Li An sat at her desk, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above the only sound in the otherwise silent office. The case files were spread out before her, each page filled with cryptic notes, theories, and the incomplete fragments of a puzzle that refused to come together. She rubbed her temples, the pressure of the case beginning to weigh on her like a thousand pounds of stone.
The letter found in Zhang Xian's hand had been analyzed thoroughly by the department's top cryptographers. But they had found nothing concrete. The symbols—if they could even be called symbols—were unlike anything anyone had seen before. The experts had their theories: perhaps it was an ancient language, or a new form of code developed by an underground group. But none of their guesses made sense.
It wasn't just the symbols. The way the letter had been written—the flow of the words—was almost… off. There was something chilling about the way it was structured, as if it had been written by someone who wasn't fully present in the moment, as though their mind was elsewhere, lost in some kind of trance.
Li An pulled out the letter once more, examining the symbols carefully under the harsh light of her desk lamp. Her fingers ran along the strange markings. The letter's paper was old—frayed at the edges, yellowed with age—but the ink was still remarkably fresh, as if it had been written just the night before.
Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She glanced at the screen: an unfamiliar number. Her heartbeat quickened, and for a brief moment, she felt a pang of unease. But she answered anyway.
"Detective Li," she said, her voice steady.
"Li An," came a deep, familiar voice on the other end. "It's me. I've got something for you."
Her pulse skipped a beat. It was Zhang Xian's former colleague, a man named Chen Wei. He had been close to the victim and had been one of the first to report his death. If anyone had insight into Zhang Xian's life, it was Chen.
"What did you find?" Li An asked, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing with anticipation.
"I found something at Zhang Xian's apartment," Chen said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "Something that might explain why he was killed. Something that leads us directly to this… this code."
Li An's heart raced as she felt a rush of adrenaline. "Tell me."
"I'm sending you the address. Be there in thirty minutes."
The call ended abruptly, and Li An quickly pulled on her coat, her mind racing with possibilities. She knew the case was about to take an unexpected turn, and she wasn't sure if she was prepared for what lay ahead. But she had no choice. This was the path she had chosen.
Thirty minutes later, Li An arrived at a modest apartment building in the city's industrial district. The night was colder now, the rain still coming down in sheets, casting everything in a dull, gray haze. She stepped out of her car, her eyes scanning the area as she made her way to the entrance. The building was old, its concrete walls weathered by years of neglect, but there was something eerie about the silence that surrounded it.
Chen Wei was waiting for her at the door, his face tense and drawn, as if he hadn't slept in days.
"You said you found something?" Li An asked, her voice sharp.
He nodded. "Inside. But be careful. I don't know what this means, but it's… it's not good."
Li An followed him up the narrow stairwell, her boots echoing softly against the walls. When they reached the door to Zhang Xian's apartment, she could feel her pulse quicken, a sense of foreboding settling in her stomach.
Chen unlocked the door, and the two of them stepped inside.
The apartment was small, sparsely furnished, with the typical signs of a man who lived alone. But it wasn't the state of the apartment that caught Li An's attention. It was the room at the back—Zhang Xian's study—that drew her in. The moment she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong. The air was thick with an unnatural heaviness, and there, in the center of the room, was a desk cluttered with papers, old books, and a large, leather-bound journal.
But it wasn't the desk that intrigued Li An—it was what lay beside it.
A large, antique mirror stood against the far wall. The glass was cracked, the edges chipped and worn, but it wasn't the condition of the mirror that made her uneasy. It was the reflection.
The reflection didn't match the room. It was distorted, as though the space behind her was shifting, warping into something else entirely. A dark, swirling vortex seemed to twist within the frame, pulling the light and shadows into itself. The rest of the room appeared normal, but the mirror… the mirror held something else.
"Do you see that?" Li An whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Chen stood behind her, his face ashen. "I don't understand… it wasn't like this when I came in earlier."
Li An stepped closer to the mirror, her breath fogging up the glass as she stared into it. Something moved within the swirling shadows—a shape, a figure that seemed to watch her, as if aware of her presence.
"It's not possible," she muttered, stepping back. "This doesn't make sense."
But something inside her knew: this was no ordinary mirror. This was a doorway. To what? She wasn't sure. But she had to find out.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the mirror's frame. A jolt of energy surged through her, and in that instant, she felt it—a pull, strong and insistent, as though the mirror itself were beckoning her, urging her to step forward.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. Her hand gripped the cold surface of the frame. The shadows in the mirror seemed to grow darker, the air colder.
And then, as if at the cusp of some ancient revelation, Li An understood. The mirror wasn't just a reflection of this world. It was a gateway to another. One that could unlock the mysteries behind Zhang Xian's death—and the chilling truth that lay beneath.