That night, An couldn't sleep. Every word Thanh Lam spoke swirled in his mind, like maggots clinging to every crease, painting a picture of a world he had previously been utterly oblivious to. "The Mirror World," "Shadow Demons," "The Inverse Eye," and the mysterious "Reflective Layer." He questioned whether it was all just a prolonged dream caused by trauma from the accident, but the bone-chilling sensation from facing Thanh Lam, and the horrifying images he had seen with his own eyes, were too real, too repulsive.
An tried not to look at any reflective surfaces. He pulled the window curtains tightly shut, drew the thin blanket up to his chin, faced his phone screen down, and even avoided looking at puddles on the restroom floor. But the haunting wouldn't release him. When he closed his eyes, An would see the distorted faces, the empty, soulless eyes, the silently gaping mouths filled with despair. Then the pitch-black, amorphous shadows, like streams of deadly ink, would glide through his mind, exuding the cold breath of death and decay. He would sit bolt upright, his heart pounding as if trying to burst from his chest, cold sweat drenching his back.
An's mind was in turmoil, like a tangled ball of yarn. Thanh Lam had said The Inverse Eye had potential, and that he needed to learn how to "open and close" it. But how? He tried to concentrate, imagining his eyes closing, closing completely to those anomalous images, but it was futile. The mirror stains persisted, like repulsive calluses clinging stubbornly to reality, challenging his control. An felt himself sinking into a slimy quicksand of illusions, fear, and impending madness.
The next morning, An woke up with dark circles under his eyes and a heavy, throbbing head. He didn't go to class. Everything seemed too overwhelming. He buried himself under his blanket, trying to find some false peace in the darkness of the room. The phone rang loudly, like a knife slicing through the still air. It was Hong Anh. An hesitated for a moment, then answered, trying to suppress the tremble in his voice.
"An, where are you? Why didn't you come to class?" Hong Anh's voice was full of concern, like a gentle tranquilizer easing into his mind. "I've been calling you since yesterday, but you didn't pick up. Are you okay?"
Hearing his best friend's familiar voice, An suddenly felt a slight relief, like a drowning man grasping at a straw. Hong Anh was the only friend he could share everything with, though now the "things" he was encountering had gone beyond the understanding of normal people, things that shouldn't exist in this world.
"I... I'm fine," An lied, his voice hoarse, each word heavy. "Just a bit tired."
"Tired? So tired you skipped a whole day of class? Do you know we have a big group project coming up? You'll be dead if you don't do it!" Hong Anh feigned scolding, but her concern was still evident in her voice. "Hey, can I come over to your room this afternoon? We can study together. I'll bring you some porridge."
An felt a flicker of warmth pierce through the coldness enveloping him, like a small spark in a snowstorm. A touch of normalcy, a bit of care. "Um... sure. Come on over."
Ending the call, An felt a little better. He decided to get up and go to the restroom. This time, he tried not to look in the mirror, his gaze fixed on the cold tiled floor. He washed his face quickly, focusing only on the cool water flowing between his fingers. But just as An looked up, his gaze inadvertently met the mirror opposite him.
A faint mirror stain appeared on the surface, but this time it wasn't just a mere reflection. It was like a crack in space, through which An saw a small, pale hand, corpse-like, clutching a withered white chrysanthemum, its petals drooping like dried tears. Then, a single, pitch-black, viscous tear, like dried blood, rolled down the glass, leaving a repulsive, spreading streak. The sight lasted less than a second before vanishing into thin air, but it was enough to make An freeze, his stomach churning with nausea. He felt a searing pain in his heart, a despair that wasn't his own.
An returned to his desk, frantically rummaging through old books, desperate to find an explanation, a confirmation that he wasn't going insane. He vaguely remembered reading something about "chrysanthemums" in a book on Vietnamese folklore or spirituality. Finally, An found an old, worn-out book, its cover tattered and yellowed, titled "Vietnamese Legends and Ancient Mysteries." He opened it, flipping through pages, his hands trembling, searching for the keyword "chrysanthemum."
In a small section on flower symbolism, An read: "White chrysanthemum: a symbol of purity, loyalty, and sometimes, remembrance for the deceased, especially those who passed away young or with unresolved grievances. People often place white chrysanthemums on graves or float them down rivers to guide spirits to the eternal realm, soothing lingering resentments."
Spirit. Unresolved grievances. Resentment. These words echoed in An's mind, resonating with the image of the pitch-black tear he had just seen. The mirror stain he saw... was it from a young person who died with an unspoken sorrow, a tragic and unjust death? And that black tear... could it be what a Shadow Demon left behind, a mark of possession?
When Hong Anh arrived, she carried a steaming bowl of porridge and an expression of extreme worry. "What's wrong with you? You look like a ghost, your eyes are as sunken as a corpse's." Hong Anh set the porridge down, touching An's forehead. "No fever. Are you just too stressed? You're making me worried sick!"
An wanted to tell Hong Anh everything, to relieve the burden weighing him down, the repulsive images that haunted him. But Thanh Lam's words echoed in his head, like a harsh command. "You must promise not to do anything foolish..." Would telling Hong Anh, a normal friend, about the "mirror world" and "shadow demons" be foolish? Would it put her in mortal danger, turning her into the next target for these invisible predators?
"I... I'm fine," An repeated the lie, but this time it felt heavier, like swallowing a stone. "Probably just too much studying lately. Have you eaten? Let's have some porridge together."
Hong Anh looked at An skeptically, her eyes sparkling with unconcealed concern, but she said nothing. She knew An had his unusually quiet moments, and she didn't want to pressure him. She sat down next to An, eating porridge with him. In the dormitory room's light, the clinking of spoons against bowls was the only sound, dispelling some of the heavy, gloomy atmosphere that enveloped An.
While Hong Anh was engrossed in recounting today's lecture, with trivial details of university life, An's mind kept churning. The mirror stain on the hospital mirror... that hand and that tear. It was very likely a trapped soul, carrying a sad story, an unspoken pain. Could this be how Thanh Lam wanted him to start, not just seeing but also learning about these souls, to free them? Or was it just a cruel coincidence, a warning from the other side?
An resolved that tonight, when he met Thanh Lam, he would definitely ask about that chrysanthemum mirror stain. It seemed that learning to control The Inverse Eye would not only be about seeing, but also about understanding what he was seeing, to find a way to survive in this new world teeming with horrors.