The night in Shanghai hung heavy like a tarp soaked in tar, pressing down on the alleyways. Bai Ye drifted through the narrow lanes, her semi-transparent body flickering between form and mist, like smoke torn apart by the wind. Even the streetlights seemed to distort around her, as if light itself feared her presence.
She was hungry.
Not the hunger of the living for food, but something far more primitive and dark—as if the rotting void inside her were chewing through her organs, dissolving them into a syrupy nothingness. She needed to fill it, to devour, to force something warm and living into her disintegrating shell.
From around the corner came the sound of claws scraping against concrete.
A Doberman emerged from the shadows, muscles rippling beneath a coat like oiled leather. Its tongue hung low, saliva dripping silver in the moonlight. It stopped suddenly, ears erect, nose twitching. It had smelled something—a corruption not of this world
Bai Ye's lips curled into a voiceless grin, and the air turned bone-cold. The dog backed away instinctively, a low whimper rising in its throat.
"Good boy..." Her voice scraped through the air like rusted strings pulled too tight. Under the flickering light, her decayed right hand solidified. Veins throbbed beneath the skin like worms, and her nails lengthened into curved claws.
The Doberman turned and bolted, skidding on the slick ground, crashing into a metal trash can. The clatter rang out through the alley, but no lights came on. The residents had long since learned to ignore the sounds of the night.
Bai Ye flowed like liquid through the wall and reappeared ahead of the fleeing dog. Her face emerged from the darkness: one side rotted and oozing, the other an obsidian void where an eye should be.
The dog collapsed with a dying yelp. Bai Ye's left hand solidified too, and she grasped the trembling beast. Its fangs sank into her arm, tearing away flesh—but there was no blood. Only black mist seeped from the wound.
She lifted the dog, its spine cracking in her palm. Her decaying lips met its throat. When the blood poured into her mouth, she tasted iron, fear, and something electric and alive.
The dog shriveled in seconds, fur dulling, muscles collapsing into sagging skin. Bai Ye swallowed hungrily, until the last drop was gone. She dropped the husk, which cracked like dead branches.
But it wasn't enough.
She knelt, clawing the dog's belly open. The organs were shriveled black stones. She bit into one, thick fluids dripping down her chin. There was no satiety—only a deeper hunger roiling inside her.
The moon vanished behind clouds. Her body began to fade again, like ink diluted by rain. She stared at her filthy hands. The wounds were slowly healing, new skin forming in ghostly pale sheets.
Footsteps echoed from afar. A drunk man stumbled into the alley, neck flushed pink under the moonlight. Blood vessels throbbed visibly beneath his skin.
Bai Ye licked her sharp teeth.
She melted into the shadows.
The drunk shivered and walked faster. Something followed him, he felt it, but every time he turned, only shadows remained.
He stared at the ground. On the neck of his shadow were two extra hands.
He cursed, walking faster, shoes splashing through puddles. Rain began to fall without warning.
Bai Ye hovered behind him, tongue brushing her teeth, her body fully transparent. The rain passed through her.
The drunk turned into a darker alley, lighter broken. He lit a match.
A decaying face floated in the dark.
He gasped, dropping the flame. It went out, but not before he saw her: a woman, yet not. Half her face was ruined; the other, eerily beautiful. Her eyes were twin black voids.
He turned to run—and struck her invisible body.
She was already there.
Rain fell harder.
His scream drowned in the downpour. Her teeth pierced his artery. His blood was richer, warmer. She drank like parched earth, until he crumbled.
She ripped open his shirt, slicing his chest. His heart still beat. She tore it free, drank from it.
The corpse decayed instantly. Blood and rain mingled, draining into the gutter.
She stood, rain passing through her.
No cold, no wet. Only hunger.
She looked at her hand. The new skin was nearly translucent.
Thunder rolled.
She looked up. Her mother once said: If you get caught in the rain, you'll fall sick.
Now she couldn't even get sick.
She laughed. Her body vanished.
Only the dog's husk and the man's corpse remained, slowly rotting in the rain.
June 1991, Shanghai
The cicadas screeched like rusted saws, slicing through the heavy air. Liu Ming pushed open the glass door of Xinhua Bookstore, and the brass bell above it gave a shrill jingle. Cool air, laced with the scent of ink, rushed to greet him. His glasses fogged up instantly.
"Looking for something?" the clerk behind the counter asked without looking up.
Liu Ming removed his glasses to wipe them. His nearsighted world blurred into blobs of color. As he blinked, he noticed a figure near the literature shelves—a white hospital gown, long black hair veiling half her face. Sunlight filtered through her semi-transparent body, casting a faint red shadow on the floor.
His hand trembled. The glasses slipped from his fingers and cracked against the concrete floor.
"Who... who is that?"
The figure turned. Liu Ming's stomach twisted.
Her right face was rotting, yellow pus dripping from her chin. Yet the left side was radiant—prettier than in high school. It was grotesque symmetry, like a portrait soaked halfway in water.
"Long time no see, Liu Ming." Bai Ye's smile split her wound, revealing bone-white teeth. Her voice sounded metallic, as if echoing from a distant tunnel.
Liu Ming stumbled back, bumping into a shelf. Books fell, pages fluttering. His temples throbbed. He couldn't stop staring at her neck—where charred skin curled back to reveal twitching throat tissue.
"You're... Bai Ye? But you were…"
"In the hospital?" She floated closer, the stink of rot growing thick. "I graduated."
He tried to run, but his legs froze. One year ago, on a rainy day, he'd testified against Zheng Guoming. Bai Ye had smiled just like this—lips curled, eyes cold.
"How's your life now?" Her fingers dragged along the shelves, leaving trails of yellow slime. "New girlfriend, I hear?"
"What... do you want?" His voice cracked. The lights above flickered. Shadows pulsed across Bai Ye's face. Her wounds moved, breathing.
She tilted her head. A lock of hair fell. "Remember in Grade 11, when you helped me steal Chen Meng's exam paper?" Her left eye turned black, no sclera, only obsidian embedded in rotting flesh. "I need your help again."
The clerk behind the counter started coughing violently. Liu Ming turned. The man was clawing at his throat, face purple, foam at his mouth. His bulging eyes locked onto Bai Ye.
"Don't mind him." Bai Ye's rotten hand clamped onto Liu Ming's shoulder. Nails dug into his flesh.
Her touch was ice. The aisle stretched, warped. Green light washed over them. Shadows writhed on the floor.
His eardrums bulged. Warm liquid trickled—blood.
At the back of the study guide section, her body was solid. She plucked a copy of Five Years of Exams, Three Years of Practice. It opened to page 66.
The math problem transformed into scrawled handwriting:
"Hong Yu - Shanghai Mental Health Center, Ward 7B, Bed 12"
"This child needs a mirror," Bai Ye whispered. "A real one."
His vision blurred. Her face fractured—porcelain doll at age 8, rotting ghost at 18, now a half-transparent spirit.
His nose filled with rot and cheap powder—the scent that once surrounded her desk.
"Why me…" His voice vanished in a strange hum. The books began to tremble. Spines tapped rhythmically, like a train approaching.
Bai Ye leaned in. Her breath brushed his ear. "Because you owe me. You liked me."
"I... I..."
Her fingertip touched his forehead. Pain stabbed his skull.
He saw a corridor—hospital doors stretching forever. Girls in pink pajamas stood by each one, cradling broken dolls, humming broken lullabies. At the end was a cracked mirror. It didn't reflect people.
Only a writhing shadow.
"Bring her the mirror," Bai Ye said in his head.
He collapsed, vomiting. When he looked up, she was gone. The exam guide lay open, pages rotting fast, yellow mold crawling.
A thud echoed behind him. The clerk had fallen, mouth agape, cockroaches crawling in and out.
The bell above the door rang again.
Liu Ming stumbled into the sun. It didn't warm him. His shirt stuck to his back. In the sidewalk puddle, a pale shadow stood behind him. Rotting fingers reached for his neck.
At the bus stop, students stared at the pale young man. He pulled out his phone, fingers trembling. He stopped at "Chen Meng."
A pale hand reached out from the screen, grabbing his thumb. He screamed, flinging it. The screen cracked. At the center of the spiderweb glass was Bai Ye's smiling, rotting face.
"Bring her the mirror," the distorted speaker hissed. "You know the cost."
Teenagers nearby laughed, thinking it was a prank.
As Liu Ming bent to pick up the phone, yellow liquid dripped from his nose onto the pavement. It sizzled, burned a hole, and let off smoke.
High in a sycamore, a crow fell. Its feathers blackened, its bones exposed.
In biology class, they'd learned: crows can recognize themselves in mirrors.
His heart pounded.
And Bai Ye's final whisper echoed:
"Mirrors aren't for looking. They're for breaking."