At the entrance of the old office building, a man in his sixties appeared in the mirror, his gaze fixed deep into the corridor.
In the deathly quiet environment, you could clearly hear a very rhythmic sound coming from inside.
"Dong... Dong... Dong..."
Old Wang stood in the mirror, his brows tightly furrowed, a look of barely contained shock in his eyes.
The noise was coming from the Old Ice Warehouse—how was that possible?
There shouldn't be any living people in the Old Ice Warehouse, and not even ghostly things could exist there.
Old Wang turned and walked through the Mirror World, following its surface to the end of the corridor; past that line, all was darkness, the mirror failed to reflect anything inside.
Old Wang's face was as dark as water, and he was starting to get anxious deep inside.
Something's happened, something big.
The funeral home's old office building sits at the very back of the premises, and both obvious and hidden defenses and alarms are set up outside.
But the old office building itself, the only entrance that can be used freely without setting off alarms, is watched by him around the clock, twenty-four-seven.
The most important thing: the Old Ice Warehouse is naturally the strongest defense. Other than people like Wen Yan, with innate gifts, anyone crossing the line instantly drops dead, and any supernatural thing crossing the line simply ceases to exist.
This has been true for decades, without exception.
So he could rule out all kinds of incorporeal supernatural beings.
The only kind of people who might get in could never make it past all those alarms and obstacles in silence, entering the Old Ice Warehouse undetected.
In recent days, the only thing sent inside following regular procedure was just a normal client who took a walk yesterday night.
But Old Wang saw it clearly then too: the moment the regular client crossed the line, whatever lingering soul was left in their body was utterly dispersed, leaving nothing but a pure corpse.
Old Wang's head was spinning with anxiety. This sort of thing had never happened before.
He gritted his teeth and, inside the Mirror World, left the old office building and entered the funeral home's back courtyard.
In the mirror, the area around the funeral home was shrouded in vast shadows, those shadows rising and falling, with an unspeakable sense of oppression hanging over the place.
Everything in the courtyard seemed to have endured endless years—thoroughly decayed. The trees had lost all their leaves, leaving only twisted, grasping branches like claws, as if writhing and emitting silent wails.
There wasn't even moonlight in the sky. Everything visible was as if covered in layers of black gauze, and beyond ten meters, it all became complete darkness.
In the darkness, only the Cremation Department glowed, its light quietly pushing back the dark for a ten-meter radius.
Old Wang walked with his head down, holding his breath, feeling the light from the Cremation Department as he crept forward. In the darkness, something seemed to sense his presence. The deathly black was disturbed by rustling sounds, and from the distance, there came the sound of howling wind.
Suppressing his instinct to run, Old Wang stood still in place, barely breathing. He waited for quite a while before those rustling sounds finally faded away.
Only then did he dare to inch forward again. Whenever he made the slightest noise, the sounds would flare up again out of the darkness. Tugged back and forth like this, he finally reached the Cremation Department.
The moment he entered the circle of light cast by the Cremation Department, the rustling sounds retreated.
Old Wang let out a silent sigh of relief. Luckily the Cremation Department was close to the old office building, or he'd never have made it in time.
He entered Old Zhang's break room, going to the small round mirror hanging in the corner. In the mirror, the real world was reflected: Old Zhang, drinking and watching short videos.
Old Wang exhaled heavily and gently tapped the mirror's surface.
Old Zhang, sipping his drink to stay awake, heard the sound and instantly grabbed the nearby crowbar, scanning around warily, his gaze sharp.
"Old Zhang, it's me—look in the mirror."
Holding the crowbar, Old Zhang stood more than a meter from the mirror, frowning at Old Wang inside it.
"Stop looking at me like that. It's really me. Hurry up and call the director—something's wrong. There's something moving in the Old Ice Warehouse."
Old Zhang's brows knotted, and the hand gripping the crowbar tightened.
"It's really me! Old Wang! The first dirty movie you ever watched was with me, remember? The backside of the bottom drawer still has a disc from the same series!" Seeing Old Zhang's stance, Old Wang couldn't hold back anymore.
Hearing this, Old Zhang's eyes gleamed. He checked the drawer as instructed, and sure enough, found a disc taped underneath. He immediately picked up his phone, called the director, and put it on speaker.
It barely rang twice before the director answered.
"What is it?"
"Old Wang sent a message—there's something moving in the Old Ice Warehouse."
"Hmm?!" The director was stunned, but quickly stopped caring whether it made sense or not. "When? How long ago?"
In the mirror, Old Wang answered immediately.
"At least an hour ago. I can't keep track of time from here."
"Understood."
He Jian hung up, got dressed at once, and started making calls. The moment he dialed, it connected immediately.
"Hello, Old Cai? There's something moving in the Old Ice Warehouse—what? You've got a problem on your end, too?... Mm. Got it."
He hung up, face grim. No wonder the line picked up so fast—something had happened in Duanzhou too; they'd already mobilized a large team over there, and from the looks of it, it was something even more troublesome.
With the Old Ice Warehouse incident happening at the same time, this was clearly no coincidence.
After he gave orders, the relevant personnel started getting calls, each one being shaken awake.
Wen Yan also got the call. He quickly put on his uniform, and rushed downstairs, calling a rideshare on the way.
He hadn't even reached his apartment gate when he got another call.
"Hello? I'm sorry, sir—I'm finishing for the night. That's too far, I can't go there."
The line went dead, and Wen Yan saw his ride had been canceled. The driver would rather get fined than take the ride...
Wen Yan sighed. In the middle of the night, getting a cab to the funeral home—especially one on the outskirts—most people just didn't want to go.
He figured he should save up and buy a second-hand car, or it'd just keep being this inconvenient.
He called for another car and checked the map; the driver was right at the intersection. Wen Yan quickly ran in that direction and spotted a car waiting at the red light, license plate matching.
Wasting no time, he ran up to the car, showed the driver his phone.
"Sir, I called this ride. I've got an emergency."
The driver stared at him, then glanced at the destination. After a brief hesitation, he unlocked the doors, and Wen Yan jumped in.
As the car started moving, Wen Yan could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank you so much, sir."
"Don't mention it—everyone has their emergencies, hey..." The driver let out a long sigh. "My father passed away just yesterday—the funeral will be held there tomorrow."
"Sorry for your loss. Out this late and still working?"
"Can't sleep. House is too noisy. I don't want to see the others. Just needed to clear my head."
Silence. The car sped through the night.
...
At the same time, Feng Yao, having received the message, was in a car rushing to Virtue City Funeral House. He held his thick laptop, while the logistics staff kept him updated via a live call.
"Boss, a car just entered the three-kilometer zone around the Funeral Home—we checked, it's Wen Yan's ride."
"Ignore him. Keep watching for anything else nearby."
"There's also a black MPV lingering in a residential area three kilometers out—hasn't left, owner's registered as an octogenarian, also now inside the three-kilometer zone."
"Have someone nearby stop it for a check, use any excuse. Everyone be careful. If there's anything wrong, you're cleared to use force."
...
Wen Yan looked out the window, seeing a car with red and blue strobing lights parked by the roadside, with a line of freight lorries behind. His first reaction was that it was a late-night overload check.
But looking at the surroundings—he was only a few kilometers from the funeral home—he guessed this must have been arranged by the Scorching Sun Department, finding any pretext to stop the freight trucks from going past.
At the funeral home gate, Wen Yan paid the fare and thanked the driver.
The driver, who wore rimless glasses, pushed up his frames and smiled softly.
"No need for thanks. Should I wait for you?"