They say I'm crazy. The sound of someone combing their hair in the mirror is a hallucination, and the red string around my wrist is just a delusion.
It wasn't until the midnight bell shattered the mirror and a man-eating monster crawled out that I understood: the spirit-locking chain on my wrist held the power of the remnants of the Star Track, and the delusion-cutting shears cut through the remnant souls gnawing at the earth's ley lines in the mirror.
Three years ago, Lin Shen threw me into the mirror's haunted realm. Three years later, he came begging me to exorcise ghosts, wearing the badge of the Soul-Suppressing Bureau. I sneered. "I'll take care of the painted-skin ghost behind you first. Then we'll settle the score for pushing me in to feed the evil spirits."
The sanatorium is a forward post on the ley lines. Patients draw peachwood swords, and the director hides vengeful souls in a cloud of black mist. The "ghost core" burning in my chest is actually the seed of the Star Track, guarded for generations by the Mirror Keepers. It turns out that what the mad see is the truth: the sound of combing hair is the ley lines calling for help from inside the mirror, and this sanatorium is a cage trapping energy.
Later, my descendant touched the Star Track graffiti I had carved. When his fingertips brushed the broken blade of the delusion-cutting shears, the sanatorium shook as if it were about to collapse. Clutching the scorching blade, he finally understood: the ley lines I had left unfinished were a fate he could never escape.
