The fragment in Rui's palm felt like a chunk of ice, even through the fabric of her blazer. She stared at it through the car window as Ye's SUV cut through Brooklyn's night—neon bodega signs bleeding into red lanterns as they neared Chinatown—her thumb brushing the blue-enameled earring she'd slipped into her pocket after the Mirror House. It matched the one the paper doll had held, the one her mother had worn every day until she vanished.
"Hey." Ye's hand covered hers, warm and steady. He'd noticed her quiet, the way her jaw had tightened when she'd tucked the earring away. "We'll find her. Whatever's in that mirror, we'll get Lila back. And we'll figure out what happened to your mom."
Rui nodded, forcing a small smile. She wanted to believe him—she did—but the whisper in the Mirror House had clung to her, soft and familiar, like her mother's voice when she'd tucked Rui in as a kid. Don't trust the glass. It wasn't just a warning. It was a plea.
Dao Feng cleared his throat from the backseat, breaking the silence. He held up Master Qingyunzi's tattered notebook, its pages yellowed with age, and pointed to a sketch: a fragment identical to the one in Rui's hand, carved with that same broken-cross symbol. "Master wrote about these," he said, his voice tight. "Called them 'Yin-Yang Pivot Shards.' Part of a larger artifact—the Yin-Yang Pivot—said to control the boundary between the living and spirit worlds. But it was sealed by Xuanqing Mountain's founders centuries ago. How did a piece end up in a Brooklyn mirror?"
Ye's brow furrowed. "Night Shuhui. They must be digging up old artifacts. Using zhiren to collect souls—maybe to power the Pivot." He glanced at Rui. "And the earring… your mom. What if she's not just missing? What if she's trapped, like Lila? In a mirror, somewhere."
Rui's throat went dry. She'd spent ten years telling herself her mom had left, that she'd gotten tired of being a single parent, of Rui's "whispers" keeping them up at night. But the earring—two of them, now—broke that lie. Her mom hadn't left. She'd been taken.
The SUV pulled to a stop on Mott Street, outside Lao Guo's funeral parlor. The sign above the door glowed faintly—Lao Guo's Funeral Services & Joss Paper—and the smell of sandalwood and burning paper drifted through the open window. Lao Guo was in the doorway, sweeping the sidewalk, but he froze when he saw them, his broom clattering to the ground.
"Shaoyang. Dao Feng. Rui." He stepped closer, his eyes darting to Rui's hand—where the fragment peeked out of her blazer pocket. His face paled. "That thing… where did you get it?"
Rui pulled the fragment out, holding it up. "Mirror House. Brooklyn. A streamer vanished, paper dolls, this was embedded in the mirror."
Lao Guo reached for it, then hesitated, as if afraid to touch it. "It's cursed. Smells like Xuanqing Mountain, but twisted—like someone took our magic and poisoned it." He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for listeners, then lowered his voice. "You know the antique shop two blocks over? Xuanqing 阁 (Xuanqing Pavilion)? Sells old mirrors, jade, fake Taoist talismans. Lila bought that floor-length mirror there, didn't she?"
Ye nodded. "How did you—"
"Javier's mom came by yesterday," Lao Guo said, his voice tight. "Said her son bought a small mirror from there, too. Before he jumped. That shop's not just an antique store. It's a front. For the Night Shuhui."
Dao Feng's head snapped up. "Night Shuhui? Master said they were a myth—disciples who left Xuanqing to practice dark arts."
"They're real," Lao Guo said, stepping back into the parlor. He motioned for them to follow, closing the door behind them. The shop was dim, lined with shelves of joss paper, incense, and small statues of Guan Yin. He pulled a wooden box from under the counter, opening it to reveal a stack of old photos—one of a younger Lao Guo with a man in a gray Hanfu, his face blurred. "That's my 师弟. Zhou Xuan. He founded the Night Shuhui. Ten years ago, he stole a Pivot Shard from Xuanqing Mountain, faked his death, and vanished. This fragment—" He nodded at Rui's hand. "It's his. He's in New York. And he's using that shop to find more shards."
Rui's heart raced. Zhou Xuan—Zhou Lin's brother? The same Zhou Lin who'd tried to release the Zombie King? It was too much of a coincidence. "Why mirrors?" she asked. "Why trap people in glass?"
"Mirrors are veils," Lao Guo said, running a hand through his silver hair. "Between worlds. Zhou Xuan figured out how to use them to catch souls—feed them to the Pivot. The more souls he collects, the stronger the Pivot gets. And when he has all five shards…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "He'll break the boundary. Let spirits flood New York. Maybe the world."
Ye grabbed his peachwood sword from the car, its blade now glowing bright gold. "We need to check that shop. Now. Before Zhou Xuan gets there."
Lao Guo nodded, handing Rui a small pouch of cinnabar. "Rub it on your runes. Makes them stronger against his magic. And Rui—" He looked at her, his eyes soft. "That earring you're wearing. Blue enamel. Your mom's, right? I saw her wear it once, when she brought you to buy joss paper for your grandma. Zhou Xuan's mirrors don't just trap anyone. They trap people with 'balance'—half Eastern, half Western. Like you. Like your mom."
Rui's breath caught. Balance. That's what the whisper had meant. She's looking for the balance. Zhou Xuan wasn't just collecting souls—he was looking for her. For her mom.
They walked to Xuanqing Pavilion in silence, the night air thick with the smell of fried dumplings and fear. The shop was dark, its windows covered with paper, but a faint light seeped through the cracks. Ye tried the door—it was unlocked.
"Stay close," he whispered, pushing the door open.
The shop was a maze of mirrors. Tall ones, small ones, antique ones with gilded frames—everywhere you looked, your reflection stared back. But none of the reflections moved right. Ye's reflection held a black sword instead of his peachwood one. Dao Feng's had no face. Rui's… her reflection wore her mother's blue dress, the one she'd worn to Rui's 12th birthday party.
"Creepy," Dao Feng muttered, his hand resting on the Xuanqing Whisk at his waist. The whisk's silver bristles glowed faintly, warning of Yin energy.
Rui's Guan Yin pendant grew hot, burning against her chest. She closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers—louder now, more desperate. He's here… in the big mirror… help us…
When she opened her eyes, the largest mirror in the shop—above the counter—rippled. A figure stepped out: the paper doll, but bigger now, its body made of dozens of crumpled paper sheets, its face a mess of black ink. It screamed, a sound like tearing paper, and lunged at Rui.
Ye swung his peachwood sword, cutting through the doll's arm. Black smoke poured out, and the doll hissed, retreating. "Rui! Runes!"
Rui pulled her oak chips from her pocket, rubbing cinnabar on them as Lao Guo had told her. She threw them at the doll, and they burst into blue light—brighter than before, searing the paper. The doll stumbled back, its body smoking.
Dao Feng raised the Xuanqing Whisk, chanting a Taoist prayer. Silver light shot from the whisk, wrapping around the doll like a net. "Now! Ye!"
Ye jumped forward, his sword glowing gold. He slammed the blade into the doll's chest, and it screamed—high, piercing—before dissolving into black smoke. But as it vanished, something fell from the smoke: a small, leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with the Night Shuhui's broken-cross symbol.
Rui picked it up, flipping through the pages. It was the shop owner's—Zhou Xuan's man. Entries in messy Chinese: "Collected 3 souls today. Zhou wants more. The balance one's close—her mom's mirror is weakening. The SPU man will keep an eye on them. His name: Chen."
"Chen?" Ye said, his jaw tight. "SPU Agent Chen? The one who handled Javier's case?"
Rui's blood ran cold. Agent Chen—he'd been at the Mirror House earlier, asking questions, acting concerned. But he'd never mentioned knowing the shop. He'd never mentioned Zhou Xuan.
The fragment in her hand suddenly grew hot, pulsing. It pointed toward the door, toward Chinatown's main street—toward the SPU office.
"He's watching us," Dao Feng said, his voice low. "Chen. He's working for Zhou Xuan."
Rui closed her eyes, focusing on her medium powers. She'd unlocked the Yin Sight once, at the Mirror House—now she reached for it again, pushing past the fear. The world blurred, and suddenly she could see them: the trapped souls, floating in the mirrors—Lila, Javier, a dozen others. And in the largest mirror, a woman with blue enamel earrings, her hands pressed against the glass.
Her mom.
"Rui," her mom's voice whispered, clear now. "Chen will take you to him. Don't trust—"
The vision cut off. Rui opened her eyes, gasping. The mirror above the counter was fogged, and in the fog, a message appeared, scrawled in black:
Chen will bring you to the next mirror. Come alone.
Ye put his arm around her, his hand tight on his sword. "We're not going alone," he said, his voice steady. "We're going to the SPU. We're finding Chen. And we're getting your mom back."
Dao Feng nodded, closing the journal. "And we're getting that next shard. Before Zhou Xuan does."
They walked out of the shop, the fragment still pulsing in Rui's hand. The night was quiet now, too quiet. Somewhere, a clock struck midnight.
Rui touched her mom's earring, then the fragment. She wasn't just fighting for Lila, for Javier. She was fighting for her mom. For the truth.
And she wasn't going to lose.
As they turned the corner toward the SPU office, Rui glanced back at Xuanqing Pavilion. The shop's windows were dark, but in one mirror, she saw a reflection—Agent Chen, standing across the street, watching her. He raised his hand, and in his palm was a small, silver fragment.
The same as hers.
Rui's heart dropped. He already had another shard.
And he was waiting for them.