The glow of Rui Lengyu's laptop screen painted her SPU office in sickly blue light. It was 10 p.m., and the only sounds were the hum of the air conditioner and the faint clink of her Guan Yin pendant against her blazer. On the screen, a live stream titled "Night in the Mirror House" played—one of Brooklyn's most viral intetnet-famous attractions, a renovated 1920s apartment where every wall was lined with antique mirrors.
The stream's host, a twenty-something with neon pink hair named Lila, stood in the living room, grinning at her phone. "You guys keep asking if the mirrors are 'haunted,'" she said, spinning in a circle. Her reflection followed—until it didn't.
Rui leaned forward, her fingers pausing over her notebook. For a split second, Lila's reflection in the floor-length mirror behind her froze. Then, slowly, a shadowy figure materialized beside it: thin, dressed in tattered white paper, its face a blank void. It was a zhiren— a paper doll, a Taoist ritual object. But this one wasn't static. It raised a hand, and a single black nail scraped the mirror's surface.
In the stream's chat, messages exploded: "Did u see that?!" "The reflection's moving!" Then, unprompted, a string of comments popped up in perfect Chinese: "Save me" . "It's looking for something". Rui's jaw tightened—she'd checked the stream's settings earlier; auto-translate was off. These comments weren't typed by viewers.
Her phone buzzed. Mike's name flashed on the screen. "Rui, we got a 911 call from the Mirror House," his voice crackled, sharp with urgency. "Third floor, apartment 3B. Lila Chen—the streamer. Her neighbor heard her scream, then a crash. When cops got there, the door was unlocked. She's gone. Only thing left is that floor-length mirror. And on the mirror… there's a paper doll stuck to it."
Rui grabbed her blazer and her leather notebook, shoving it into her bag. "I'm on my way. Call Ye—tell him to bring the peachwood sword. And Dao Feng—ask if he recognizes 'zhiren activity' in a Brooklyn apartment."
Ten minutes later, Ye Shaoyang's black SUV pulled up outside the SPU building. He leaned over the passenger seat, grinning, but his smile faded when he saw Rui's face. "Trouble?" he asked, tapping the hilt of his peachwood sword—strapped to the center console, its blade faintly glowing.
"Mirror House," Rui said, sliding into the car. "Streamer vanished. Paper doll on the mirror. Chat was spitting out Chinese comments—auto-translate off."
Ye's brow furrowed. "Zhiren don't act alone. Not unless someone's controlling them." He glanced in the rearview mirror, where Dao Feng sat flipping through a tattered copy of Xuanqing Taoist Rituals. "Dao Feng, you ever seen a zhiren tied to Western spirits?"
Dao Feng looked up, his finger pausing on a sketch of a paper doll. "Only once—ten years ago, in the Yin Nest. Zhou Lin used them to trap lost souls. But those zhiren were weak. This… if it's taking people?" He shook his head. "Someone's amplifying it with Yin energy."
The drive to Brooklyn took 25 minutes. The Mirror House loomed ahead— a red-brick building with a neon sign above the entrance: MIRROR HOUSE | LIVE STREAMS 24/7. Cops stood outside, tape strung across the sidewalk, and a crowd of curious onlookers whispered. A woman in a bathrobe—Lila's neighbor, Mrs. Gonzalez—was talking to an officer, her hands shaking.
"First the boy last week," she said, when Rui and Ye approached. "Javier, 19. He lived in 3A. Said he saw 'a white thing' in his mirror. Jumped from the fire escape two nights ago. Then Lila… I heard her scream, ran to the door. It was open. The mirror was glowing. I didn't go in. I couldn't."
Rui nodded, pulling out her SPU badge. "We're with the Special Paranormal Unit. We need to see the apartment."
The officer hesitated, then stepped aside. "Cops checked it—no signs of forced entry. But the mirror… it's weird. Colder than the rest of the room. And that paper doll—sticks to the glass, even if you try to peel it off."
Apartment 3B reeked of mildew and something sweet—like burnt joss paper, faint but persistent. The living room was a mess: a half-eaten bowl of noodles on the coffee table, Lila's phone on the floor (stream still running, chat now filled with "WHERE IS LILA?!"), and mirrors—dozens of them—covering every wall. The floor-length mirror stood in the corner, its frame chipped, a crumpled paper doll pressed to its surface.
Ye stepped forward, his peachwood sword raised. The blade's glow brightened, casting gold light across the mirror. "Yin energy's thick here," he said, his voice low. "Thicker than the Yin Nest alley. And it's mixed—Taoist zhiren, but there's something else. Western. Like a… painting spirit."
Rui walked to the mirror, her hand hovering above the glass. Her Guan Yin pendant grew warm, then hot—burning against her chest. She closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers she'd learned to hear: faint, high-pitched, overlapping. Trapped… in the glass… it's using us…
When she opened her eyes, the paper doll on the mirror moved.
It unfolded its arms, its blank face turning toward her. Then, slowly, it reached up—and scratched the mirror. Once, twice, three times. The scratches glowed black, and Lila's reflection appeared in the glass—pale, screaming, her hands pressed against the inside of the mirror as if trying to break free.
"Lila!" Rui yelled, reaching for the mirror. But Ye grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
"Don't touch it!" he said. "It's a portal. Touch the glass, and you'll end up like her." He raised his peachwood sword, drawing a quick Sowilo rune on the blade with his finger— a trick he'd learned from Rui, combining Irish protection with Taoist steel. "Dao Feng, can you weaken the Yin energy?"
Dao Feng pulled a small pouch of glutinous rice from his bag, sprinkling it around the mirror. The rice grains turned black instantly, smoking when they hit the floor. "It's no use—this zhiren's tied to a stronger spirit. We need to force it out."
The paper doll screamed—a sound like crumpling paper—and lunged at Rui. She reacted fast, pulling a handful of oak rune chips from her blazer pocket. She'd soaked them in holy water that morning, per Michael the priest's advice, and when she threw them at the doll, they burst into blue light.
The doll hissed, retreating back into the mirror. But before it vanished, it held up something—small, silver, glinting in the light. Rui's breath caught.
It was an earring. A small, blue-enameled flower—exactly like the one her mother had been wearing the day she'd vanished, ten years ago.
"Wait!" Rui yelled, stepping toward the mirror. "Where did you get that?!"
The doll's mouth opened— a black, gaping hole—and it spoke, its voice a mix of Lila's scream and a whisper: "She's here. In the glass. All of them are." Then it dissolved into black smoke, leaving the mirror fogged.
Ye swung his peachwood sword at the mirror, cutting through the fog. When it cleared, the paper doll was gone. But in its place, something glinted in the mirror's corner: a small, silver fragment, embedded in the glass. It hummed faintly, pulsing with Yin energy.
Dao Feng stepped forward, his eyes wide. "That's… a piece of something. Not zhiren. Not spirit. It's… artifact."
Rui reached up, carefully prying the fragment from the mirror. It was cold in her hand, its surface carved with a strange symbol— a circle with three lines through it, like a broken cross.
"The Night Shuhui symbol," Ye said, his voice tight. He'd seen it before, in Master Qingyunzi's old notes— the mark of a secret society that mixed Eastern and Western dark arts. "They're behind this. The zhiren, the missing people… they're using the mirror to collect souls. And this fragment—"
He didn't finish. The mirror behind them fogged again, and a new reflection appeared: the paper doll, standing behind Rui. Its hand raised, black nails glinting.
Rui spun around, but the doll was gone. All that remained was a single message, scrawled in black on the mirror:
Next is you.
Outside, a police siren wailed. Inside, the fragment in Rui's hand grew colder. She looked at Ye, then at Dao Feng, and knew this wasn't just another case.
The Night Shuhui was in New York. And they were looking for something—something that had to do with her mother.
Rui tucked the fragment into her blazer pocket, her fingers brushing her Guan Yin pendant. "We need to find Lila," she said, her voice steady. "And we need to find out what the Night Shuhui wants with this mirror. Before someone else disappears."
Ye nodded, raising his peachwood sword. "Let's start with the stream. Lila said she found the mirror at an antique shop in Chinatown. Lao Guo might know something."
Dao Feng glanced at the mirror, his jaw tight. "And the fragment… we should take it to Master. He'll know what it is."
But Rui didn't move. She was staring at the mirror, at the faint scratch marks where the doll had been. She could still hear the whispers—Lila's, Javier's, and another, softer one. A woman's voice, familiar.
Her mother's.
"Rui," the whisper said. "Don't trust the glass."
Rui closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them, the mirror was empty. But the feeling of being watched—cold, hungry—lingered.
She turned to Ye, her hand tight around the fragment. "Let's go," she said. "Before the mirror finds its next victim."
As they walked out of the apartment, Rui glanced back. The mirror's surface rippled, and for a split second, she saw the paper doll again. It waved.
And in its hand, it held another earring.
The same one her mother had worn.
The door clicked shut behind them, but the whisper stayed—soft, persistent, echoing in her head.
Next is you.