Chapter Six: Realm Within the Mirror

Zhang Qinglin stood at the entrance of the cave, calming himself for quite some time after his harrowing escape. Gazing upon the scenery before him, he thought that stepping out of this cave should mean he could finally return. Striding forward, his steps grew faster with each pace, and just as he was about to be overjoyed—

With a loud “bang,” it felt as though his forehead had struck an icy, invisible barrier. Instantly, he was bounced back and landed hard on the ground.

“What in the world?” he muttered.

Dusting off his hands, he rubbed his sore backside and walked forward more cautiously. He gazed at the grass and trees outside the cave, their leaves gently swaying in the breeze—unmistakably real. So what was blocking his way?

Zhang Qinglin scrutinized the space before him from top to bottom. Was something invisible barring his path? Reaching out slowly with both hands, he advanced inch by inch. His fingers brushed against something unseen, cold as death itself, and he carefully felt it.

What could this be? Glass?

He decided to test it, to see if he could break through. He struck the barrier with all his might, but not only did it not shatter, his hand turned red and swollen. He punched it again, but it remained unyielding. Seeing how solid it was, Zhang Qinglin gave up.

He sat down, gazing out of the cave entrance. For the moment, there was no hope of leaving, so he closed his eyes to rest.

“Hee hee… hee hee hee…”

That laughter sounded again, so close—was she right beside him?

Suddenly, the car jolted. Zhang Qinglin’s eyes flew open; perhaps they’d hit a speed bump, and he lurched forward, nearly dropping the painting he held. Reacting quickly, his right hand caught the back of the front seat, bracing himself, while his left hand clutched the painting tightly.

Sweat trickled from his brow down to his neck.

He heard Wanqing speaking with Cheng Che.

“My hometown in Hangzhou has so many local specialties. When I go back, I’ll be sure to bring some for you,” Wanqing said.

“That sounds wonderful… Hangzhou really is a great place, though I’ve never been there myself,” Cheng Che replied, grinning at Wanqing in the rearview mirror.

“You must go someday then. I’ll be your guide and show you all around Hangzhou… But, Cheng Che, I want to ask you something,” Wanqing said, glancing at Zhang Qinglin leaning against the seat.

“Hm?” Cheng Che looked puzzled. “What’s on your mind?”

“Your friend is a bit odd. Ever since he got the painting, he’s been clutching it and won’t give it to me or set it down. What does he mean by that?” Wanqing asked curiously.

Cheng Che adjusted the rearview mirror to look at Zhang Qinglin, still hunched forward. After so many years together, was this another one of his episodes? He remembered the last time Zhang Qinglin relapsed—several doctors had been at a loss. But he’d been getting better, and it had been years since his last incident.

Cheng Che replied, “Oh… he’s just careful and meticulous. He’s worried something might happen to the painting after all the trouble we went through to get it. He’ll give it to you when we arrive. Lao Zhang, are you all right?”

Zhang Qinglin heard every word. He raised his right hand and waved to indicate he was fine.

After crossing the Third Ring Road, Zhang Qinglin sat up and settled back into his seat. The sweat had dried, but his mind was still turning over all that had happened today.

The car turned into an alleyway; the third building ahead was Uncle Jiang’s teahouse. Cheng Che parked by the curb. The lights were still on inside, which meant Sister Zhou, who watched the shop, hadn’t left yet.

The three of them got out. Uncle Jiang’s teahouse had been in business for years, but the storefront was never renovated, giving it an antique charm. The sign above the door, replaced two years ago at Zhang Qinglin’s request, bore four golden characters: “Azure Clouds over Water.” Zhang Qinglin had chosen it for its appeal, and though it did attract many passersby, the shop itself remained more of a curiosity than a success.

As they entered, Sister Zhou came to greet them. She was an ordinary woman, thirty-six years old, with a daughter in the countryside. She had left her hometown to make a living in Beijing and was a simple, honest soul.

She smiled and said, “Xiao Lin, you’re back.”

Zhang Qinglin nodded to her. “Thank you for your hard work today, Sister Zhou. Head home early and get some rest.”

At his words, Sister Zhou quickly replied, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Here are the keys. I’ll head off now.” She picked up her bag and handed a set of keys to Zhang Qinglin, then left.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Cheng Che said.

Zhang Qinglin shot him a glance and walked toward a screen on the left. Wanqing looked around absentmindedly. The teahouse was simply furnished—Cheng Che had mentioned it was two stories, with the first floor for regular customers and the second floor reserved for important guests.

“Hey… isn’t that the bronze mirror from the auction today—the one with the peeling surface?” Cheng Che asked in surprise, noticing Wanqing cradling the not-too-large bronze sunflower mirror.

Carrying the scroll case, Zhang Qinglin approached, his eyes flashing as he saw the mirror in Wanqing’s hands.

Wanqing pulled a face. “Oh, this? Don’t even mention it. I lost a fortune today. I bought it from a street vendor for nine thousand yuan, hoping to make a profit, but it’s just a worthless piece. I suppose a loss can be a blessing. At first, I liked the pattern, but now it seems quite useless.”

“No wonder you were in the restroom so long—you went to buy this. Lao Zhang and I were waiting for you, worried something had happened! Still, you’re well-off, what’s a little money? Just use it as a mirror,” Cheng Che said.

Wanqing forced a smile. “Sorry for making you both wait. And I’m not as rich as you think. Besides, who would dare use this as a mirror?”

Zhang Qinglin walked over and handed the scroll case to Wanqing. “Here’s your painting back.”

Then his gaze fell to the bronze mirror on the table. “May I take a look at your mirror?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“Of course!” Wanqing nodded.

Cheng Che, who had been pouring tea, straightened up, eyeing Zhang Qinglin curiously. “What’s there to see in that old, peeling thing? As if he’ll find something new,” he thought to himself.

“Wanqing, try this…” Cheng Che handed her a cup of Yunnan Pu’er tea.

Zhang Qinglin picked up the bronze sunflower mirror and sat at the pearwood tea table to the left. He examined it carefully. The reverse side of the mirror had eight sunflower petals and several entwined grape vines—exceptionally crafted.

He hesitated for a long time, not daring to turn the mirror over, fearing that to do so might cast him under some spell. Yet he couldn’t let it go without a closer look. He ran his fingers over the surface, which Wanqing had polished until it gleamed.

Slowly, he rotated the mirror from bottom to top…

As he finally turned the mirror over, Zhang Qinglin’s eyes stared at the surface in terror.