Chapter 38: A Quiet Reckoning

Zhang Qingwei decided to clean his home today.

There was no particular reason for this sudden urge; perhaps the sunlight streaming through the window was brighter than usual, or perhaps he had simply dreamed of his mother the night before.

To be honest, his home had always been relatively tidy.

He and Jin Shiling spent the majority of their time at the company and school, so there wasn’t much household waste to begin with.

When they occasionally ordered takeout, they would always clean up immediately after eating.

An unspoken understanding had developed between the siblings: whoever noticed the trash bag was full would simply take it out.

This quiet agreement was one of the few unspoken consensuses between them.

Jin Shiling had, once again, disappeared early in the morning, a habit he had long grown accustomed to.

Besides, he was inherently a solitary person; working alone allowed for greater efficiency, and he didn’t have to consider anyone else’s reactions.

The cleaning began with the kitchen, which had largely become a mere display now.

Jin Shiling rarely cooked, and while he himself had learned a few home-cooked dishes at his mother’s insistence, he was usually too lazy to bother.

On one hand, the post-meal chore of washing pots and dishes felt somewhat troublesome; on the other, leftovers were difficult to manage.

Given these factors, it seemed better not to cook at all.

Moreover, he struggled to imagine himself and Jin Shiling sitting face-to-face, sharing a meal at the same table.

Such a scene would only breed awkwardness, devoid of any warmth.

****

After the kitchen, he moved to the bedrooms—his own, of course.

Intruding into a high school girl’s room without permission was a cardinal sin in any narrative.

He meticulously arranged the comics on his desk, which he had likely read countless times, back onto the bookshelf.

Next, he wiped away the layer of dust that had settled behind his computer case.

Just as he was about to clean the soiled rag, he passed by the storage room adjacent to his bedroom.

Observing the tightly shut door, Zhang Qingwei suddenly realized how long it had been since he last entered the storage room.

That space, once his mother’s dressing room, now held some of her belongings left behind after her passing.

After he and Jin Shiling each acquired independent wardrobes in their respective bedrooms, the storage room had remained unused.

In the chaotic aftermath of his mother’s death, he had haphazardly dealt with many unfamiliar affairs, simply collecting most of her belongings and stashing them away.

Undoubtedly, a thick layer of dust must have accumulated inside after such a long period of neglect.

With this thought, Zhang Qingwei reached out and grasped the doorknob of the storage room.

The door proved more difficult to open than he had anticipated, the wooden frame scraping against the floor with a dry, grating sound from disuse.

After considerable effort, he managed to pull the door open, then, guided by memory, fumbled for the light switch.

The storage room was suddenly illuminated by a dim, yellowish glow.

His gaze fell upon several large cardboard boxes, still unsealed by tape, suggesting he hadn’t had time to finish packing them then.

Brushing dust from one of the boxes, Zhang Qingwei opened it, beginning to examine the items within.

This particular box contained his mother’s certificates, medals, and work IDs from her time as a volunteer—he hadn’t realized such a thick stack had accumulated over the years.

As he sorted through them, Zhang Qingwei flipped through the photos on her various identification cards.

He and his mother were often told they bore no resemblance to each other, a sentiment he readily admitted.

His mother was an outgoing woman who loved outdoor activities and excelled at interacting with people; she had a boisterous personality and a perpetual smile.

He, on the other hand, had always barely scraped by the passing grade in physical education during school, disliking both outdoor recreation and social interaction.

Yet, it was precisely this contrast in personalities that, to him, most powerfully affirmed their mother-son bond.

He firmly believed that living together and being profoundly influenced by her had shaped him into the person he was today.

Another box held some of his mother’s old daily necessities and cosmetics, most of which she had purchased during her relationship with Jin Shiling’s father.

He remembered her once declaring she would never date again in this lifetime, and how she had complained that the perfume he bought her with his first salary offered “no opportunity to use.”

Yet, she had so easily fallen into her second love, marrying his uncle within a short time, without even allowing him and Jin Shiling adequate time to react and accept the situation.

“Hmm? What’s this…” Zhang Qingwei murmured, uncovering an exquisite small red box.

Upon opening it, a delicate diamond ring lay nestled inside.

He had assumed that given their age, both his mother and her partner would have long since outgrown the need for such rituals.

After all, their wedding had been nothing more than a small dinner with close friends and family.

Now, however, it seemed they had indeed prepared rings.

He stared at the ornament, symbolizing “true love” and “eternity,” for a moment before silently returning it to its box.

Jin Shiling’s father was a remarkably considerate man.

Though he had grown up an orphan and endured many hardships, he remained optimistic and open-hearted.

From Jin Shiling’s pampered, tomboyish demeanor back then, it was evident that her uncle cherished his beloved daughter dearly.

His mother, too, seemed consistently happy and joyful when she was with him.

It was a natural beauty, a happiness of “love” that he had never attempted to comprehend.

From a personal standpoint, Zhang Qingwei harbored no particular affection for the man.

Even after their marriage, the couple didn’t live together every day, typically spending three to four nights a week at his house.

During these visits, he maintained a polite demeanor towards his uncle, and their daily lives remained largely separate.

Even before he began to suspect foul play in his mother’s and uncle’s deaths, he couldn’t genuinely resent the man for the fatigue-driving accident that had claimed both their lives.

Hating a dead person or longing for one accomplished nothing.

Therefore, he had gathered all these remnants of their existence and put them away, unwilling to be constantly reminded of them in his daily life.

Beyond these items, Zhang Qingwei also discovered various incense tools his mother had once been obsessed with.

Recalling the clue provided by Ji Lanxin, Zhang Qingwei began to examine the remaining incenses, which came in various shapes, hoping to uncover some trace of information.

Predictably, he found nothing.

He picked up a book introducing incense culture, only to casually toss it back onto the pile.

The third box at hand contained many photo albums.

He did not take this opportunity to open them and relive memories, knowing that most photos were of his mother and relatives.

Hardly any pictures of him had been taken after he started school.

He disliked being photographed, always presenting a stern face to the camera, earning him complaints from his family about being too serious.

Even when he occasionally photographed things that interested him, he only captured the objects themselves; he never aimed the lens at himself, preferring to remain behind it.

Zhang Qingwei had no desire to wallow in past sorrows here, yet recent events had undeniably fueled his anxieties about the present and future.

Ever since he had accepted that mirror capable of transforming into the Corrosive, Black Mirror, he had ventured too far.

He had grown accustomed to dedicating a part of his life to Black Mirror, or rather, he was gradually shifting his focus towards her.

As Black Mirror, she possessed the power to achieve many things—to alter others’ destinies according to his will, to contend with things he could not accept, to uncover the truths he desperately sought.

These were all feats Zhang Qingwei himself was incapable of.

For someone who, to some extent, had given up on himself, this sensation of ‘I can, I am capable, I am in control’ was utterly intoxicating, even if it entailed greater risks and obstacles.

Indeed, the thrill of walking on a knife’s edge perfectly catered to the dangerous impulses deep within his heart.

He did not deny it: Black Mirror was his creation, yet she had gradually become his most authentic self.

He knew he was not a kind person; he never had been.

If anything, he didn’t even care about what was right or wrong.

Unbeknownst to him, a profound and indelible realization had settled within him: he was the type of person who, once he let go, once he acquired power, would inevitably slide all the way down into darkness.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do bad things; it was that he was too easily consumed.

It wasn’t that he lacked opportunities to cross boundaries; it was that he knew too well—once a boundary was crossed, there was no turning back.

He recalled a fragment from his university days: during a final exam, he and his roommate had spent the entire period before the exam playing a new game, leaving little time for revision.

To cope with the exam, his roommate quite naturally suggested bringing in a cheat sheet.

That was the first time he had ever cheated on an exam.

He felt none of the usual tension, shame, self-reproach, or apprehension.

When he first violated a rule he had always upheld, his heart remained utterly calm.

He had simply, and naturally, regarded his actions as a means to resolve an immediate crisis, completely devoid of any psychological burden.

His fear wasn’t of being caught in the act; it was of how instantaneously he had adapted to it.

His fear was the profound tranquility he had felt at that moment.

And Black Mirror’s existence was, little by little, blurring those internal boundaries.

“……”

Zhang Qingwei shook his head, pushing down the thoughts that threatened to pull him deeper into that abyss.

He had to remind himself of the possibility and consequences of failure, even if he couldn’t imagine Black Mirror’s defeat.

He needed this reminder to warn himself: he was not the protagonist of this world, and not everything would unfold according to his wishes.

Zhang Qingwei retrieved the mirror from his person.

As his gaze met the eyes of the girl in the mirror, the Corrosive, Black Mirror, manifested before him.

Adapting to this female form had proven easier than she had expected.

She believed the reason for this was likely that neither Corrosives nor Magical Girls treated her as a purely female entity.

Moreover, she herself had no intention of utilizing this body outside of combat situations.

Emerging from the storage room, Black Mirror stood before the ten-year-old mirror in the house.

They say mirrors don’t lie, so did that imply her very existence was a “lie”?

Her innate ability was to be observed only by direct eyesight; electronic devices could not reveal her form, nor could cameras capture her presence.

Perhaps only the cosmetic mirror that enabled her transformation could reflect her visage, suggesting she was, perhaps, meant to reside within that confined world.

With a subtle manipulation of the magic within her, Black Mirror blinked.

When her eyes reopened, the world she perceived had transformed: the mirror before her was now overlaid with a faint red hue.

Not only that mirror, but the distant window, the water glass on the table, and the water within it—all were suffused with this red tint.

This was her most vital ability: the power to freely traverse and move through any medium capable of reflecting or refracting light.

For Black Mirror, the world “within the mirror” was her true domain.

Highly reflective materials, such as actual mirrors, allowed her to remain within them for extended periods.

Conversely, materials with low reflectivity, like standard household glass, could only sustain her presence for a fleeting instant.

Yet, that single instant was often all she required.

In this urban jungle, a labyrinth of steel and glass, she could, if she so chose, perceive the entire city enveloped in that crimson glow.

Within the city, she was the swiftest, the most elusive shadow.

Even if she encountered an insurmountable opponent, she could retreat safely and swiftly.

Her sole concern was to ensure her true identity remained absolutely concealed.

But who could possibly discern it? It all felt like an unnecessary worry.

Yet, if one day she were truly exposed, truly captured—those closest to her would inevitably suffer.

He had always believed he was sufficiently isolated.

After all, he had no friends apart from Qin Ye, rarely interacted with relatives, and worked solely for his salary.

Even if his identity as Black Mirror eventually dragged him into hell, no one would be pulled down with him.

Alas, this was merely his own wishful thinking.

He had never been a solitary figure.

Beyond his relatives, there was still one person in his life—even if neither of them readily acknowledged this fact.

Jin Shiling.

The “sister” who never indulged in childish whims, never made requests, and never uttered an extra word to him.

The girl he had thought had long since grown accustomed to indifference and emotional distance.

But she was still there, and she was the one most vulnerable to being implicated by him.

She was neither a Magical Girl nor a Corrosive, nor the kind of person who would ever willingly become embroiled in conflict.

She was merely an ordinary person.

An ordinary person who had already endured enough misfortune, carried enough burdens, and was still tirelessly pushing herself forward.

Was his current course of action truly appropriate?

No matter how diligently he concealed his activities, how thoroughly he severed connections, if the truth were ever to come to light, she would be the first to suffer the consequences.

He genuinely wished that she would never, one day, have to bear consequences she fundamentally should not, simply because of the title “Zhang Qingwei’s sister”—a title that had never afforded her any benefit whatsoever.

However, this world would never extend mercy simply because one felt “a little uneasy.”

He had to exercise even greater caution.

Even if only for her safety, he could not afford to make another mistake.

Jin Shiling was merely an ordinary person and should not be drawn into this world.

Neither Magical Girls nor Corrosives had any bearing on her life.

He had to ensure that Jin Shiling remained perpetually untouched by these affairs.

Of course—

How could such convenient coincidences possibly exist in this world?