors—a principle you must uphold. Enhance the Haunted House's safety by identifying and addressing hidden security risks throughout the premises. Normal Mission: You've met the requirements to initiate the first expansion of the Haunted House. Begin scouting a suitable location promptly! Current space constraints prevent you from undertaking Trial Missions to unlock new scenarios. Nightmare Mission: There has always been another occupant in your room. Aren't you curious to meet them?
(Beware! The higher the mission's difficulty, the greater the danger. Choose with caution!)
Chen Ge's gaze lingered on the three mission options displayed on the black phone's eerie interface, but it was the Nightmare Mission that sent a shiver down his spine. Another occupant in my room? The mere description was enough to unsettle him, conjuring images of an unseen presence lurking just out of sight. He knew all too well the perils of Nightmare Missions—each one a gamble with stakes that could cost him his life. After a long moment of indecision, his finger hovered over the screen, then drifted away from the Nightmare Mission toward the Red Specter's page.
A warning popped up: "Are you sure you want to accept Zhang Ya's Bloody Heart Mission? Warning! This mission contains a certain level of danger!" Chen Ge massaged his temples, his mind wrestling with the choice. Both missions carried significant risks, but the Nightmare Mission's rewards were unpredictable, likely offering another support skill that wouldn't directly aid him against the mirror monster. The Bloody Heart Mission, however, was tied to Zhang Ya—a Red Specter with her own dedicated page on the app, a testament to her formidable power. She's leagues above the mirror monster, Chen Ge reasoned. If I can secure her help, I might just survive this nightmare.
After weighing the options, Chen Ge gritted his teeth and tapped to accept Zhang Ya's Bloody Heart Mission. A confirmation prompt appeared: "Are you sure you want to accept Zhang Ya's Bloody Heart Mission?" With a resolute breath, he pressed "Yes."
The blood-red interface shifted, its surface peeling away like wilting rose petals, revealing a new message that materialized on the screen:
Anderson's Fairy Tales Volume One, Book Three—Red Dancing Shoes: Once upon a time, there existed a pair of ruby-red dancing shoes that granted their wearer unparalleled grace and perfection in dance. Yet, no dancer dared to wear them, for these were cursed shoes, enchanted to force their wearer to dance without cease until they collapsed, lifeless, from exhaustion.
Mission Objective: Arrive at Western Jiujiang's Private Academy within one hour of accepting this mission and locate Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes before dawn.
Warning: Do not be late for your first date, or she will be deeply displeased.
Chen Ge stared at the message, a mix of dread and wry amusement settling over him. Western Jiujiang's Private Academy had been abandoned years ago, its closure shrouded in mystery. Whispers of hauntings and unexplained incidents had turned it into a local legend, a place even thrill-seekers avoided after dark. My first date with a girl, and it's at a haunted school past midnight? he thought, shaking his head. Am I really this cursed in love?
The mission's one-hour deadline loomed large. Chen Ge mentally mapped the route to the Private Academy, calculating the distance. It's not too far from here—maybe a 20-minute trip if I hurry. That gives me a bit of time to prepare. The thought of venturing into an abandoned school after midnight was daunting, but he pushed the fear aside. First, I need to clean up. It's my first "date," after all.
He headed to the staff bathroom for a quick shower, the hot water doing little to ease the tension knotting his muscles. After drying off, he changed into a fresh set of clothes—practical yet presentable, as if that mattered to a specter like Zhang Ya. Standing before the mirror, he inspected his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his face bore the strain of sleepless nights, but there was a determined glint in his gaze. You've faced worse, Chen Ge. You'll get through this.
With a final glance at the mirror—half-expecting another bloody number to appear—he grabbed the black phone, a flashlight, and a small utility knife, tucking them into his pockets alongside the prop dolls. The clock was ticking, and the Private Academy awaited, its shadows hiding both Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes and whatever horrors came with them.