The dance studio was shrouded in an unnatural stillness, the air thick with a tension that pressed against Chen Ge's chest like a physical weight. The mirror's spectral vision continued to unfold, its images sharp and vivid, as if the past were bleeding into the present. The man in the reflection—a hulking figure with a menacing presence—stood before the five young women, all at least eighteen, his glare a silent threat that seemed to suck the warmth from the room. One of the women, her face streaked with tears, began to sob, her shoulders shaking as she cowered under his gaze. The man's patience snapped; he yanked her up from the floor, his meaty finger jabbing accusingly at her face as his lips moved in a furious, inaudible tirade. The woman shook her head frantically, her pleas lost in the mirror's mute replay.
Another woman, as tall as Zhang Ya and carrying herself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, rose to her feet. She sauntered toward the man, her movements deliberate, her expression suggesting a familiarity that went beyond mere acquaintance. Chen Ge's stomach twisted as he watched her place a hand on the man's arm, her lips curving into a persuasive smile as she spoke to the other women. She knows him—maybe too well, he thought, a dark suspicion forming. Was she the one who arranged for him to show up right after the teacher left? Her role in this memory felt calculated, her influence over the group palpable as she coaxed the others, her words softening their resistance.
Under her persuasion and the man's looming threat, the remaining women relented, their nods reluctant but unanimous. The group huddled together for a few more minutes, their discussion tense, their glances darting nervously toward the door. The man, satisfied, was the first to leave, his heavy footsteps fading into the mirror's silence. The five women filed into the dressing room, emerging soon after in their school uniforms, their ballet dresses discarded. They left the studio in a hurry, their faces etched with a mix of fear and guilt, and the mirror's surface stilled, returning to its glassy, unyielding normalcy.
The atmosphere in the dance studio grew heavier, the chill at Chen Ge's back intensifying until it felt like he was tethered to a frozen corpse. Zhang Ya's presence was a constant, oppressive force, her spectral form pressed against him, her icy touch seeping into his bones. That's it? Chen Ge thought, his mind racing to process the mirror's fragmented tale. The vision had revealed a pivotal moment, but it stopped short of showing Zhang Ya's fate. There has to be more. His thoughts churned, piecing together possibilities. A fall from the fourth floor wouldn't necessarily kill her, especially if she didn't land headfirst. She could've survived… unless someone made sure she didn't.
A grim hypothesis took shape. Did that man—the "fatty"—finish her off to cover his tracks? Chen Ge considered the logistics. The school's water system had been renovated, so perhaps it had been used to dispose of evidence, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. No, that's too clean for reality. Zhang Ya went missing here, so the police would've investigated. Covering up a murder isn't as simple as TV makes it seem—the more you hide, the more you expose. The mirror's silence frustrated him, its story incomplete, leaving him grasping at shadows for answers.
Maybe Inspector Lee can help, Chen Ge mused. This was a murder, and Western Jiujiang's Private Academy falls under his jurisdiction. He might have records, even if it's an old case. The idea was solid, a lifeline to cling to, but as he bent to retrieve his cracked phone, a bloodcurdling scream erupted behind him. Zhang Ya's hair, silken and cold as death, slithered up his shoulders, coiling around his neck and chest like serpents claiming their prey. The strands tightened, binding their bodies closer, her spectral form pressing against him with an intimacy that was both terrifying and possessive. Chen Ge's breath hitched, his voice strained as he gasped, "I'm not leaving! I'm here to help you!"
His words did nothing to loosen the constricting hair, which squeezed like a boa constrictor, cutting off his air. From Zhang Ya's perspective, this was no act of aggression but an expression of devotion—a twisted, suffocating love that sought to merge them into one. Chen Ge's mind reeled, the cursed nature of her love letter now painfully clear. She doesn't want a living man. The more she loves, the more she kills. Trapped back-to-back with a Red Specter, his limbs too weak to resist, he fought to keep his wits. "I'll call the police!" he choked out. "I'll make sure everyone who hurt you faces justice—legally, through the law!"
The plea sounded hollow even to him. Zhang Ya's case was unlike any other. The family at Ping An Apartments had needed him to enact their vengeance, but Zhang Ya? She's already taken her revenge. The five women, bound to their chairs, their white dancing shoes stained red, were proof of her wrath. Chen Ge's role in her story felt redundant, a pawn in a game she'd already won. Yet her hair tightened further, her cold grip unrelenting, as if his promises were meaningless against the depth of her resentment. The studio's darkness closed in, the mirror reflecting only his desperate face and the looming, bloodied silhouette of Zhang Ya, her presence a reminder that his mission—to find her red dancing shoes before dawn—was a race against her mercy, and time was running out.
The once-kind and graceful Zhang Ya had been twisted into a vengeful, deranged specter, her humanity consumed by a seething resentment that radiated from her like a palpable force. Chen Ge's mind recoiled at the thought of the unimaginable horrors that must have befallen the five young women—each at least eighteen, their spectral forms now eternally bound to those cursed chairs in the dance studio. The brutality of their fate, and Zhang Ya's role in it, sent a shudder through him, his imagination faltering at the edge of such darkness. Resigned to his own doom, Chen Ge braced for the end, expecting Zhang Ya's black hair to tighten its stranglehold and snuff out his life. But, inexplicably, the silken strands paused, their constricting grip halting just as his vision began to blur from lack of air.
"What's wrong?" he gasped, seizing the moment to plead his case. "Are there others who haven't faced their punishment? I'll help you bring them all to justice—every last one who hurt you!" His voice was desperate, a frantic vow to align himself with her wrath. The hair loosened slightly, as if Zhang Ya were weighing his words, her spectral presence considering whether his offer held merit. Chen Ge stood frozen, his heart hammering in the oppressive silence of the dance studio, waiting for her verdict. The air was thick with tension, every second stretching into an eternity as he balanced on the razor's edge between life and death.
Ten seconds later, the stillness shattered. The studio door creaked open, and a lanky figure peered inside, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling from the corridor. Chen Ge's eyes locked onto the intruder, and a cruel, predatory grin split the man's face, his bloodshot gaze gleaming with malicious excitement. A peony tattoo snaked across his hand as he drew a fruit knife from his back pocket, its blade catching the faint glow of Chen Ge's discarded phone. But as the man's eyes met Chen Ge's, a mirrored expression flickered across Chen Ge's face—a grim, knowing smile that seemed to say, You've walked right into my trap.
"Surprised to see me?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "You left too many breadcrumbs, Chen Ge. Footprints on the outer wall's bricks, fresh dirt and grass on the first-floor window, and your clumsy tracks all over this building. You're careless, and now you'll pay for it!" The man was Zhang Peng, his mental state teetering on the edge of mania, his bloodshot eyes wild with intent. He gripped the fruit knife in his usable hand, his posture radiating violence. But as he took his first step into the studio, his expression morphed from vicious confidence to stark terror. His gaze darted past Chen Ge, fixating on something—or someone—behind him, his face draining of color as he stumbled backward, his knife trembling in his grip.
Is the mirror monster controlling him? Chen Ge wondered, his mind racing to make sense of Zhang Peng's sudden panic. Before he could process further, Zhang Peng bolted, his limbs jerking in unnatural angles as he fled down the stairs, his movements eerily puppet-like, as if an invisible force were yanking his strings. A flash of red streaked across the mirror, and the black hair coiled around Chen Ge vanished, along with the chilling presence of Zhang Ya at his back. The cold that had gripped his spine dissipated, warmth seeping back into his limbs as he realized she had shifted her focus. She's chasing him. The studio felt momentarily lighter, but the reprieve was fleeting—Zhang Ya's pursuit of Zhang Peng meant Chen Ge's mission was far from over.
Scrambling to his feet, Chen Ge snatched his phone and backpack, his cracked screen flickering as he sprinted toward the stairs, his speed rivaling Zhang Peng's desperate escape. The Bloody Heart Mission can wait, he thought, his breath ragged. If I actually win Zhang Ya's affection, my life will be way too thrilling to survive. The idea of being bound to a Red Specter's love—a love that killed as fiercely as it burned—was a fate he wasn't ready to embrace. He burst out of the Activities Centre, the dark forest surrounding Western Jiujiang's Private Academy looming like a silent witness to the night's horrors. Fumbling with his phone, he dialed Inspector Lee, his fingers trembling as he raced toward the rusted school gate.
The call connected after a single ring, and Inspector Lee's gruff voice cut through the line. "Xiao Chen? Have you run into Zhang Peng?"
"Western Jiujiang's Private Academy!" Chen Ge panted, his voice strained from exertion. "Zhang Peng's here! And there's something else—something critical I need to tell you!"
Inspector Lee didn't hesitate. "Fu Jun, Da Yong, alert the investigation team now!" His voice barked orders in the background before returning to Chen Ge. "What's this other thing you're talking about?"
Chen Ge's mind raced, the weight of Zhang Ya's past and the mirror's revelations pressing against his chest. "It's about a murder—an old case tied to this school. Zhang Ya… she was killed here, and I think I know who was involved." His words tumbled out, urgency overriding fear as he neared the gate, the specter's red dancing shoes and her vengeful wrath still haunting his every step.