After splashing cold water on his face and taking several deep, steadying breaths, Chen Ge felt the knot of anxiety in his chest begin to loosen. The mirror's ominous number and the weight of the impending mission still lingered, but he forced himself to focus. It's time to move.
He retrieved the worn backpack he'd used on previous missions, methodically packing it with essentials: Zhang Ya's cursed love letter, a fully charged power bank, and the heavy tool mallet that had served him well before. Learning from past mistakes, he slipped the penknife directly into his pocket for quick access and tucked the small, tattered doll left by his parents into his shirt pocket, close to his heart. The doll's presence was more sentimental than practical, but it offered a flicker of comfort. By the time he was done, his pockets bulged awkwardly, but the added weight made him feel marginally safer, as if he were armoring himself against the unknown.
With everything prepared, Chen Ge locked the Haunted House's front gate and hurried out of New Century Park. The clock read 12:15 a.m., and the streets were deserted, the silence broken only by the occasional hum of a distant car. After ten agonizing minutes of waiting, he flagged down a cab, the vehicle's headlights cutting through the darkness like a beacon.
"Western Jiujiang's Private Academy, please," Chen Ge said as he slid into the backseat. "I'm in a rush, so step on it."
"No problem, kid. Hop in," the driver replied, a jovial middle-aged man with a weathered face. The car's radio blared nostalgic hits from the '90s, filling the cab with a strangely cheerful ambiance that clashed with Chen Ge's grim mood. As the taxi sped through the empty streets, he seized the moment to research his mission, pulling out the black phone and diving into the sparse information available online.
The Bloody Heart Mission had referenced Anderson's Fairy Tales: Red Dancing Shoes, so Chen Ge started there. He quickly found the original story, and as he skimmed its contents, a chill settled over him. The tale told of a young girl gifted a pair of exquisite red dancing shoes, which she adored and wore everywhere, even to church, defying propriety. Her vanity triggered a curse: the shoes forced her to dance endlessly, driving her to exhaustion and despair. In a desperate bid for freedom, she begged a woodcutter to sever her legs. But the story took a macabre turn—the severed legs, still clad in the red shoes, danced off into the forest, leaving the girl behind. Is this even a fairy tale? Chen Ge thought, his unease deepening.
The parallels to his mission were unsettling. The black phone had described Zhang Ya at the time of her death: clad in a blood-soaked school uniform and those same red dancing shoes. Are these shoes truly cursed, impossible to remove once worn? The thought made his skin prickle. Unlike his previous missions, this one pitted him directly against a Red Specter—a being fueled by profound resentment, as evidenced by the Bloody Heart Mission's very existence. The key to surviving tonight lies with those shoes, he concluded, his mind racing.
He reread the fairy tale, searching for clues. Its moral seemed to caution against vanity, urging humility, but Chen Ge couldn't shake the feeling that the black phone's reference to the story held a deeper significance. Why highlight this tale? Is it a warning about Zhang Ya's nature, or a hint about the mission itself? Unable to crack the puzzle, he shifted his focus to Western Jiujiang's Private Academy.
Online, the abandoned school was a hotbed of speculation. It had shuttered abruptly after just two years of operation, and the reasons were murky at best. Some sources cited budget shortages, while others pointed to exorbitant tuition fees driving students away. Chen Ge scrolled through forum posts and local articles, but Zhang Ya's name was conspicuously absent. If she's tied to this school, why is there no trace of her? The absence of information only heightened his suspicion. There's something darker behind the closure—something the internet isn't telling me.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden swell in the radio's volume. Startled, he glanced up to find the driver watching him through the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with curiosity. "What's got you so lost in thought, kid? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world."
The driver's voice was warm, almost too cheerful for the late hour. He'd tried striking up a conversation when Chen Ge first entered the cab, but Chen Ge had been too absorbed in his research to engage. Now, with the driver's gaze fixed on him, Chen Ge forced a tight smile. "Just… work stuff," he mumbled, hoping to deflect further questions. The last thing he needed was to explain why he was headed to an abandoned school in the dead of night, armed with a mallet and a cursed love letter.
Chen Ge forced a polite smile, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Life's been throwing a lot at me lately," he said, his tone measured to keep the conversation light. "It's been hard to keep up, feeling a bit overwhelmed."
The driver chuckled, swaying to the rhythm of the '90s pop blaring from the radio. "Take it one step at a time, kid. Everything sorts itself out eventually. When I'm stressed, I crank up some disco tunes, give a few shakes, and boom—good as new. You should try it!"
At least he's got optimism going for him, Chen Ge thought, his mind still half-occupied with the looming mission. The driver's cheerful demeanor was almost jarring against the weight of what lay ahead.
"By the way," the driver continued, glancing at Chen Ge through the rearview mirror, "why're you headed to that Private Academy so late? That place has been abandoned for years, and it's out in the middle of nowhere—no houses, no nothing."
Chen Ge hesitated, his mind scrambling for a believable excuse. "I'm… going on a date," he finally said, the words feeling absurd even as they left his mouth.
"A date? At this hour?" The driver's eyebrows shot up, his tone equal parts amusement and disbelief. "In a creepy old school?"
"It's true," Chen Ge insisted, leaning into the lie to avoid further suspicion. "She's… particular. Likes things a bit unconventional, you know? Has her quirks." He tried to play it off casually, though the irony wasn't lost on him. A date with a Red Specter was hardly the romantic evening most would envision, but the idea of being "asked out" by Zhang Ya, however twisted, sparked a strange flicker of pride.
"Well, that's something!" the driver said, grinning. "But you're stressed about it, aren't you? Worried she won't like you? Gotta say, though, you're not exactly dressed for a date. That backpack—it's throwing off your whole vibe. These days, even guys need to put some effort into their look!"
The driver's chatter flowed unabated, a torrent of unsolicited advice that Chen Ge could barely keep up with. Under normal circumstances, a date might bring excitement or nervous anticipation, but this one was a coerced gamble, a desperate bid to survive the mirror monster's countdown. He half-considered playing Wedding Dress from his phone just to drown out the driver's voice with its haunting melody, if only to reclaim a moment of silence.
The taxi sped through the night, the city's lights giving way to darker, emptier roads. Buildings grew sparse, and streetlights dwindled until they vanished entirely, swallowed by the encroaching forest. The world outside the window felt increasingly isolated, the road stretching into a void of shadows.
The driver glanced at his GPS, his brow furrowing. "You sure about this address? There's nothing down this road but that old school, and it's been deserted for ages."
"Positive," Chen Ge replied. "Just drop me off near the entrance. How much is the fare?"
"Nineteen bucks. Mind paying through WeChat? Just started my shift, so I'm short on change."
"No problem." As Chen Ge reached for his phone, the penknife slipped from his pocket, landing on the backseat cushion with a soft thud. Its glint caught the driver's eye, and Chen Ge noticed the man stiffen, his posture shifting subtly. With a practiced motion, the driver lowered the radio's volume, his pinkie grazing a button on the dashboard—a discreet move that didn't escape Chen Ge's attention.
Chen Ge kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced. He thinks I'm some kind of criminal. The penknife, the late-night trip to an abandoned school—it wasn't hard to see why the driver was on edge. Completing the payment, Chen Ge pocketed his phone and met the driver's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Uncle, you're recording this to report me to the police, aren't you?"
The driver choked on his water, coughing violently as he waved his hands in protest. "No, no, nothing like that!" he sputtered, his face flushing.
Chen Ge's lips quirked into a faint smile. "I get why you'd think that, but…" His gaze drifted to the dark silhouette of Western Jiujiang's Private Academy looming in the distance, its dilapidated outline barely visible against the night sky. "It's not what you think." He didn't elaborate—how could he explain a mission tied to a cursed Red Specter and a pair of dancing shoes that might kill him before dawn? Instead, he grabbed his backpack, double-checked the penknife in his pocket, and steeled himself for what lay ahead.