I received a text message: "You're next."
Sent: July 12, 1998, on a rainy night.
That year, I hadn't been born yet.
But I recognized the number: it belonged to the phone of the last victim of the "Rainy Night Butcher" twenty years ago.
Even stranger:
The first victim had one of my childhood doodles painted on the wall.
The second victim's pupils reflected my face.
In the third victim's pupils, the "me" from before he died was smiling.
The police said my fingerprints were on the murder weapon.
The coroner said my DNA was inside the victims' bodies.
I said I didn't know any of them.
Until I opened an old newspaper from that year:
"The only survivor of the Rainy Night Butcher case: seven-year-old boy, Lin Shen."
The survivor?
Then who is alive now?
Last night, I brushed my teeth in front of the mirror.
The person in the mirror didn't move.
He smiled and said:
"You've finally come looking for me, my other self."
I'm Lin Shen.
I'm hunting the Rainy Night Butcher.
But they say that on that rainy night twenty years ago,
I was the one who died.
Beyond the mirror is the world of the living. Within it lies the abyss.
Mind-bending twists from start to finish, with not a dull moment.
Think you're reading a book?
No, you're looking in a mirror.
