Chapter 3: The Unseen Scars and a Sister’s Return

Zhang Qingwei recalled his high school days, when his math, physics, and chemistry teachers would invariably assign extra homework to him, a student notorious for excelling in some subjects while struggling in others.

The stack of test papers he brought home each day symbolized his teachers’ hopes, their fervent wish that his grades in these subjects would eventually rival his top-tier English and Chinese scores.

Unfortunately, sheer effort often proved insufficient, and the results that followed were far from ideal.

Zhang Qingwei found these memories resurfacing because, upon returning home, he discovered he was still alone in the house, even as the clock hands edged towards eleven at night.

As he unlatched the front door, he was met by an unexpected shroud of darkness.

Flipping on the entryway light, he noticed a vacant spot on the shoe rack beside him, and the bedroom door, which had been tightly shut since he left that morning, remained undisturbed.

His sister had not yet returned home, a situation entirely unprecedented.

Following this train of thought, he considered whether she might be at an impromptu school tutoring session.

After all, with the semester nearing its end, it was hardly uncommon for achievement-focused schools to arrange evening study halls.

However, this unreliable notion was swiftly dismissed; he knew full well that Jin Shiling (TL Note: A character name, Jin Shiling), his sister by no blood relation, consistently excelled in her studies.

Even if extra tutoring were offered, it would never be required for her.

Moreover, the treatment of students had improved significantly; the scenes of teachers punishing students, which he had witnessed countless times in school over a decade ago, were now strictly forbidden.

Teachers, caught between students, parents, and the school administration, had become exceedingly cautious, treading a difficult path.

Approaching the kitchen window, Zhang Qingwei peered again at the school across the way, separated by only two fences, to confirm his suspicions.

The academic building was plunged into darkness, making it clear no one could still be inside.

His home was but a stone’s throw from the school.

If Jin Shiling wasn’t there, where could she possibly be at this late hour?

To be frank, the relationship between Zhang Qingwei and Jin Shiling was far from close.

When their respective parents chose to remarry, both children offered their blessings to their mother and father, yet they also made it clear they held no interest in forming a so-called “four-person family.”

In other words, they had no intention of integrating into each other’s familial sphere, continuing to address the other’s parents as “Uncle” and “Auntie”—a dynamic not uncommon in contemporary society.

This had always been the case, and it was even more so now.

With the bond of “family” severed, Zhang Qingwei and Jin Shiling typically behaved more like strangers sharing a roof, each living their own lives in their own worlds, never encroaching upon the other’s space.

As her nominal elder brother, Zhang Qingwei had not been entirely devoid of thoughts about showing concern for her.

Both had endured the sorrow of losing loved ones, but she had lost her only blood relative, an unbearable blow for a girl not yet an adult.

Yet, several failed attempts at communication had not only failed to bridge the gap between them but had instead widened it, creating subtle fissures in their relationship.

As time continued to tick away, steadily approaching midnight, Zhang Qingwei found himself reaching for his phone with increasing frequency while seated on the sofa.

On one hand, he believed Jin Shiling had her own life, and he neither needed nor had the right to interfere in her world.

On the other hand, he pondered that no matter how self-sufficient she appeared in her daily life, she was ultimately still an underage girl, not yet in her second year of high school.

As her nominal family member, or perhaps an elder, he felt it necessary to ascertain her situation, knowing that blind trust could, in essence, be a disguised form of alienation—a deliberate, self-deceiving indifference born of a refusal to truly understand another.

He was entangled in a web of indecision and contradiction, rendering him unable to choose, leading to missed opportunities and eventual loss.

Amidst his chaotic thoughts, the image of the suicidal girl, swaying precariously in the night wind, suddenly materialized before Zhang Qingwei’s eyes.

He knew with stark clarity that he hadn’t truly saved her; after all, he possessed neither the confidence nor the resolve to save anyone.

Even when using the miraculous compact mirror in his pocket to transform into another person, he—or rather, ‘she’—held no soil within their heart capable of nurturing love or salvation.

Nevertheless, the memory of the girl’s face, etched with a weariness and despair that suggested all hope was lost, prompted Zhang Qingwei to swipe his finger across his phone screen repeatedly, before finally tapping open Jin Shiling’s chat interface.

Within the sparse chat window, their last conversation dated back a month.

Since she had moved in, their combined chat history amounted to merely a few lines on the screen, a perfectly apt illustration of their estranged sibling relationship.

Picking up his phone, Zhang Qingwei initiated a voice call.

He sought nothing more than a measure of psychological comfort for himself; in his current state, he found it impossible to fall asleep peacefully.

The default ringtone resonated in his ear, its familiar melody repeating endlessly.

This wait was far longer than he had anticipated, undeniably intensifying the unease stirring within him.

A full thirty, perhaps forty, seconds had passed—Zhang Qingwei couldn’t be precise.

Finally, just before the irritating melodic loop was about to conclude automatically, the call connected.

Silence.

Neither spoke immediately.

Zhang Qingwei also noticed a faint static mingled with the quiet, like the whisper of wind.

Ultimately, Zhang Qingwei was the first to succumb to the oppressive atmosphere.

He struggled to move his throat, which felt as if it were constricted, and asked about her situation.

“Hello? Where are you?”

His query was met first by a sudden surge of static, followed immediately by Jin Shiling’s voice.

“…I’m still out. Why?”

Her cool, detached voice was utterly flat, devoid of any inflection.

Yes, it was the Jin Shiling he knew so well.

“Right, today, are you coming back tonight?”

“Don’t worry about me. You just go to sleep.”

Jin Shiling avoided discussing her own circumstances, a reaction Zhang Qingwei found unsurprising; similar exchanges had played out dozens of times before.

“Is that so? At this hour, there are practically no late-night buses left. Be careful on your way back.”

“I know. I’m aware of all that.”

The static in his ear waxed and waned, prompting Zhang Qingwei to speculate about Jin Shiling’s situation.

However, being naturally unadept at conversation, he couldn’t conceive of a way to further the dialogue in such an atmosphere.

Since Jin Shiling asserted she could handle her own affairs, and she sounded unharmed, perhaps he had no need to say more.

“Alright, I’ll hang up then.”

As he spoke, Zhang Qingwei moved the phone away from his ear, preparing to end the call.

“Then—mm, mm咳咳!”

On the other end of the line, Jin Shiling suddenly let out two loud coughs, as if she had something to say.

This compelled Zhang Qingwei to refocus his attention, ready to hear what she intended to communicate.

The static gradually receded.

After a brief wait, Jin Shiling’s voice, tinged with a hint of awkwardness, resurfaced.

For some reason, even her tone seemed a little livelier.

“Anyway, um… I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Brother. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll be home soon.”

“—”

Gazing at the automatically disconnected call screen, Zhang Qingwei’s expression became subtly complex.

This was, after all, the first time he had detected a deviation from Jin Shiling’s usual indifference during their conversations.

Her sudden “vulnerability” struck him as utterly astonishing.

This unusual display, subtle in its detail, made Zhang Qingwei feel as though he had been stung.

There was no pain, yet an accompanying strangeness compelled him to delve deeper into his thoughts, seeking to alleviate this somewhat burning “itch.”

He knew that if he were truly worried, a video call would suffice, but he was certain she wouldn’t answer.

She didn’t want to see his face.

For him, interacting solely through voice was already Jin Shiling’s greatest concession, and he dared not speculate further.

Nevertheless, knowing Jin Shiling was unharmed, Zhang Qingwei felt a sense of relief.

He rose, switched off the living room lights, and returned to his own room.

With a soft *click*, ensuring his door was locked, Zhang Qingwei settled into the chair at his desk.

Scattered across the desktop before him were several manga volumes he had forgotten to put away, while to his left lay a copy of “I Am a Cat,” half-read, which he had unearthed the previous week during a room tidying.

His desk and the adjacent bookshelf were laden with various manga and novels he had acquired during his student years.

Whenever he reflected on his past self, capable of pouring pure drive and enthusiasm into these fictional narratives and deriving immense joy from them, Zhang Qingwei would genuinely count himself fortunate to have experienced such innocent and happy times.

His younger self had countless times fantasized about possessing miraculous and formidable powers, encountering companions in imaginary worlds, enduring numerous battles, and embarking on all sorts of grand adventures.

It was precisely because he knew himself to be merely an ordinary mortal that his imagination had been allowed to run wild without restraint, giving birth to countless stories that existed only within his mind.

Yet, once stories ceased to be mere stories, once fantasy converged with reality, everything changed.

He pulled the small compact mirror from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

Flipping open its lid, Zhang Qingwei saw another layer of reality reflected in the palm-sized surface: a young girl, her eyes meeting his.

Zhang Qingwei still remembered the unquenchable thrill that had surged within him when he decided to keep the mirror.

Before its first use, he had conjured numerous scenarios regarding the impact it would have on his life, but judging by the current reality, his foresight had been too shallow, and his self-assessment, skewed.

The very moment he accepted the mirror, his life had irrevocably veered from its original course.

Yet, as time wore on, Zhang Qingwei, leaning back in his chair like this, occasionally mused that he had, in fact, merely returned to a path he had initially wished to tread.

This mirror had stirred certain qualities within him, ones he had deliberately swept into a dusty corner of his heart.

Within this mirror resided a horrifying entity, crafted using him as its base.

He was her compromise and her abandonment; she was the shadow and obsession deep within his heart, an extension of his very self.

Through this mirror, he had stepped into a world his former self could never have even imagined.

Whether this was a blessing or a curse, he could not yet say.

****

Outside, the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs in the hallway pulled Zhang Qingwei’s thoughts back to reality.

A key slid into the lock, the front door swung open, and a second voice echoed through the somewhat desolate space.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, Zhang Qingwei’s eyes met those of Jin Shiling, who stood in the entryway.

The beautiful girl with the ponytail was the first to avert her gaze, unshouldering her backpack as she uttered, devoid of any emotion, “I’m home.”

Indeed, it was business as usual.

That last remark on the phone felt like a momentary illusion.

“Hm, have you had dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Is that so? Well, get some rest then; it’s getting late.”

“I’m just about to go to bed.”

Jin Shiling, her back to Zhang Qingwei, responded casually.

“Jin Shiling.”

The girl, whose name was suddenly called, stiffened for a moment, then reluctantly turned her body around.

“What is it?”

In Jin Shiling’s eyes, the man before her, for whom she held little affection, was scrutinizing her.

A rare, slight frown creased his otherwise impassive face, his gaze fixed on her as if searching for something.

Finally, he turned his head away, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Nothing. Goodnight.”

“…Hm, goodnight.”

Zhang Qingwei’s somewhat strange behavior failed to stir any ripples in Jin Shiling’s heart.

The girl casually bid him goodnight, then retreated to her room.

Before long, this space, which could hardly be called a home, once again fell silent.

Zhang Qingwei sat on the edge of his bed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes.

Without the aid of his spectacles, his severely myopic eyes could discern almost nothing.

Yet, for Zhang Qingwei, there was a particular kind of thing that appeared remarkably clear within his blurred vision, and today he had witnessed it twice.

The first instance occurred when he saw the suicidal girl; on her, he perceived a spherical object resembling a parasitic egg.

At that time, neither the passersby nor the magical girl flying overhead had noticed anything amiss with the girl.

The second instance was just now, as his gaze fell upon Jin Shiling’s shoulder, catching sight of some tiny black debris that was dissolving on its own.

His sister, likewise, remained completely oblivious.

Zhang Qingwei knew what those particulate fragments were: the remnants of a destroyed Corrosive Entity (TL Note: A type of monstrous parasitic entity).

Due to the exceedingly faint residual magical reactions and their inability to pose any substantial threat, even Magical Girls typically failed to notice them.

As for the black tumor he had seen on the suicidal girl, it was an egg of a Corrosive Entity, already primed for incubation.

In such a state, should the girl experience any further stimulus, the Corrosive Entity nestled within her mind and body would be agitated, breaking free from its chrysalis to merge with her in mere seconds, transforming into a monstrous, grotesque creature harboring malice towards the world.

Yet, there was only one type of existence in this world capable of clearly and accurately observing these characteristics of Corrosive Entities and knowing such information.

That was the Corrosive Entity itself.

This night, it seemed, would once again be a sleepless one, and not just for him.