Chapter 14:
The Ghost in the Mirror (Part 7):
Let Me Have a Taste, Just One…
Dawn hadn’t fully broken, only a dim, pre-dawn light. A little past four in the morning, the villa was eerily silent. Despite the surrounding hills and water, there were no birdsong or cicada calls. Animals knew to avoid danger; humans, however, were often trapped by greed.
Chen Henian returned to his room, packed the mirror into his suitcase, and went to the storage shed in the back. Two coffins now occupied the space. The original one, still covered with cloth, lay discarded. Fragrant cedar coffins weren’t difficult to make. If the bottom was lined with willow branches and soil, the sealed yin energy could not only preserve a corpse but potentially turn it into a jiangshi.
But Old Man Wang wasn’t special. He had appeared at the gate, then progressively closer each night, his movements too predictable.
Chen Henian lifted the coffin lid. The interior was empty, just large enough for a body. He took three incense sticks from his suitcase, lit them, and watched the smoke curl past his chin before holding them in his hand.
“Incense facing north, three bows to ask the long road.” He held the incense above his head, bowing three times towards the coffin. This simplified ritual sufficed for him.
Some people were naturally suited for dealing with the dead. Those with reputation and lineage established sects, while others remained folk practitioners.
As expected, the incense sticks didn’t break. The source of Old Man Wang’s anomaly wasn’t the coffin.
Chen Henian placed the burning incense in the cracks of the coffin. Ghosts consumed incense; it was a small offering.
The mirror ghost had manipulated a corpse without such mediums.
He stroked his chin, his mind racing. His master had mentioned a sect specializing in ghost control.
Ghost control was even more specialized than corpse driving. Practitioners could completely control ghosts, turning them into hounds or servants. Their secret methods didn’t require sacrifices and had minimal side effects. But this sect rarely interacted with the outside world, living in seclusion in the mountains.
If ghosts could be controlled, could corpses be as well? Could the mirror ghost be controlling both the female ghost and Old Man Wang’s corpse? This was a possibility.
What if the mirror ghost was a deceased member of this sect? But the ghost had told a story, a story of a beheaded opera singer. Ghosts didn’t usually make up stories. It was likely its own.
A lowly opera singer, trapped in a mirror, a descendant of such a powerful lineage? Chen Henian quickly dismissed the idea. He closed his suitcase, and as he turned to leave, he noticed something.
He touched the coffin lid, the splinters pricking his fingers.
Scratches covered the inside of the lid, the wood’s surface marred by white lines, small and chaotic, like someone had clawed at it with their fingernails, traces of blood mixed in.
He scratched the wood with his own nail. The marks were similar.
The scratches were recent. The coffin hadn’t held anyone else. Old Man Wang had made them, while he was still alive.
He had been buried alive.
Chen Henian examined the marks, his certainty growing. He had seen this before. It wasn’t difficult to imagine. The son burying his father, sealing the coffin. Old Man Wang waking up inside, perhaps on the way to the graveyard, or already buried, trying and failing to open the coffin, suffocating to death.
It was strange that he hadn’t become a vengeful ghost. If it were him, he would have turned the house upside down.
…
“Little Master, why are you asking about this?” Wang’s wife’s eyes were swollen, her voice subdued, her head lowered in shame.
She didn’t understand why Chen Henian had sought her out. They sat on a wooden bench outside the villa. She was distraught, but Chen Henian didn’t care.
He asked her about Old Man Wang’s burial. Anyone could tell something was amiss. Wang Sr.’s account had been vague. People always concealed inconvenient truths. He wanted to hear the unvarnished truth. Wang’s wife, her emotions still raw, was unlikely to lie.
She couldn’t refuse his questions, her voice flat. “My father-in-law did die in an accident. We weren’t home that day. He was watching the news in the living room.”
Chen Henian asked, “Was the chandelier newly installed?”
Wang’s wife nodded. “Yes.”
“Who installed it?”
“My husband.” She looked at Chen Henian, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “I was also puzzled. The old light was perfectly fine. He insisted on installing a chandelier. But it’s not unusual. My husband believes in metaphysics. With our financial difficulties, he thought it would bring good fortune.”
She pointed through the window to the spot where the chandelier had hung. “It had been up for a week, professionally installed. It never fell when we sat underneath. My husband isn’t that careless.”
Chen Henian continued, “After the accident, did you take him to the hospital? How did you know he was dead?”
Wang’s wife recalled, “There was a lot of blood. The chandelier hit his head. My son was the first to arrive. He told us he was gone. My husband and Second Brother took care of the body.”
Chen Henian said, “You buried him without confirmation.”
“Are you saying my father-in-law wasn’t dead? You can’t say that.” She couldn’t imagine the alternative. “Our family is close. My son is twenty years old. Would he lie about something like this?”
Chen Henian smiled. “You don’t seem to know your son very well.”
Wang’s wife frowned, speechless.
“The eldest prepared the chandelier, the second the coffin. What about the third?” Chen Henian asked. “What did he do?”
Wang’s wife sighed. “Third Brother? He came back after the funeral. He had a huge argument, throwing things, almost destroying the house.”
“That’s it?”
“I don’t know anything else.”
“Alright.” Chen Henian nodded, then asked, “Does he love money?”
“What?” Wang’s wife was confused.
“Your husband,” Chen Henian clarified. “You said your family is bankrupt, but he seems to have plenty of money. You must have noticed. When did he change, when did he stop worrying about money?”
Wang’s wife’s expression gave Chen Henian the answer he sought.
“One greedy, one lustful.” Chen Henian understood quite a bit. He looked at Wang’s wife. “Make me a meal, then leave.”
“Why?” she asked. “Leave for where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
Chen Henian said, “There’s no reason for you to stay. Check your joint accounts in a while. You might receive a windfall.”
Wang’s wife’s eyes widened. She was intelligent.
“Do you know what happens to those who make deals with ghosts?”
Before she could answer, Chen Henian leaned closer, his voice calm, yet playful. “They go to the eighteenth level of hell.”
His onyx eyes gleamed with an orange light.
Wang’s wife was shaken, his beautiful face as menacing as a venomous snake. His words were both a threat and a warning. He smiled, a cold, indifferent smile. “My condolences.”
Wang’s wife nodded silently.
Their conversation ended. Chen Henian walked away, his excitement seemingly diminished. He returned to his room, locked the door, and took out the mirror.
He held it up to his face, calling out, “Coward, come out.”
“What are you afraid of?” he taunted. The great ghost within him had awakened, and the mirror ghost was hiding, only resorting to illusions.
“Come out.”
He tapped the mirror lightly.
“Let’s talk.”
He felt his patience wearing thin. “I’ll count to three. If you don’t come out, I’ll have to resort to other methods.”
The mirror remained unresponsive.
Seeing its defiance, Chen Henian took out a silver knife. Silver was a potent weapon against ghosts. He held the mirror in his left hand, the knife in his right, the blade against the glass, turning it slightly for the ghost to see.
Without another word, he plunged the knife into the mirror.
A sharp scraping sound!
The blade slid across the surface, lodging in the frame. The mirror didn’t break, but his fingers throbbed.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his hand.
He frowned as the red string on his finger twitched. Emboldened and slightly irritated, he said, “Don’t come out! This doesn’t concern you!”
The string stilled. Chen Henian ignored it, his eyes fixed on the mirror.
He couldn’t handle a mere mirror ghost?
He raised his chin, scoffing, and picked up the knife again, this time turning the blade towards himself.
He smiled, slicing his finger. Blood welled up, a shallow cut, two drops dripping down his finger. He held his hand over the mirror.
“This is my blood. Don’t you want a taste?”
He wiggled his finger, the blood droplets close to falling.
His blood was like nectar to ghosts, an irresistible temptation.
A single drop was enough for them to smell the sweet scent, their hunger insatiable. The mirror ghost was undoubtedly struggling to resist.
“If you miss this, it’ll be a pity,” Chen Henian said. “No other ghost has tasted it yet.”
The two drops of blood fell.
Bright red, like berries.
He was a patient hunter, waiting silently, his finger still, until, at the very moment the blood fell, the mirror ghost emerged, unable to resist, its mouth open, reaching for the drops.
But it was too slow. Chen Henian’s hand shot out, grabbing its neck.
“I knew it! I knew it!” The mirror ghost was furious, but it couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity. It desperately tried to lick the wound on his other hand. “Let me taste it, just one taste, just one lick—!”
“No,” Chen Henian held its face firmly. “You have to trade for it.”
