After inheriting the antique shop left by my grandfather, I took on my first business - repairing an ancient mirror from the Republic of China that was full of cracks.
Three warnings were written in blood on the notes of the previous restorer:
[1. When repairing, you must not look at your own reflection in the mirror.
[2. The mirror must be wrapped in black cloth and must not be uncovered after midnight.
[3. If you hear a call coming from the mirror, feed it with your blood.
The fellow apprentices were so frightened that they resigned on the spot, but I licked my lips excitedly.
That night, the phantom appeared in the mirror, and the shrill call seemed to tear the eardrums. I ignored it, picked up the polishing machine, looked in the mirror, and smiled slowly.
"I guess these three rules... Are all fake, right?"
"There is only one real rule - whoever believes first will die."
They thought I was a lamb to be slaughtered, but they didn't know that I was the nightmare that kept all the weird stories up at night.
They call me an antique restorer?
No, I am just a collector who walks on the edge of taboos and collects ghosts and gods.
