Chapter 12: The Mirror

Li Zhuiyuan lifted his head and looked at the desk, the lamp, and the fifth volume of Records of Strange Happenings in the Martial World, which he had only just started.

Yes, he had fallen asleep—but he knew this wasn’t a dream.

He didn’t understand why, at the very last moment, the old woman had chosen to "release" him.

He didn’t want to use the word “save,” because it was also she who had pulled him into this Deathday Rite in the first place.

Perhaps it was too simple to label her as purely “good” or “evil.” After all, she was a fusion of a human and a cat’s corpse—a walking paradox, inherently complex.

Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples, massaging slowly.

Back when he was studying in Beijing, he felt like he was on a one-way street. No matter how crowded the cars and people were, as long as he stayed on that road, things would keep moving.

But after returning to his hometown, he found that although the roads were narrow and riddled with potholes, and there weren’t many people or vehicles, the crisscrossing paths through the rice paddies made him feel far more lost.

Even he could sense how much he had changed since returning home—especially in these days since meeting Little Oriole.

He observed more intently, thought more carefully, spoke more cautiously. Dealing with things that weren’t human… was truly difficult. There was no room for error.

As a result, he was starting to feel less and less like a ten-year-old child.

It used to be so easy, being a kid.

Suddenly, Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes snapped open, filled with shock.

Why—

Why would he think something like that?

What did he mean by “it used to be easy being a kid”? He was still a kid!

Panic surged through him. Fear crept up. He unconsciously hugged himself tight.

At that moment, an image surfaced in his mind: watching his mother through a crack in the door as she looked in the mirror every morning.

She would take deep breaths, again and again, as if suppressing something trying to tear its way out.

Li Zhuiyuan stood up and walked to the wardrobe. There was a mirror on its door.

He stared at his reflection—and suddenly found it strange.

He lifted his hand, touched the mirror, and in doing so, touched his own face.

He began to question: beneath this skin, who was he really?

He didn’t dare follow that thought any further. He turned around, breathing deeply, and repeated in his mind again and again:

I’m Li Zhuiyuan. I’m ten years old. My grandpa is Li Weihan. My grandma is Cui Guiying. My great-grandpa is Li Sanjiang.

Finally, he calmed down, and a childlike innocence returned to his face.

Earlier, he had felt a terror that rivaled the moment Cat-faced Granny found him in the kitchen.

Because he had a gut feeling: if he hadn’t stopped those thoughts just now—if he had let them spiral out—then the next time he looked in the mirror, he might have shown nothing but loathing.

Thankfully, he’d held himself back. Just like his mother did—calming herself with deep breaths, then forcing a gentle smile.

“Whew…”

Li Zhuiyuan shrugged and checked the time. It was 3:30 a.m.

Had he slept or not?

He didn’t feel like he’d slept, but he wasn’t tired. In fact, he felt better than after a normal night’s sleep.

Maybe it was because his consciousness had separated from his body, letting his body rest completely, free of distraction?

Li Zhuiyuan opened the door and stepped outside. The late-night breeze carried a chill and the dampness of approaching dawn.

Downstairs was quiet—or perhaps it had never been noisy to begin with.

But he didn’t dare go down alone. Rational safety could never trump fear of the unknown.

Just then, his great-grandpa’s bedroom window began to flash. It wasn’t the SOS rhythm, but Li Zhuiyuan didn’t hesitate—he pushed the door open and went in.

On the bed, Li Sanjiang was bleeding. His left hand yanked repeatedly at the bedside lamp cord.

His neck hurt so much he couldn’t call out. He was terrified no one would see, more terrified that the cord would snap or the switch would jam.

Luckily, he saw Li Zhuiyuan at the door.

“Little Yuanhou…”

Before the weak voice could even form, Li Sanjiang saw his great-grandson turn and bolt.

Yes, he knew the kid was going to get help, but still—he couldn’t help but feel a little hollow inside.

The “Great-grandpa’s fine,” “Don’t cry, Little Yuanhou” lines he had prepared were swallowed back, stuck in his throat.

Li Zhuiyuan rushed downstairs, unfazed by the dark. The lights were off, but the moonlight revealed the east side of the room, crowded with paper effigies.

Yes, the paper effigies were still there. He even spotted the plump master placed by the wall.

Most of the effigies followed traditional designs, but custom ones were often made to suit the client.

If a family worried their loved one might go hungry in the afterlife, they’d burn a paper chef.

Some old women, fearing that a young maid might take their place if they died first, would commission paper crones that looked older than themselves.

Out on the dam, Li Zhuiyuan went straight to the west house and knocked:

“Aunt Liu, Uncle Qin, open up! It’s me, Little Yuan. Great-grandpa’s hurt!”

The door opened.

Uncle Qin stood there. Behind him, Aunt Liu was sweeping the floor.

“What’s wrong, Little Yuan?” Uncle Qin asked.

“My great-grandpa’s hurt bad—lots of blood. He needs to go to the clinic.”

“I’ll go. I can stop the bleeding,” Aunt Liu said, dropping her broom and grabbing a cloth kit before rushing out. Uncle Qin followed close behind.

Li Zhuiyuan glanced at the dustpan filled with paper scraps, then at their retreating backs.

They… didn’t change out of their clothes to sleep?

He glanced toward the east house. She must be awake too.

But he didn’t go knock. Instead, he ran back. Passing the paper effigies again, he walked up to the plump master and reached out.

With the slightest touch, the figure collapsed into a heap.

And like a domino effect, all the paper effigies began to crumple—like a game of toppled blocks.

Soon, the once-crowded east half of the first floor lay bare, littered only with shredded paper and splintered wood.

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t flinch. He wasn’t even surprised. Calmly, he stepped through the debris, ignoring the papery crunch beneath his feet, and returned upstairs.

Back in the bedroom, Aunt Liu was dressing the wound.

The air smelled faintly of herbs—like tortoise jelly. She must’ve applied medicine first.

Uncle Qin had replaced the bloodstained bedding and fetched clean ones. Once the wound was dressed, he carefully laid Li Sanjiang back down.

As Aunt Liu packed up, Li Zhuiyuan stepped forward.

“Aunt Liu, how is he?”

“He lost a lot of blood. The wounds are serious, but all external. I’ve treated them—it’s fine. No need to go to the clinic. He just needs rest.”

Li Zhuiyuan looked at the man in bed. His great-grandfather’s face had regained much of its color.

Aunt Liu looked at him too, still a little surprised. Despite his age, the old man had strong qi and blood. He looked frail, but his body was resilient.

Men and women his age often didn’t survive a fall. Yet here he was, bleeding from several deep wounds, seemingly untouched at his core.

“Little Yuan, call us if anything else happens,” Uncle Qin said.

“Okay. Thank you, Uncle Qin, Aunt Liu.”

Once they left, Li Zhuiyuan filled a mug with hot water and brought it to the bed.

Li Sanjiang leaned back on the pillow, cradled the mug in his left hand, and sipped slowly.

Afterward, he sighed. “Little Yuanhou, starting today, let’s put the Transference Array for Calamity on hold.”

“Okay, Great-grandpa.”

“We’ll continue when I’m better.”

“Alright.” Li Zhuiyuan took the mug and set it aside. “Actually, we don’t have to keep going, Great-grandpa.”

“You silly kid. Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

Li Zhuiyuan took off his shoes, climbed onto the bed, and sat beside him, back against the headboard.

“Go to sleep, Little Yuanhou. Great-grandpa’s alright now.”

“Did Aunt Liu ask what happened?”

“I told her I fell.”

And they believed that?

Li Zhuiyuan had so many questions, but didn’t know where to begin. Clearly, his great-grandfather didn’t want to talk either.

After a long silence, he finally said, “Great-grandpa… how do I learn?”

If the ordeal with Little Oriole had left him confused and shaken, tonight’s events made him feel utterly powerless.

Li Sanjiang perked up at that. So the kid was finally ready to study seriously?

He felt quietly proud. That Transference Array must’ve worked! Look how it had straightened him out.

Good. If the boy was willing to work hard, a little blood was worth it.

Then again, he himself had been a scoundrel in his youth, even when he’d made it to the Shanghai Bund, mixing with crooks and drifters. He’d never had a proper education.

He’d learned to read just to follow the gossip columns in Shanghai newspapers.

Still, he could share a few basic principles.

“Little Yuanhou, don’t aim too high too fast. Lay a solid foundation first. That’s the only way to go far.”

So… back to reading Records of Strange Happenings in the Martial World, huh?

“I understand, Great-grandpa.”

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