Chapter 4: The Enigma of the Bronze Mirror

The night deepened, and the dim yellow glow of the lamp in Sui Bao Zhai's back courtyard flickered like a lone bean, illuminating the workbench. Beside the blood porcelain vase now sat a bronze mirror. Its surface was mottled with verdigris, its edges engraved with faint, blurred patterns—seemingly ordinary, yet the air carried an inexplicable chill. Jiang Hao rubbed his temples; the tinnitus had subsided, but a faint murmur lingered, like distant curses. He frowned, picking up the mirror and squinting at it. "This thing—whose bad luck brought it here this time?"

Lin Yao stood nearby, flipping open her notebook, her pen scribbling furiously. She glanced at the mirror and snorted. "The bad luck's yours, brute. The customer said they looked into it last night, saw something wrong with their face, and this morning, they were gone. And you still dare to touch it?" Her tone was sharp, her bandaged finger throbbing faintly, but she didn't stop writing, muttering, "Republic-era style, probably from a mansion."

"Something wrong with their face?" Jiang Hao smirked, flipping the mirror over. Its surface reflected his face, the collar of his leather jacket faintly white in the dim light. But in the next instant, the reflection flickered—his eyes turned an unfamiliar black, his mouth twisted into a eerie grin. His tinnitus flared, and a blurry scene flashed through his mind: a woman shoved down stairs, blood splattering the mirror. He growled, "Someone died!" His hand shook, nearly dropping the mirror.

Lin Yao snatched it from him, frowning at the surface. "Don't mess with it, brute." She squinted, noting the reflection had returned to normal, but her chest tightened. Last night's dream resurfaced—a Republic-era mansion, a dim corridor, a vague figure before a mirror, its face not her own. She murmured, "This mirror's got something in it."

Before she finished, the wooden door shuddered, a low rumble like a heartbeat echoing through. Black mist poured from the cracks, coiling around them. Jiang Hao cursed, Lin Yao clutched her notebook, but before they could resist, they were pulled in. Wind roared past their ears, light and shadow warping as if they'd been thrown into a malfunctioning time machine. Time and space twisted chaotically—cracks in the floor stretched and shrank, shadows on the walls sped forward then rewound. Old Zhong's faint shout drifted through—"Be careful, don't act rashly!"—before being swallowed.

In an instant, they stood in the corridor of a Republic-era mansion. Peeling wallpaper hung from the walls, the wooden floor creaked, and the air reeked of mold tinged with faint blood. The bronze mirror floated ahead, its surface pulsing with red light, reflecting a stranger's face—a woman, pale, with sunken eyes, blood dripping from her mouth, her venomous gaze locked on them. Jiang Hao's tinnitus intensified, the scene sharpening: the woman screaming as she tumbled down stairs, a man turning away with a cold laugh. He gritted his teeth, muttering, "She was pushed."

Lin Yao frowned, her fingers tracing marks on the wall as she whispered, "Republic-era mansion, a staged murder… the mirror's the key." She glanced toward the corridor's end, where a broken screen revealed half a figure, pinned to the wall like a statue. She said gravely, "Brute, don't just stand there—check it out."

Jiang Hao shot her a glare, rubbing his temples. "Bookworm, stop bossing me around." Still, he moved toward the screen. As his foot hit the floor, time froze, cracks spreading visibly before snapping back into place, as if an invisible hand were tearing and mending reality. He squinted. "This place—time's like putty." The resentment in his tinnitus grew clearer, a voice roaring, "She betrayed me!"

Lin Yao followed, staring at the floor. "The archive's time isn't fixed—it can manipulate space and time at will." Fragments of her dream flashed—inside the mansion, a woman shoved down stairs, her head smashing the mirror, blood pooling. She frowned. "Probably a murder. The mirror holds the truth."

Behind the screen was a desiccated corpse, its clothes tattered, skull shattered, propped against the wall like a forgotten sculpture. Jiang Hao crouched, guided by his tinnitus to the corpse's waist, where he pulled out a silver ring engraved with the character "Wan." He muttered, "This woman was smashed to death." Resentment surged from the ring, stabbing into his mind like a blade, but he suppressed the discomfort and stood. "Bookworm, find out who this 'Wan' is."

Lin Yao approached, staring at the corpse. "Wan? Maybe the mansion's mistress." She turned to the mirror, where the woman's reflection suddenly moved, clawing at the frame as if trying to escape. Shadows in the corridor shifted, mimicking their movements but half a beat faster. Lin Yao shouted, "Watch out—the shadows again!"

Jiang Hao squinted as his tinnitus flashed a vision of a shadow lunging. He grabbed a broken plank from the floor and smashed it at the shadow. The wood passed through the mist, pinning it to the wall, and the shadow shrieked, shattering into fragments. He snorted, "That's all you've got for an ambush?" He glanced at the mirror, tinnitus intensifying as the scene pieced together—a man pushing the woman, the mirror recording it all. He roared, "Bookworm, the mirror's evidence—find the killer!"

Lin Yao frowned, flipping through her notebook to a page on Republic-era funerary runes. "The mirror's a medium—reflection can break it." She picked up a copper shard from the corridor's corner, angling it to reflect the mirror's red light onto the woman. The beam pierced her, and with a howl, she shrank back into the mirror, her resentment subdued. Lin Yao said firmly, "Brute, head to the stairs—the body's hidden below."

Jiang Hao didn't argue, charging to the staircase at the corridor's end. The stairs sagged, coated in dust. As he stepped down, his tinnitus exploded, the vision crystal clear—a man hiding a body in a compartment, smirking as he walked away. He smashed open the stairwell's hidden panel, revealing another corpse, dressed in finery, a silver bracelet on its wrist matching the ring's style. He shouted, "Bookworm, here! The killer's here!"

Lin Yao ran over, staring at the corpse. "A man—probably the murderer." She checked her notebook against her dream, murmuring, "Staged suicide. He killed her, hid the body, and the mirror captured the resentment." She pulled a copper key from the corpse's pocket, frowning. "The mansion's key—maybe the source of the resentment."

The mirror trembled, its red glow flaring as the woman's figure reemerged, shrieking and lunging at them. Jiang Hao reacted fast, hurling the key at the mirror. His tinnitus morphed into a scream—"Give it back!"—as the woman grabbed it, her resentment fading. Lin Yao adjusted the copper shard, focusing the red light, sucking the woman back into the mirror. The glow extinguished, and the mirror fell silent.

The time distortion ceased, the corridor sinking into dead silence. The walkie-talkie crackled, Old Zhong's voice breaking through static: "Mirror's fixed—tossing it back." The wooden door rumbled, and the repaired mirror flew out, landing at Jiang Hao's feet. Its surface remained mottled, but no strange faces appeared.

The divine voice returned, gentle yet cold: "Filing complete. The next case awaits." Its tone shifted, laced with mockery. "Filing isn't the only solution—destruction is also worth watching." The voice faded, the mansion collapsed with a roar, and they were spat back into the courtyard. The bronze mirror lay quietly on the table as Jiang Hao and Lin Yao caught their breath, their mutual glare softened, the tension slightly eased.

Old Zhong shuffled in from the shopfront, hands trembling as he held a teacup. "You pulled it off again?" He glanced at the wooden door, his expression complex. "Don't trust everything it says. Thirty years ago, I saw it—they don't agree among themselves. Some want filing, others want destruction. They've even razed cities." He paused, his voice a faint sigh. "Be careful—you're not just pawns."

Jiang Hao rubbed his temples, smirking. "Pawns? I don't play along." Lin Yao closed her notebook, murmuring, "Destruction is worth watching? It's testing us."