A few seconds later, once Brother Feng had caught his breath, he weakly raised a trembling finger toward the bathroom. "The… mirror…"
That single, ordinary word sent a chill through Chen Ge. His expression darkened as he carefully settled Brother Feng onto the bed before stepping into the bathroom.
The mirror on the wall had been shattered—jagged shards littered the floor, glinting under the dim light.
After He San's fainting incident, Chen Ge had taken precautions, covering every mirror in the haunted house with black cloth. There had been no incidents since then, but with the recent addition of a new scenario, he should have been more vigilant. Now, guilt gnawed at him. He knew better than anyone how damaging a safety scandal could be for a business like his. One wrong rumor, and customers would vanish overnight.
Kneeling, he picked up a broken fragment, his own fractured reflection staring back at him. A cold resolve settled in his chest. I have to deal with this—now.
Like humans, ghosts were neither wholly good nor purely evil—but the thing in the mirror? Chen Ge was certain it was malice given form. It wasn't just hostile; it felt predatory, as if something unspeakable lurked behind its glassy surface. He San's collapse and now Brother Feng's ordeal were undeniable warnings. The pressure coiled in Chen Ge's chest like a spring.
Covering the mirrors had been a stopgap, not a solution. Whatever haunted the reflection was becoming more aggressive—a threat not just to visitors, but to the haunted house itself. He scanned the bathroom once more, but aside from the shattered mirror, nothing seemed amiss. Jaw tight, he stepped out.
The hammer's weight was familiar in his grip as he settled beside Brother Feng. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, voice low.
Brother Feng's breathing had steadied, but his pallor was ghostly. "I'm not sure I can explain it," he admitted, voice frayed.
"Just tell me what you remember." Chen Ge observed him closely. Unlike He San, who'd collapsed instantly, Brother Feng had resisted. That meant something.
With effort, Brother Feng pushed himself upright, fingers digging into the sheets. "I was hiding from one of your actors," he began, eyes darting as if reliving the moment. "At first, it was fine. Then… I heard something calling me."
"By name?"
"Not—not exactly. It was like… a pull." He dragged a hand through his hair. "The sound came from this room. Took me forever to realize…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "It was the mirror. Something in it was speaking—mumbling words I couldn't make out. But I knew… it was talking to me."
"I stood in front of the mirror, trying to make sense of it all," Brother Feng said, his voice unsteady. "I thought if I could just take it off the wall, the voice would stop. But the moment I touched it—" His fingers twitched as if reliving the contact. "The whispering grew louder, right in my ears. My head went fuzzy, and then… my reflection changed."
His gaze flickered toward the bathroom, braced for something to lurch out. "I was still standing there, but the thing in the mirror wasn't me anymore. Normally, that alone would've terrified me—but what happened next?" He swallowed hard. "That's what still haunts me."
"What did it do?" Chen Ge pressed.
Brother Feng's knuckles whitened on the bedsheet. "I wasn't scared. Not even a little. It felt… natural. Like I was supposed to lean closer." His breath hitched. "So I did. And the reflection—my other self—leaned in too. Its face was mine, but wrong. I can't explain how, just… it wasn't me."
A cold sweat glistened on his temple. "Then I saw my hands move without me telling them to. They pressed against the glass like—" He shuddered. "Like I was the reflection, trapped inside, clawing to get out."
Chen Ge had experienced something similar during his Nightmare Mission. His own footage had shown his body leaning toward the mirror, helpless against its pull. "How did you break free?" he asked, voice low.
Brother Feng's answer caught him off guard. "The mirror… in a way, it saved me."
Chen Ge's brows furrowed. "Explain."
"I'd lost all control—until I saw something in the reflection." Brother Feng's fingers twitched as he mimed the size. "A ragdoll. Tiny, about the size of my palm, with a stitched-on beard. Like the ones scattered around this place."
Chen Ge stiffened. "A doll?"
"The second I noticed it, fear hit me like a shockwave. Every instinct screamed run—but my body wouldn't obey. It was like… my mind and flesh were at war." Though his tone was flat, the memory tightened his jaw.
Then, a lifeline: "He San's scream from downstairs snapped me out of it. I panicked, grabbed a chair, and smashed the mirror." Brother Feng offered a weak smile. "Your haunted house's too convincing. Forgot it was just an attraction."
He hesitated, then added, "I'll pay for the damage. Every word I said was true—no exaggerations."
"Keep your money. Your safety matters more." Chen Ge rose, scanning the room. "Where's the doll now?"
Brother Feng paled. "I—I think I kicked it under the bed. Sorry, is it important?"
Chen Ge crouched, retrieving a dusty doll with a shoe print on its face. He brushed it off gently. "You should thank it. It's the reason you're alive."
Brother Feng's breath hitched. "It… saved me?" He edged backward, spine pressing into the wall. Even through gratitude, unease prickled—this proprietor, bloodstained and cradling a broken doll, felt wrong.
Then Chen Ge tilted his head, voice eerily light:
"What if I told you none of this was special effects? That it was all real?"
The 190cm-tall man curled into himself like a frightened child, voice thin with dread:
"I don't know. Should I believe you?"