Chapter Three: The Resident in the Mirror (Part I)

On the third night, the rain had stopped, but a lingering dampness permeated the air. A thin mist shrouded the courtyard of Chang'an Coffin Shop, the candlelight creating halos in the fog that made the proprietor's pale face appear even more otherworldly. The ten listeners took their seats once again, with Ms. Lin unconsciously touching the antique camera pendant at her neck, her expression visibly uneasy.

"Tonight," the proprietor's voice broke the courtyard's silence, the eerie echo effect particularly pronounced in the misty air, "I will tell a story about mirrors. Mirrors... curious objects that are both reflections of physical reality and windows to another world."

His gaze swept across each person present, finally settling on Ms. Lin. "Mirrors, like cameras, capture images. But sometimes, what they capture extends beyond the world we see..."

The proprietor lit an unusually thin black candle that emitted a flame of near-purple dark blue, casting a strange quality of light through the air. "Our story begins in an antique shop, with a young woman named Su Ying, and a mirror from the ancient Chang'an Mansion..."

------

Tianbao Antiques was nestled in an easily overlooked alleyway in the city, modest in size yet home to a collection that astonished connoisseurs. Su Ying had worked there for three years, responsible for cataloging and documenting the shop's treasures. She particularly loved European antiques, especially exquisite pieces from the Victorian era—when designers had an almost obsessive exploration of death and beauty, elegantly merging the two.

This was a special morning. Su Ying pushed open the antique shop door and detected an atmosphere different from usual—not the familiar blend of wood and metal typical of antiques, but something older and more profound, like ancient soil surfacing from deep underground.

"Has Manager Lin returned?" she asked softly, walking toward the dimly lit interior.

"Yes, he got back last night," Wang Ming, another employee, answered as he carefully polished an old oil lamp. "He brought back many items from the Chang'an Mansion, and specifically mentioned that one piece was for you to see."

"Chang'an Mansion?" Su Ying raised an eyebrow. The name was familiar. That residence, built at the end of the Ming Dynasty, was nearly legendary in antique circles. Its collection had reportedly never been opened to the public, with many suspecting it housed objects beyond the conventional. "How did Manager Lin gain access?"

"Not sure, he only mentioned a 'fortunate coincidence,'" Wang Ming smiled mysteriously. "But that item is truly special—it's in the storeroom. Manager Lin said you'd appreciate it."

Su Ying nodded, set down her bag, and walked directly to the storeroom at the back of the shop. As she pushed open the somewhat heavy wooden door, her heartbeat inexplicably accelerated. The room was darker than usual, with the only light source coming from an old desk lamp in the corner, its beam falling precisely on a tall object covered with white cloth in the center of the room.

The shape was unmistakably that of a standing mirror.

"Su Ying, you've arrived." Manager Lin's voice from the shadows startled her. He was a slender middle-aged man who always wore impeccably tailored Chinese changshan, now standing beside the mirror with an uncommon expression of excitement.

"I hear you've brought back a special mirror?" Su Ying approached, attempting to conceal her curiosity and anticipation.

"Not merely special," Manager Lin's voice lowered, carrying an almost reverent respect. "This may be one of the rarest items I've ever handled." He turned toward the cloth-covered object. "Are you ready?"

Su Ying nodded, feeling an inexplicable tension. Manager Lin slowly pulled away the cloth, revealing a magnificent standing mirror.

It stood nearly two meters tall, its frame carved from dark wood covered in intricate patterns—intertwining vines, peculiar flowers, and symbols difficult to identify. The mirror's shape wasn't the common rectangle but slightly oval, with a woman's face carved at the top, her expression serene yet mysterious. The mirror surface itself was slightly foggy with a faint bronze-colored luster, reflecting images with a strange sense of distance, as if viewed through a thin mist.

"This is..." Su Ying instinctively reached out to touch the frame, her fingertips immediately sensing an unusual coldness unlike normal wood.

"This mirror reportedly belonged to the mistress of the Chang'an Mansion," Manager Lin explained. "Legend says she possessed a special ability to see through the mirror... things that ordinary people couldn't see."

"What sort of things?" Su Ying couldn't tear her gaze from the mirror, noticing that her reflection seemed to move a fraction slower than her actual movements, but when she tried to observe this more carefully, the sensation disappeared.

"Legend says she could see the past and future." Manager Lin's tone grew serious. "But that's merely legend. In fact, there are few records about this mirror—only that it remained in Chang'an Mansion for at least two hundred years, never leaving that room until now."

"How did you convince them to sell it?" Su Ying couldn't help asking.

Manager Lin smiled. "I didn't. The current owner of the mansion offered it voluntarily, saying the mirror 'had grown tired of that place.'" He paused. "A strange way of putting it, but the world of antique collectors has no shortage of eccentric personalities."

"It's beautiful," Su Ying said, mesmerized. "I've never seen this style of carving before—it blends Eastern and Western elements, yet belongs to no known artistic tradition..."

"I knew you would appreciate it." Manager Lin smiled with satisfaction. "Considering your aesthetic sensibility and sensitivity to antiques, I thought perhaps this mirror could stay with you temporarily? We need to document its details and history more thoroughly before deciding whether to sell it."

Su Ying looked at her boss in delighted surprise. "Really?"

"Of course, no one is better suited to care for it than you." Manager Lin patted her shoulder, then his expression suddenly turned serious. "However, there is one thing to note—the mansion's owner specifically cautioned against looking into the mirror at eighteen minutes past midnight."

"Why that particular time?" Su Ying asked, puzzled.

"He didn't explain, only saying it was 'what the mirror requested.'" Manager Lin shrugged. "Perhaps just superstition or some collector's quirk. Regardless, I've arranged for the mirror to be delivered to your home tomorrow. Take good care of it."

That night, lying in bed, Su Ying couldn't sleep. Her thoughts continuously returned to that mysterious mirror—its texture, the carved patterns, the slightly misty surface, and that strange time: eighteen minutes past midnight. Why that specific moment? It reminded her of the numerical sequence from the Midnight Whispers story: 47918. She inexplicably connected the two, though there seemed no obvious relationship between them.

The next day, as Manager Lin had promised, two workers delivered the mirror to her apartment on Maple Street Number 18. She had specifically cleared a wall in her living room, making the magnificent antique mirror the focal point of the space. After the mirror was properly positioned, she spent the entire afternoon meticulously recording every carving detail on the frame, taking numerous photographs, and attempting to find similar styles in various antique catalogs and art history references, but to no avail. This mirror seemed to be a unique creation, belonging to no known artistic style or period.

After sunset, Su Ying lit some scented candles, sitting before the mirror, admiring how the candlelight danced across its bronze-tinted surface. She unconsciously reached out to touch the mirror's surface, feeling a coldness unlike normal temperature, as if this glass had never been warmed by sunlight.

"What secrets do you hold?" she softly asked the mirror, then felt a moment of embarrassment—speaking to a mirror seemed foolish. But in the dim candlelight, the mirror seemed to possess a strange vitality, as if capable of listening and responding.

Night deepened, and as Su Ying prepared for bed, she suddenly recalled Manager Lin's warning—don't look into the mirror at eighteen minutes past midnight. It was already approaching midnight, less than half an hour from that specific time. Rationality told her this was mere superstition, perhaps just an eccentric requirement from the mansion's former owner; but another part of her, the part with keen intuition for antiques, felt an inexplicable attraction.

"It's just one look, what could possibly happen?" she told herself, deciding to wait for that moment.

Su Ying made a cup of tea, sat on the sofa facing the mirror, and quietly waited. As the minutes ticked by, her heartbeat involuntarily quickened when her phone displayed 12:17 a.m. What would happen? Or perhaps nothing would happen, and this was just a meaningless superstition?

Twelve-eighteen arrived.

At first, nothing happened. The mirror continued peacefully reflecting the candlelight and her silhouette. Su Ying sighed in relief, though feeling a hint of disappointment. Just as she prepared to return to her bedroom, she noticed a subtle change—the mirror's surface seemed hazier, the reflection more indistinct, as if viewed through dense fog.

Su Ying blinked, thinking fatigue might be causing the illusion. The moment she reopened her eyes, her heart nearly stopped—in the mirror, in the shadows behind her, a vague human silhouette had appeared.

Her pupils contracted sharply, her eyeballs experiencing an acute stabbing pain as if countless fine needles were simultaneously piercing them. This was no illusion—that shadow truly existed, a standing figure with blurred outlines yet undeniably real within the mirror.

Su Ying spun around, but there was no one behind her. When she faced the mirror again, the shadow had vanished, the mirror resuming its normal clarity, reflecting only her terrified expression and pale face.

"I must be exhausted," she muttered, forcing herself to calm down. "Probably just a trick of light and shadow..."

But she knew what she had seen. It wasn't an optical illusion caused by lighting; that figure had possessed an undeniable presence, as if watching her from the other side of the mirror.

That night, Su Ying barely slept. Each time she closed her eyes, she could vividly recall that blurred figure in the mirror, the sensation of being observed feeling so real it sent chills through her. Sleep finally claimed her at dawn, pulling her into a dream filled with shattered mirrors and endless reflections.

Over the next few days, Su Ying tried to convince herself it had been a momentary illusion, perhaps caused by work stress or excessive anticipation regarding the mirror. She continued her normal life, working at the antique shop during the day, returning home at night to further research the mirror's origins and craftsmanship. But each evening, as eighteen minutes past midnight approached, she felt an irresistible attraction, as if the mirror were calling to her.

On the fourth night, Su Ying decided to try again. This time, she prepared more thoroughly—setting up a digital camera programmed to automatically photograph at eighteen minutes past midnight, hoping to capture any potential anomaly.

As midnight struck, Su Ying sat on the carpet before the mirror, patiently awaiting that specific moment. The camera operated silently nearby, its red light blinking to indicate readiness.

Twelve-eighteen arrived.

For the first few seconds, everything remained normal. Then, just like before, the mirror's surface began to blur, but this time the change was more pronounced. Su Ying sensed a strange vibration in the air, like energy waves reverberating through the room. The air around the mirror slightly distorted, resembling the mirage effect of summer heat waves, though the room's actual temperature was quite low.

Then, she saw the figure again, clearer this time. It stood behind her reflection, still blurred but with more defined outlines—a female figure wearing what appeared to be ancient robes, hair arranged in an elaborate style.

The camera emitted a soft shutter sound, capturing the moment. Su Ying held her breath, her body rigid, afraid to move or turn around, fearing she might break this strange moment. She felt a tingling across her skin as if countless tiny electrical currents were flowing over the surface, making her abnormally sensitive to even the slightest changes in the surrounding air.

The figure remained in the mirror for about ten seconds, then dissipated like mist. The mirror returned to normal, reflecting only Su Ying's shocked face and the empty room behind her.

When she could finally move, Su Ying immediately checked the camera. The photograph clearly showed her sitting before the mirror, but what horrified her was that in the photo, the mirror contained nothing unusual—only her reflection, with no other figure.

"That's impossible..." she whispered, recalling the vivid visual experience she'd just had. Had it truly been a hallucination? But it felt so real, so... present.

Over the following weeks, Su Ying found herself falling into an almost obsessive state. Every night at eighteen minutes past midnight, she would sit before the mirror, waiting for that mysterious figure to appear. Sometimes it would manifest, other times the mirror remained empty. But each time it appeared, the figure became clearer, the outlines more defined, even beginning to develop facial features—deep-set eyes, a mouth with an ambiguous smile.

Even stranger, Su Ying began noticing subtle changes—her reflection in the mirror would sometimes lag slightly behind her movements, as if experiencing a subtle delay. Initially, this difference was barely perceptible, but as time passed, the delay became increasingly obvious.

Meanwhile, strange occurrences multiplied. Her cat "Little Gray"—normally a docile British Shorthair—began refusing to enter the room containing the mirror. Whenever forcibly brought in, it would arch its back, emit hissing warnings, eyes fixed on the mirror as if perceiving some threat.

Su Ying also began experiencing inexplicable sensations. After long periods gazing into the mirror, even when she closed her eyes, she could still see the figure's silhouette in the darkness, like visual persistence but lasting far beyond the normal range. Sometimes, waking in the middle of the night, she would glimpse a blurred figure in the corner of her bedroom, but upon turning to look directly, nothing would be there.

These experiences should have terrified her, but Su Ying found herself strangely attracted. As someone with special sensitivity toward antiques, she had always believed certain objects could carry and preserve energy or memories from the past. This mirror might be the most exceptional example she'd encountered in her career—an object truly connecting to the past.

However, the most disturbing change was her memory confusion. It began with minor issues—forgetting what she'd had for lunch yesterday, or which friend's gathering she'd attended last Friday. But as time passed, this confusion worsened. She began having fragments of unfamiliar memories—a courtyard she'd never visited, conversations she'd never participated in, an ancient melody she couldn't remember learning yet could perfectly play.

Most shocking was when, organizing photographs one day, she discovered childhood photos containing scenes and people she couldn't remember. More frightening still, when she questioned her mother about these photos, her mother confirmed they indeed showed Su Ying with an aunt who had passed away years ago, in the garden of their old home. But Su Ying had no recollection of this, the aunt's face completely unfamiliar to her.

"What's happening to my memory?" Su Ying began doubting her mental state. Was it work stress? Or was the mirror truly affecting her somehow?

Despite everything, she still couldn't resist the mirror's attraction. Every night at eighteen minutes past midnight, she would punctually sit before it, "meeting" with that increasingly clear figure. She began calling this figure "Ying Ying," like a reflection of her own name.

"Who are you?" one night, Su Ying softly asked the gradually clarifying figure. "What do you want?"

The mirror offered no response, but Su Ying swore she saw those eyes flicker, the corners of the mouth lifting slightly, as if smiling.

A month later, Su Ying's condition had drawn concern from colleagues and friends. She became absent-minded, often lost in thought, indifferent to everything around her. Her complexion grew pale, with obvious shadows beneath her eyes, as if suffering from prolonged sleep deprivation. More strangely, she occasionally spoke words inconsistent with her personality or quoted ancient texts she couldn't possibly know.

Manager Lin was particularly concerned about her changes. "Su Ying, are you alright?" he asked with concern one day after work. "You seem... different lately."

"I'm fine," Su Ying answered mechanically, her gaze unfocused. "Just tired, not sleeping well recently."

"Is it that mirror?" Manager Lin's expression suddenly turned serious. "If it's making you uncomfortable, I can arrange to have it returned."

"No!" Su Ying's reaction was too intense, startling Manager Lin. "I mean... that's not necessary. I like it very much. It's an exceptionally special art piece, and I'm still researching its history and craftsmanship..." She forced herself to relax, managing a strained smile.

Manager Lin stared at her for a moment, seeming about to say something, but ultimately just nodded. "Very well, but if you change your mind, let me know anytime."

Returning home that evening, Su Ying went directly to the room housing the mirror. Somehow, she could always sense the mirror's presence, feeling its pull even through walls. She stood before it, forcing herself to face the reflection that no longer fully mimicked her movements. Her eyeballs felt dry and burning, staring too long to blink normally, yet her tear glands, stimulated by fear, were overactive, warm tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I am Su Ying," she repeated softly, like an incantation strengthening her self-identity. "I like Victorian-era antiques, I live at 18 Maple Street, my birthday is July 9th..."

But when she tried to recall childhood photographs, the images were unclear. Had she really owned a cat named "Little Flower"? Had that bone fracture occurred at eight or ten years old? Why were these memories, which should have been firmly established, suddenly so uncertain?

Most disturbing was the date she had just mentioned—July 9th. The moment she said it, she suddenly realized her birthday was actually April 18th. Where were these false memories coming from? The mirror figure's lips curled slightly upward, as if satisfied with her confusion.

"Stop it!" Su Ying suddenly cried out. "Stop playing with my memories!"

The reflection merely gazed calmly back at her, its expression seeming to say: "I'm doing nothing; this is all your imagination."

Su Ying took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She decided to conduct an experiment to prove she wasn't suffering from delusions. She took out her phone, activated the video function, and aimed it at the mirror. If there truly were anomalies in the mirror, they should be recorded.

Twelve-eighteen soon arrived. Su Ying stood before the mirror, holding her phone steady. Initially, everything appeared normal—the mirror showing only her anxious reflection. Then, she noticed a subtle change—when she raised her left hand, the reflection followed her movement only after a delay of several seconds.

"Did you see that?" she whispered, addressing both herself and the phone camera. "There's a delay..."

She began performing a series of movements—raising both hands, rotating her wrists, bending her fingers—and with each action, the mirror reflection would follow only after a several-second delay. This wasn't an illusion but a tangible anomaly.

Just as she prepared to test further, something occurred that froze her blood—the mirror reflection suddenly stopped moving, no longer following her commands, instead staring directly at her, lips curling into an eerie smile.

Su Ying stumbled backward in terror, the phone slipping from her hand. But more horrifying still—as she turned to flee the room, her peripheral vision caught a spine-chilling sight: in the mirror, her back figure remained standing in place, facing the mirror, smiling as it watched the real Su Ying escape...

------

"This..." Ms. Lin's voice trembled slightly as she unconsciously touched the antique camera pendant at her neck, her face having turned pale. "This is so..."

The proprietor paused his narration and smiled faintly. "It seems this story has touched upon some particular memories of yours, Ms. Lin." His gaze fell upon her pendant. "That camera pendant, is it from your own collection?"

Ms. Lin instinctively clutched the pendant in her hand, as if it provided some sense of security. "Yes," she answered softly. "A chance discovery at an antique market..."

"Chance, was it?" The proprietor's smile deepened. "In my stories, there are no true coincidences, only destined encounters."

The air in the courtyard seemed to grow heavier, all ten listeners feeling an inexplicable oppression, as if the mirror from the story were hidden somewhere nearby, silently watching them.

"We'll end here tonight," the proprietor closed his folding fan. "Tomorrow night, we will see how Su Ying confronts the other self in the mirror, and... the truth of that world."

As the audience rose to leave, Reporter Zhou curiously asked: "Why did the mirror choose eighteen minutes past midnight? Does this time hold special significance?"

The proprietor smiled mysteriously. "Time is merely appearance; what matters are the numbers it represents—1-2-1-8. Read it backward..."

"8-1-2-1..." Young Huang suddenly realized. "Wait, isn't that..."

"Yes," the proprietor nodded. "Every story has its connections, every number hides its secrets. Tomorrow night, everything will become clearer..."

As the last listener departed the courtyard, the mist grew thicker, seemingly consciously wrapping around their ankles. Ms. Lin walked last, feeling the proprietor's gaze following her constantly, particularly focused on the antique camera pendant at her neck. For some reason, she decided that upon returning home tonight, she would lock that pendant in a drawer, at least not wearing it to sleep...