I didn't know where this man had sprung from.
At the time, it was almost midnight. I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the living room, an apple in my left hand, a steel knife in my right, peeling away in the dark with only two white candles lit, gnashing my teeth as I peeled, peeled, peeled!
I had heard that if you devoutly peeled an apple at this time and managed to keep the peel unbroken, precisely at the stroke of midnight—not a second early or late—you'd be able to see what your future husband looked like in the mirror.
I'd never dared try this game before, firstly for fear of summoning something unclean—it was all a bit creepy, kind of like summoning mirror spirits or disc fairies. Secondly, I feared seeing someone I hated, which would leave me hopeless about the future.
But today, I steeled myself to give it a try, because today was my 29th birthday. After being dragged around Entertainment City for a night of revelry by friends, I returned home only to suddenly feel the loneliness at the end of the world, deeply afraid of finding no one beside me when the first wrinkle appeared.
The clock struck; the apple peel was fully intact as I finished. Eyes closed, I was dying of nervousness. Those twelve chimes were interminably long. When everything finally fell silent, I opened my eyes with a sense of doomed bravado.
Oh—my—gosh!
I inhaled sharply, almost passing out. Because—because—there really was a man in the mirror, but was he—should he be—a man? He was handsome, with impeccable features; by my guess, he stood at about 185 cm, towering over my 162 cm. However, his attire—if one was to speak of personal taste in clothing and hats, you couldn't say he had bad taste, it would just be more accurate to describe it as—flamboyant.
His leopard print top was tight, hugging his modest pecs and flat torso, and he wore pink, glittery pants below. A golden belt studded with numerous spikes wrapped around his waist. The room was too dark to see what he was wearing on his feet, but his hair, styled in the now unfashionable Mohawk and adorned with rings on his ears, beside his lips, and on his nose, completed the look.
Was this the Bull Demon King or the Black Mountain Demon?
My mind went blank. When you're overly stimulated, that's just what happens, especially at my age. What was worse, I discovered, to my increasing shock, that he wasn't in the mirror; he was reflected from behind me!
That meant he was real. But when exactly did this weird uncle enter my room? Was he here to rob me or worse?!
I was a bit slow to react to these things, and just as my heart was furiously pumping blood to my brain, the air suddenly filled with very Arabian-sounding, belly-dance-like music, and the flamboyant man started to dance to it.
They say Ricky Martin's backside is like an electric motor, but this guy's dance moves outdid even that, swaying left and right, shaking front and back, mimicking sexual movements, with sultry glances, masculinity mixed with endless decadence, sensual waves accompanied by a touch of temptation. And as my expression grew more shocked, he began stripping to the music, revealing a Superman costume underneath the garish attire!
However, there was no red cape, no underwear worn over, because all he had was a pair of red briefs, which he slightly pulled down, revealing a bit of hair on his lower belly.
At that moment, my brain finally became congested with blood, and I impulsively flipped around and with one stretch of my hand, I threw the half-naked "Superman" over my shoulder.
He was not my type. I was a hundred percent sure! Oh God, don't do this to me. Although I have a superpower that people are unaware of, I've never used it to do wrong. You don't have to punish me like this. Or maybe my clock isn't very accurate; please take this flamboyant man back!
In the midst of his scream, I saw that as he was violently thrown down, the band of his cheap, red briefs had broken, obviously a poor-quality item, and now the "crab's gate" seemed on the verge of being exposed. I was scared that if I saw something dirty, I'd get a sty, so I lifted my iron hoof, ready to stomp down hard.
I had been trained in Martial Arts, and although not as good as Yong Chun, I was pretty confident that one stomp could send crab roe flying and break off all the crab claws, ensuring he would never be able to be tyrannical again. Besides, a perverted invader of the night deserved such a fate—it would be satisfying for everyone.
But just as I lifted my foot, a question naturally crossed my mind: was this really self-defense, or was it excessive? After all, with such force, this evil man's life wasn't guaranteed, and if I ended up in jail over this, it wouldn't be worth it. Hesitating, a series of rhythmic barking suddenly sounded beside me, and I hastily pulled out my cellphone from the pocket of my clothes.