Chapter 1: Ghosts, Grades, and Groans

I'm halfway through an article on the ancient practice of ghost marriages when Chen Hua leans over my desk.

"Liang Wei," he starts in that half-mocking tone, "you're reading about ghosts again? You know that stuff's fake, right?"

I don't even look up. "And yet, here you are, real as ever, haunting my life."

A couple of snickers erupt from the other desks nearby. Mei-Ling, who sits beside me, tries to stifle a laugh but fails miserably, covering her mouth with her hand. Hua makes this exaggerated gasp, like I've just gravely insulted him, which I suppose I have.

"Ouch," he says, clutching his chest dramatically. "Can't believe you just killed me like that in front of everyone."

"Good," I mumble under my breath. "One less ghost I have to worry about."

I try to turn the page in my notebook, but Hua's still hovering like a human mosquito. I think about swatting him away but decide against it. Not worth the energy.

"Seriously though, why do you read this stuff all the time? Ghosts? Spirits? You should be studying for the entrance exams," Hua presses, tapping his fingers on my desk like he's my personal life coach now.

I sigh and finally look up. "Because it's interesting. Unlike you, Chen Hua. Now, can I get back to my... educational reading?"

"Educational?!" He laughs, leaning back, hands in his pockets. "Come on, Wei, you're gonna be the only one who knows how to marry a ghost while we're all getting into top universities."

"Yeah, well, if your study habits are anything to go by, you'll be joining the ghosts pretty soon," I shoot back, flipping the page of my notebook. But truth be told, he's not wrong. The Gaokao—China's entrance exam for universities—is breathing down my neck, and here I am, reading about 2,000-year-old ghost stories like I don't have a future to worry about.

Just priorities, right?

The bell rings, and I pack my things, which doesn't take long since all I brought today were books about death rituals and folklore. Mei-Ling and I head out together, weaving through the chaos that is the hallway between periods.

"Ghost marriages? Really?" she teases, nudging me with her elbow.

"Don't you start," I groan, rubbing my forehead. "One Chen Hua is more than enough."

She grins, adjusting the straps of her backpack. "I just don't get it. You're like... obsessed with death, but you act like you're not scared of it."

I give her a sideways glance. "What's there to be scared of? Ghosts are probably friendlier than half the people at school."

"Yeah, except ghosts want to steal your soul and drag you into the afterlife," she points out, shaking her head. "But hey, to each their own. I'm just happy if I survive this semester."

Mei-Ling's not wrong. High school is like a never-ending gauntlet. It's not just the classes or the teachers with their pop quizzes that feel like personal attacks—it's the pressure. All day, every day, it's just this background hum of do more, study harder, be perfect.

It's exhausting.

We finally get out of the hallway and into the courtyard. The sun's already halfway down, casting long shadows over the school grounds. I eye the old courtyard wall in the distance, wondering how many students from years past stood there and stressed about the same things I am. They probably all turned into ghosts, too. Haunting the classrooms, grumbling about grades that never mattered.

I glance at Mei-Ling, who's texting away, probably updating the group chat about the latest gossip. She's great. Funny, smart, normal. And then there's me: digging through ancient rituals like a 90-year-old historian trapped in a teenager's body. It's no wonder people look at me weird sometimes.

"So," she says without looking up from her phone, "you coming to karaoke this weekend?"

Karaoke? The thought makes me cringe. Loud music, people screaming off-key, socializing... hard pass. "I'll think about it," I lie.

"Which means no."

"Correct," I say, shrugging. "I'd rather spend my time wisely."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Reading more ghost stories?"

"Possibly."

Mei-Ling rolls her eyes, but she doesn't push it. She knows by now that I'm as stubborn as a Jiangshi in full hopping mode. If I say no, I mean no.

By the time we're back in class for afternoon sessions, the fatigue is real. My teacher, Ms. Zhang, starts droning on about something math-related, but my mind wanders. I catch myself staring out the window, watching the sky get darker. I think about the mirror I saw in that antique shop last weekend—how the shopkeeper was so cagey about its history.

Apparently, it was once part of some imperial collection, rumored to be haunted, blah blah blah. I wasn't even going to buy it, but the story got to me. Plus, it looked cool. Old, cracked, like it had seen things no one should have seen.

"I'll take it," I had said, ignoring the shopkeeper's warning that the mirror was not just a piece of history, but something else entirely. Some people say I lack common sense. To those people, I say: You're probably right.

But hey, a little curiosity never hurt anyone... right?

"Liang Wei!" Ms. Zhang's voice cuts through my daydream.

I snap to attention, blinking rapidly. "Yes?"

Ms. Zhang is standing at the front of the class, arms crossed, with her famous "you better pay attention" look. "What's the answer to problem number 7?"

Crap. What are we even doing? Geometry? Algebra? Quantum physics? I don't even know.

"Uhh... four?"

A couple of people in the class chuckle, and Ms. Zhang gives me a withering look. "No, not four, Liang Wei. Maybe if you spent less time reading ghost stories and more time focusing on your work, you'd know the correct answer."

More laughter. Great, now I'm that kid.

The rest of the day drags on painfully, and by the time the final bell rings, I'm already halfway out the door. Mei-Ling catches up with me outside, looking concerned.

"Are you okay? You seemed out of it all day," she says.

I shrug, pulling my bag tighter over my shoulder. "Yeah, just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"More weird dreams?"

"Sort of."

I don't tell her about the mirror or the strange feeling I've had since I brought it home. It's probably nothing. Or maybe it's something. Either way, I have a feeling tonight's going to be... interesting.

But hey, what's the worst that could happen

||Back at home||

After dinner, I head back to my room, stomach full and brain officially fried from the day. Honestly, I'd rather curl up in bed and binge-watch a drama or something, but my mind keeps wandering back to the mirror. It's sitting on my desk, still wrapped in the brown paper from the antique shop, waiting for me like some ancient puzzle box begging to be opened.

I toss my bag onto the chair and plop down in front of my desk. Time to finally give this thing a proper look.

Carefully, I peel away the paper, and there it is—the mirror. It's not huge, probably about the size of a dinner plate, but it's... well, weirdly captivating. The surface is old, almost foggy, like it's holding onto the memories of a thousand different reflections. The frame is this intricate, deep bronze, etched with carvings that look like clouds swirling around dragons. Some of the patterns almost seem to shift in the dim light of my desk lamp, as if they're alive. And at the top of the mirror, in tiny, almost invisible script, there's something written in old Chinese characters.

I squint at it, trying to make sense of the words. They look ancient—older than any script I've seen in history class. And the glass itself? There's a small crack near the edge, like someone tried to smash it but couldn't quite finish the job. The more I look at it, the more it feels like the mirror is staring back at me, like it's waiting.

"Okay," I mutter to myself. "Creepy, but still kinda cool."

As I trace my fingers along the edge, I feel a sudden sharp sting.

"Ow! Seriously?" I jerk my hand back, only to see a thin line of blood pooling on the tip of my thumb. Of course I cut myself. Leave it to me to get injured by a piece of old glass.

A single drop of blood drips from my finger, landing right in the center of the mirror's surface. I watch in disbelief as the drop seems to sizzle for a second before slowly spreading across the glass, like it's being absorbed.

The mirror suddenly pulses, a soft glow radiating from its surface. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. "Okay, what the hell is happening?"

Before I can even think about moving, the glow intensifies. The symbols on the mirror's frame light up in a deep, eerie red. The whole thing vibrates in my hands like it's alive, and then—without warning—I feel a pull, like a vacuum sucking me in.

"What the—?!"

My voice is swallowed up by the light as I feel myself being yanked forward. The room around me warps, stretching and bending like something out of a nightmare. One second I'm in my bedroom, and the next, I'm falling through the mirror, the world spinning and twisting around me in a blur.

Then, everything goes dark.

When I come to, my knees are on solid ground, and the first thing I notice is the smell.

Rot. Blood. Something dead and decaying.

I gag, stumbling to my feet, only to drop back down when the full force of the stench hits me like a truck. My stomach lurches, and I barely manage to turn my head before I vomit onto the ground.

I wipe my mouth, still shaking, and look around, trying to figure out where I am. It... it looks like my world. It's Beijing. But not.

The buildings are the same, the streets, the familiar alleys—all there, but they're wrong. The air is heavy, thick with something I can't quite describe. The sky, usually bright with city lights, is dark, an inky blackness that seems to swallow everything around it. The streetlamps flicker weakly, casting long, eerie shadows, and the walls of the buildings are covered in some kind of black moss—sticky and pulsing like it's alive.

I take a deep breath—regret it immediately—and force myself to stand.

"What... is this place?" I whisper, my voice trembling. This isn't real. This can't be real. Did I hit my head? Am I dreaming?

But then I hear it—the soft squelching sound of something moving in the shadows, dragging itself across the ground. I spin around, heart racing, and spot a figure in the distance, barely visible in the dim light.

It's human. Or at least, it was. Its skin is hanging in ragged strips, and its limbs are bent at unnatural angles. It shuffles forward slowly, head jerking like it doesn't quite know how to move properly anymore.

I freeze, hoping it hasn't seen me, but the thing's head snaps up, its hollow eyes locking onto me.

I don't think. I run.

I take a deep breath, about to scream for help, when my brain kicks in. What am I thinking? Screaming in a place like this? That thing... if there's one, there's probably more.

I clamp my hand over my mouth, stopping the sound before it escapes. My heart's hammering in my chest as I force myself to calm down. Breathe. Don't make a sound. I look around, scanning for any place to hide.

There. A small store across the street. The sign's old and cracked, the windows grimy and covered in dust, but it looks empty. Safe, hopefully. I make a break for it, running on the balls of my feet, trying not to make a single sound as I cross the cracked pavement. The stench of rot is still clinging to the air, making my stomach churn.

When I reach the store, I yank at the door. Locked.

"No, no, no..." I mutter under my breath, glancing over my shoulder at the shadowy street. The monster's still out there somewhere, probably crawling closer. Without thinking, I grab a brick from the ground and smash it into the glass. It shatters with a loud crash, and I wince. That was too loud. Too risky. But there's no turning back now. I push the broken door open and slip inside, trying to move quickly while cutting myself on the sharp shards.

Inside, the store is even creepier than it looked from outside. The shelves are mostly bare, the walls stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood, and everything is coated in a layer of dust. But at least it's quiet. At least I'm alone.

For now.

I crouch behind one of the shelves, my back pressed against the cold wall as I try to think. How do I get out of here?

The mirror. The thought hits me like a bolt of lightning. It brought me here, so it's gotta be my way out. I start frantically patting my pockets, praying it somehow came with me. But... nothing. My stomach sinks, and hopelessness crashes over me like a wave. No mirror. No way home.

I lean back against the wall, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my hand. That's when I see it.

A small tattoo on my left hand. I freeze, staring at it in disbelief. When did this get here? It's a strange symbol, almost like the ones I saw on the mirror. A circle with jagged lines branching out from the center, glowing faintly red under the dim light of the store. My first instinct is to rub it off. I scratch at it, but it doesn't budge. It's like it's been burned into my skin.

"What the...?" I mutter, heart racing. The tattoo feels... wrong. Like it's part of me now.

Suddenly, I feel it. That presence. Cold and sharp, like the air itself is trying to cut me. Something's here. I crouch lower, barely daring to breathe as I sneak a peek through the broken window.

The human monster is outside, its twisted, mangled form dragging itself along the ground, leaving a trail of black sludge behind it. Its limbs are long, too long, stretching out like they're made of rubber. And its face... or what's left of it... is barely human anymore. The skin is peeled away in places, exposing raw, pulsing flesh, and its mouth hangs open, drooling thick black liquid.

My stomach flips. I pull back, trying not to retch again. It knows I'm here. I can feel it.

I'm holding my breath, praying it'll pass, but then I hear it. The sound of glass crunching under its feet. It's coming inside.

No. No no no no no.

I stand up and back away, my legs shaking, but I barely make it two steps before it lunges at me. Its arms stretch out, twisting unnaturally as they swipe at me with these long, sharp claws. I duck, narrowly avoiding the blow.

It moves so fast. Too fast.

I stumble back, my heart pounding in my ears, as it attacks again. Its arm whips out, slashing at me, and this time it catches me across the side. I feel the pain immediately—a searing, burning sensation. I scream, clutching my side as I back away. The monster's claws... they're acidic. My skin is bubbling where it cut me, the pain unlike anything I've ever felt.

I try to dodge its next attack, barely weaving under its grotesque limbs, but I'm not fast enough. Another slash catches my arm, burning through my sleeve and into my flesh. I scream again, louder this time, my vision blurring from the pain.

I'm not going to make it.

I'm going to die here.

As the monster closes in, I feel the world start to tilt. My strength is fading fast. But then, in the haze of pain, something catches my eye.

The tattoo on my hand. It's glowing now—brighter, redder, like it's reacting to the danger. I stare at it, my vision swimming, and then suddenly, a strange voice appears inside my thoughts.

 "Do you want to escape?"

I blink, struggling to focus. Is this real? Am I hallucinating?

The monster's claw comes for me again, and I'm too weak to dodge. It's over. I feel my knees buckle, my consciousness slipping. But before I black out completely, I manage to gasp out one word.

"…yes"

I wake up with a jolt, gasping for air. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of where I am.

I'm... in my room?

The soft glow of my desk lamp is the first thing I see. My bed, my books, my posters—they're all here. Everything's the same as I left it.

But the pain. The burning. It's still there. I look down at my arm and side, where the monster slashed me, and sure enough, the injuries are still there. Red, raw, and acid-burned, just like in that world.

I touch the tattoo on my hand. It's still glowing faintly, but the voices—the quell voice is gone.

I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief, trying to catch my breath. I escaped... but what the hell just happened?