Chapter 37: Liberation
The monster’s threat paradoxically eased Yin Xiran’s tension—it wasn’t intent on killing.
A faint glow flickered at her fingertips.
“Matter is atoms. Atoms are just nuclei and electrons. Rearrange them…”
Her voice was soft, like a student reciting in class.
Her eyes locked on the cracked cement block, fingers tracing an elegant arc.
“Step one: reshape the surface.”
The cement transformed.
Its rough, gritty surface smoothed under an invisible force, silicates and aluminates reorganizing at the atomic level.
In seconds, it gleamed like a flawless mirror.
Chen Dongyang’s shadowy outline was sealed inside, a two-dimensional image trapped in the reflective surface.
The shadow monster, unprepared for this, surged violently within the mirror, trying to merge with the concrete behind it.
But Yin Xiran’s creation was a perfect reflector, its dense atomic structure cutting the shadow off from the world.
It was trapped.
“Step two: shadows need light to die.”
She snapped her fingers at the ceiling.
The archive room blazed with light—not from bulbs, but the air itself.
Yin Xiran vibrated the air molecules, turning them into a radiant source.
Light poured from every angle, banishing shadows.
The room became a sea of pure white.
The trapped shadow screamed silently, light poisoning its essence.
It thrashed, unable to escape.
Then, Chen Dongyang’s shadow began to expand, inflating like a balloon under the relentless light.
It gained depth, contours, shifting from flat to three-dimensional.
With a soft puff, like breaking a spatial barrier, Chen Dongyang’s body was ejected from the mirror, stumbling to the floor.
“What… happened?” he muttered, dazed, staring at the wrecked room, the mirror-like cement, and Yin Xiran’s faint smile.
Reality felt like a dream.
“As you saw,” she said curtly.
“That’s the gist.”
“You…” Chen Dongyang’s words collapsed into a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
“Words are cheap,” Yin Xiran teased, pointing at the mirror.
“Save the nostalgia. We’re not done.”
The shadow monster’s true form still writhed inside, struggling.
“It’s trapped, unable to affect reality or escape,” Yin Xiran said.
“But it’s tied to the cement. Break the mirror, and it might die—or escape. We need to erase it without shattering the mirror.”
Chen Dongyang stared at the twisting shadow, an idea sparking.
“What if… it’s not just a shadow?”
“What do you mean?” Yin Xiran raised an eyebrow.
“Doesn’t its form in the mirror look familiar?” he pressed.
She studied it, realization dawning.
“The skeleton in the school’s wall…”
“Exactly,” Chen Dongyang said.
“The girl sealed in the wall—her body decayed, leaving a ‘shadow’ imprinted there.”
“You’re saying…” Yin Xiran’s eyes narrowed.
“When it grabbed me, I could’ve rewound time,” he explained.
“But the moment it touched me, my mind drowned in resentment, sadness, fear, despair—so intense I missed my chance to rewind.”
Yin Xiran understood.
The shadow was a vengeful spirit, born of the girl’s imprisonment and despair.
It targeted Yin Qingle for her fear, seeing her as a kindred spirit or threat.
It dragged victims into walls, turning them into shadows, echoing its own eternal confinement.
“Maybe…” Chen Dongyang said softly, gazing at the struggling shadow, “we don’t need to destroy it. We need to set it free.”
“Liberate it?” Yin Xiran asked.
“How?”
He didn’t answer directly.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the mirror, staring into the twisting darkness.
His voice was gentle but firm.
“I don’t know your name or what you endured. But I feel your pain, your rage, your despair.”
The shadow’s struggle eased slightly.
“You don’t want to hurt anyone. You want justice—what was stolen from you. You want the one who did this punished. Right?”
His voice echoed in the quiet room.
“I promise,” he said, eyes locked on the shadow, “I’ll find the murderer and bring them to justice. I swear.”
Silence fell.
The shadow stilled, as if listening, weighing his sincerity.
Just as it had flooded him with its emotions, it now sensed his memories and resolve—truth beyond words.
Slowly, the shadow began to fade, dissolving like mist in sunlight or ice in spring.
No ash, no sound—just a quiet melting into the air.
When the last trace vanished, the mirror reflected only Chen Dongyang and Yin Xiran.
At their feet, beside the cement, lay a small, paint-chipped wooden music box.
Yin Xiran picked it up, glancing at Chen Dongyang’s exhausted but relieved face.
She smirked, teasing, “So, to handle a vengeful spirit, we rely on feelings? How unscientific.”
Chen Dongyang gave an awkward smile, unsure how to respond.