Blood-stained ragdoll body spun through the dim air like a crimson comet, striking the writhing shadow with a soft but decisive thud. The formless mass, caught mid-escape at the threshold of Room 304, recoiled as if physically wounded. The doll's stitched mouth clamped onto what passed for the shadow's arm, anchoring it in place. "Well done!" Chen Ge barked, snapping his flashlight beam onto the creature. Under the harsh light the shadow convulsed, its inky edges fraying and bleeding into nothingness. Deprived of the mirror's sanctuary, it was far weaker than Chen Ge had anticipated—more smoke than substance. With a desperate wrench it severed the pinned limb and slithered through the gap beneath Room 302's door, abandoning the severed portion to dissolve or be devoured. Chen Ge scooped Xiaoxiao up, noting the faint warmth radiating from her fabric—eating these fragments clearly nourished her—and tucked her safely into his pocket.
Mallet in hand, Chen Ge charged the steel door of Room 302 and hammered the lock with a resounding clang. "Come out!" Each blow shook the frame, rust and dust cascading like dirty snow. The entire corridor vibrated; lights flickered on in neighboring units, sleepy voices rising in alarm. Room 301's door cracked open, the middle-aged neighbor peering out, beer bottle clutched like a weapon. "What the hell is all this noise?" he bellowed, but he stayed rooted behind his threshold. Before Chen Ge could answer, Room 302's door flew inward. The young tenant lunged, eyes bloodshot and wild, a meat cleaver flashing in his grip. He slashed in frantic arcs, lips peeled back in a soundless snarl. The mirror-born monster had clearly burrowed into him, turning the man into a puppet of pure violence.
The corridor was a coffin—narrow, cluttered, no room to swing. Chen Ge backpedaled one step and felt the open door of Room 301 behind him. He dove inside, slamming the steel panel shut just as the cleaver bit into it with a screech of tortured metal. The blade kept coming—thunk, thunk, thunk—each strike splintering paint and denting steel. The young man outside had lost every trace of sanity; blood streaked his cheeks, his face twisted into a rictus of rage. Weeks of careful planning—sacrifices, sparrows, escalating offerings—had culminated in near possession of Men Nan, only for Chen Ge to shatter the mirror and sever a limb of shadow. The corridor echoed with the rhythmic carnage, a promise to hack Chen Ge into pieces.
Inside Room 301 the middle-aged man stood frozen, beer bottle trembling in his grip. His knees buckled; he collapsed against a shoe rack, bottles clattering around him like fallen soldiers. "What… what's happening?" he stammered, voice cracking. Chen Ge pressed his shoulder to the door, muscles straining against the relentless impacts. "Help me hold it!" The lock was flimsy; another few blows and the cleaver would breach. The neighbor fumbled for his phone, knocking over more empties in his panic. "I—I'll call the police!" he squeaked, refusing to approach the vibrating steel. Chen Ge gritted his teeth; the door rattled like a drumskin, each strike a countdown to disaster.
Lights bloomed along the corridor as tenants emerged, heads poking from doorways, murmurs swelling into a frightened chorus. In Room 304 Doctor Gao had just settled Men Nan—pale, trembling, but conscious—onto the sofa when Chen Ge's shout cut through the walls. The psychologist snatched a wooden stool and sprinted into the hall. The berserk tenant's focus remained locked on Room 301's door, cleaver rising and falling in manic rhythm. Doctor Gao circled silently, stool raised like a club. At one meter he swung—aiming for the base of the skull—but something jerked the young man's torso at the last second. The blow landed high on the spine instead, a dull crack that sent the attacker staggering forward, shoulder slamming into the battered door.
The cleaver clanged to the floor. The young man's neck twisted with impossible slowness, vertebrae grinding audibly as his head rotated nearly 180 degrees. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Doctor Gao, pupils dilated to pinpricks, lips curling into a smile that belonged to something far older than the tenant. The corridor lights flickered; the temperature plummeted. The monster, wounded but furious, had chosen a new battlefield.
A guttural roar erupted from the young man's throat, raw and animalistic, as he pivoted toward Doctor Gao, cleaver glinting in the flickering corridor light. Chen Ge seized the moment, planting his foot against Room 301's battered door and kicking it outward with explosive force. The steel panel swung like a battering ram, slamming into the attacker's side and driving the air from his lungs. Before the man could stagger upright, Chen Ge snatched a fallen beer bottle from the neighbor's spilled trash and swung it in a wide arc. Glass met skull with a sickening crack; shards rained down as blood poured in thick rivulets, matting the young man's hair and streaking his face. Chen Ge lunged, shoulder-checking him to the ground, pinning the thrashing body against the cold concrete. Doctor Gao darted forward, wrenching the cleaver free and hurling it down the hall, its clang echoing like a death knell.
The young man bucked wildly, elbows and knees flailing, but the commotion had roused the entire floor. Doors creaked open wider; tenants—bleary-eyed, clutching makeshift weapons—poured into the corridor. Hands grabbed limbs, voices shouted overlapping commands, and within moments the attacker was immobilized, wrists bound with a belt, face pressed to the floor. His cheek scraped cement as his bloodshot eyes locked onto Chen Ge, burning with a hatred that felt ancient, memorizing every line of his face as if etching a curse. The struggle lasted minutes but felt eternal, the corridor a chaotic tableau of fear and adrenaline. Finally, the young man's pupils rolled back, whites dominating once more, and his body went limp, unconsciousness claiming him as the monster's grip loosened.
In that same instant, the shadow cast by his prone form on the wall twitched unnaturally. It peeled away from the concrete, elongating into a humanoid silhouette that darted down the stairwell with impossible speed. Gasps rippled through the gathered tenants; several pointed, mouths agape, but the shadow vanished into the night before anyone could react. The corridor lights steadied, yet the air remained charged, the temperature still unnaturally cold. Doctor Gao's eyes were wide, his medical composure cracking. "What… was that?" he whispered, the question hanging like smoke. Chen Ge's mind raced—the vengeful glare, the autonomous shadow, the mirror-born nature of the attack. It mirrored the Haunted House's mirror monster too closely; both entities likely hailed from the same fractured world behind the glass, the Third Sick Hall's bloody reflection.
Chen Ge rose, mallet in hand, ready to pursue the fleeing shadow, but halted at the staircase. The landlady stood there, arms crossed, her stern face a mask of barely contained fury. Her presence blocked the path, and Chen Ge's stomach tightened. Had the monster slipped into her as well? He took several cautious steps back, the weight of the night's chaos pressing down—he had shattered mirrors, incited violence, and turned Hai Ming Apartments into a warzone. The landlady ascended to the third floor, flanked by elderly tenants who muttered nervously. Before Chen Ge could craft an explanation, the middle-aged man from Room 301 burst out, phone clutched like a lifeline. "Sis!" he hissed, leaning close to the landlady. "It's like brother-in-law's back—Xiao Du went berserk with a cleaver, just like Wang Haiming!"
The whisper spread like wildfire. Tenants paled, retreating to their rooms with hurried steps, doors slamming and locks clicking in a chorus of fear. The landlady surveyed the wreckage—blood-smeared floor, shattered glass, the unconscious young man—and her expression hardened. "Wasn't everything fine earlier?" she muttered, then directed her brother to carry the tenant to the hospital. Turning to Chen Ge and Doctor Gao, her voice was clipped but pragmatic. "We were defending ourselves," Chen Ge said, gesturing to the cleaver marks on the door. "He nearly killed me." The landlady nodded, unsurprised. "I know. But I still need to rent these rooms. Complicating this with police won't help anyone. I'll cover his medical bills; we keep this quiet. The boy's young—don't ruin his future."
Her words confirmed Chen Ge's suspicions: she knew about Room 303's curse, Wang Haiming's possession, and the entity's influence on 302's tenant. The landlady was protecting her business, but also perhaps the building's fragile peace. Chen Ge weighed the options—no police meant no scrutiny on his own actions, and the black phone's mission was complete: Men Nan was safe, the mirror shattered, the shadow driven out. Further conflict offered no gain. After a quiet discussion with Doctor Gao, who prioritized Men Nan's stability, they agreed to the landlady's terms. She left with a final warning glance, her brother hauling the unconscious tenant away, the corridor emptying as tenants barricaded themselves once more.
Doctor Gao returned to Room 304 to monitor Men Nan, who lay pale but breathing steadily on the sofa, the towel removed from his mouth, his eyes finally normal. Chen Ge lingered in the living room, the adrenaline ebbing, leaving a cascade of unanswered questions. The young man from 302 had been a vessel, his sacrifices and arguments a contract with the mirror entity. The shadow's escape, the landlady's knowledge, the key in Chen Ge's pocket—all pointed to deeper ties to the Third Sick Hall. Men Nan would wake with fragments of the nightmare, perhaps clues to the protective force within him—his mother's spirit, resisting the monster's invasion. Chen Ge sat, mallet across his lap, Xiaoxiao in his pocket, waiting for dawn and the young man's account, the black phone's next mission already whispering in the silence.