"That is the memorial tablet of my late husband."

This incident that happened to him, Chen Yiming had recounted countless times to different people. At first, each retelling brought a shiver of fear, but after so many repetitions, he had grown numb to it.

To this day, Chen Yiming still believed the whole ordeal was an undeserved calamity. As someone from a well-off family, with parents in their prime who didn’t need him to contribute in the family business, Chen Yiming was, by all accounts, a privileged young man. Naturally, he was surrounded by a circle of friends who shared his penchant for leisure.

Buying luxury cars and watches, spending extravagantly at various clubs—these were ordinary routines for him. That night, he was invited by a close friend to a familiar club for a little gathering, only to discover upon arrival that Kong Xi was there as well.

Unlike Chen Yiming’s crowd, who were merely extravagant, the Kong family’s background was murky, and Kong Xi himself acted recklessly and without restraint. Chen Yiming had always avoided him.

After all, although the Chen family in Hang City was mainly in business, his uncle’s branch was in politics. Chen Yiming knew his father well: if he merely wasted money, his father wouldn’t care. But should he cause trouble that implicated his uncle or cousin, his father would surely be furious.

Yet, that night’s host was a dear friend. Chen Yiming thought it was just harmless fun for one night—what could possibly go wrong? If he had known his life would be endangered because of that evening, he’d have left, even if the emperor himself were hosting.

At this point in his story, Chen Yiming’s expression was full of regret. Ji Ningzhao glanced at his features—broad forehead, well-shaped brows—a face destined for lifelong wealth and ease. His delicate appearance and straight nose gave no hint of criminality.

Chen Yiming, oblivious to this brief scrutiny, continued his tale.

The story itself was simple: Kong Xi took a fancy to a waitress delivering drinks, but she was there only to serve, not to entertain, and naturally refused. The club manager, afraid to offend Kong Xi, dared not intervene. Feeling sorry for the girl, Chen Yiming stepped in to stop it.

Though Kong Xi felt humiliated, he didn’t want to escalate matters with Chen Yiming over such a trivial issue, and the night passed seemingly peaceably.

What Chen Yiming hadn’t expected was that Kong Xi wouldn’t let it go. The next day, he kidnapped the girl, and in the end, she died.

The young woman jumped to her death.

But the Kong family’s shady connections meant that a fatality was not unprecedented for Kong Xi. He skillfully approached the girl’s family, promising a large sum if they kept quiet, and greased all the necessary palms to ensure the matter vanished without a trace.

Some received money, others preserved their reputation and safety, and only the girl died silently in the summer night breeze.

But if the Kong family had settled everything, how did Chen Yiming learn of it?

Chen Yiming shuddered and instinctively looked at Xie Qingfa.

Xie Qingfa sighed and picked up the thread: “Kong Xi died. He died at home, and the scene was horrific—beyond what a human could achieve in a vendetta.”

---

Yet Kong Xi’s death was only the beginning. Next, the friend who hosted that night suffered misfortune.

Though he survived, his mind was shattered; he was committed to a sanitarium.

Chen Yiming, wracked with anxiety, moved back home to live with his parents.

Initially, his parents were unaware. Seeing that he’d stopped going out, they assumed he was finally ready to help with family affairs, and arranged some business meetings for him.

With some work to occupy him, Chen Yiming occasionally forgot the strange events haunting him, until one night, after a drunken business dinner, he returned home.

His parents and the housekeeper were out; the villa was empty. Even with every light on, a peculiar silence lingered.

The alcohol dulled his fear of solitude. He returned to his room as usual, planning to wash up and rest.

Emerging from the bathroom, still tipsy and dazed from the hot water, he glanced at the misted mirror and saw his blurred reflection.

Just as he was about to lower his head to squeeze toothpaste, he caught, out of the corner of his eye, his own reflection in the mirror suddenly smiling.

He could not describe the terror of that moment—his hair stood on end.

He froze for a long time, yet no further strange phenomena appeared. He began to wonder if he’d simply drunk too much and, combined with his recent nerves, imagined it.

That night passed uneventfully, and he woke the next day to beautiful sunshine and his parents back home.

But as he walked into the bathroom, relaxed, he was struck rigid—the mirror was gone, leaving only an empty frame, gaping like a monster’s maw.

His parents, sitting downstairs, saw him dash down from upstairs. His father was about to scold him when Chen Yiming, pale and frantic, blurted, “Dad, Mom, where did our mirror go?”

His father thought his reaction odd, and his mother, puzzled, replied, “Didn’t I tell you a few days ago we were replacing all the mirrors? The workers came and took them out the day before yesterday—you were home then.”

Chen Yiming’s face grew uglier with every word, realizing he had no memory of this.

If the mirrors were removed the day before, what did he see last night? He hadn’t drunk enough to mistake a mirror for an empty frame!

The warm sunlight bathed him, but he shivered involuntarily.

From that day onward, the strange occurrences multiplied. Chen Yiming increasingly struggled to distinguish reality from dream.

The Chen family searched for experts to solve the matter, eventually finding Ji Ningzhao.

Ji Ningzhao listened quietly to Chen Yiming’s account and, when he finished, spoke: “Perhaps that night was when you were closest to the thing haunting you.”

Ji Ningzhao’s tone was calm. Chen Yiming was startled at first, but as he understood, a jolt ran through him, freezing him in place.

---

Yes, if what he saw that night wasn’t the mirror, then the thing that had been tormenting him was standing before him—closer than an arm’s length.

Xie Qingfa saw Chen Yiming petrified with fear and called out, somewhat helplessly, “Ningzhao.”

Ji Ningzhao hadn’t meant to frighten him; seeing him so shaken, she didn’t continue.

Chen Yiming’s father, observing Ji Ningzhao’s serene demeanor, wanted to ask if there was a solution.

But Ji Ningzhao suddenly sat up straighter, glanced upstairs, and addressed them: “Excuse me, I just remembered something I must attend to at home. Please wait here for a moment.”

Xie Qingfa had no objection, and neither did the Chen family. After nodding, Ji Ningzhao rose and went upstairs.

Chen Yiming sat in the living room, feeling as if he were on pins and needles. The fright he’d just received made him urgently need the restroom.

Yet for some reason—perhaps fear of Ji Ningzhao—he hesitated to wander her home.

After much deliberation, afraid of embarrassing himself, he quietly asked Xie Qingfa where the bathroom was.

Xie Qingfa, familiar with Ji Ningzhao’s place, pointed to a corner on the first floor and offered, “Should I take you?”

Chen Yiming shook his head and went alone.

The hallway at the corner was raised, laid with some dark wood, emanating an odd fragrance.

Beside the bathroom was a half-open room, shrouded in darkness, impervious to any light.

Chen Yiming glanced inside and quickly looked away, but for some reason, his gaze was drawn back to the door.

Compelled by some unseen force, he pushed the door open and entered. In the dim light, he saw the room was empty save for a table against the wall.

On the table stood a square object, half-covered with a red cloth, resembling a wooden memorial tablet. Beneath the cloth, he glimpsed what seemed to be the character for “cloud,” outlined in gold, surrounded by cloud motifs.

As if bewitched, Chen Yiming reached out to lift the red cloth.

But just as his hand touched it, Ji Ningzhao’s voice came from the doorway: “Mr. Chen, that is my late husband’s memorial tablet.”