Chapter 327: Hallucination

Xia Yubing had been pampered since childhood; the closest she’d come to housework was tossing her undressed clothes into the laundry basket before bathing, too lazy to sort them—but fortunately, her body was sturdy enough that she didn’t end up as frail as a noblewoman who couldn’t even hold a mop.

After hastily mopping the floor for half an hour, she moved on to wiping the glass. The airship’s rooms had no large panoramic windows, only a glass wine cabinet inset into the wall, filled to overflowing with Van Daike’s private collection, occupying nearly half the wall. The maids usually needed a step ladder to clean it, but Xia Yubing didn’t; she could reach the top shelf standing right on the floor. She balled up the damp cloth in her hand and wiped sloppily.

As the damp cloth swept across the smoky glass, the wine cabinet faintly reflected two figures—one tall, one short. Xia Yubing didn’t turn around. “I’ve got it, Jo Mary. No need for your help,” she said, continuing to wipe.

This was what Ning Zhe had instructed in his notebook: she had to clean herself, no one else could do it for her.

But after Xia Yubing spoke, the shorter figure in the cabinet seemed not to hear at all, stepping forward steadily, drawing closer.

“I said I can handle it myself,” Xia Yubing balled the cloth tighter and turned around. “If you really want to help, bring me a new cloth… Huh?”

Where was Jo Mary?

Xia Yubing blinked. The room, lit by soft lamps, was empty. Wax-polished cedar floorboards glistened with droplets—her own mop marks. The maid named Jo Mary was nowhere to be seen. No footprints marred the floor.

“That was…” Xia Yubing swallowed hard, slowly turning back around. The smoky glass of the wine cabinet still reflected two figures: one tall—herself—the other short, but no person was there.

A chill ran down Xia Yubing’s spine; every hair on her body stood on end. “Ghost?”

Was there a ghost on this airship?

In the blink of an eye, the reflection in the cabinet took another step forward. This time, Xia Yubing saw clearly: the figure wore a loose, mid-sleeved robe, broad shoulders, hips as wide as waist—a man’s build.

The cabinet wasn’t a mirror. Xia Yubing could barely make out the figure’s clothing and shape; its face beneath the hood was shrouded in shadow, indistinguishable.

As if sensing Xia Yubing had stopped wiping, the robed figure behind her slowly lifted its head. Whether it was psychological or something else, Xia Yubing felt a cold gaze pierce the back of her skull—a chilling dread ran the full length of her spine.

Bang—

Drawing her gun, spinning, firing—all happened in an instant. The revolver holstered at her waist emptied its full six rounds in two seconds, leaving six charred bullet holes on the resin coffee table nearby—the man’s reflection stood right beside it.

In the empty room, Xia Yubing clutched the damp cloth in one hand and the revolver in the other, breathing hard. Smoke from the muzzle carried the acrid scent of gunpowder. The silent room held only her ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat—as if the deafening gunfire had never sounded.

If not for the brass bullets embedded in the floor and table, she might have doubted whether she’d fired at all.

She turned. The man in the robe still stood calmly beside the table, his blurred form reflected in the wine cabinet. In the blink of an eye, he took another step forward.

“No, no, something’s wrong.” Xia Yubing tossed the cloth aside, snapped open the cylinder, ejected the spent casings, and with trembling fingers reloaded one round at a time. She snapped the cylinder shut. Her eyes locked on the ghostly reflection in the cabinet as she backed away, raising the gun. Bang—

Another shot rang out. The glass shattered. Along with it, a bottle of gin bearing a branch pattern on its label exploded, golden liquid and shards of glass spilling across the polished floor. The sweet scent of alcohol filled the air, as if a devotee had slit the throat of a god and released golden blood.

The wine cabinet’s glass lay in pieces, but the reflections within did not shatter. Like a large mirror broken into countless small mirrors, each shard reflected a miniature image—countless male figures marched in perfect unison across the smoky glass. Then—the door opened.

“Ms. Xia, do you still need the mop? I brought another bucket of clean water.”

The maid Jo Mary stepped in, set the bucket beside the mop Xia Yubing had used, tiptoed to remove the landscape painting hanging opposite the wine cabinet, and placed it carefully on the table. “Mr. Dai Ke loves this painting. We must be careful not to wet it.”

Xia Yubing stood frozen. She turned her head—and the man’s reflection in the glass had vanished. The wine cabinet was intact. The shattered gin bottle sat undamaged inside. The faint scent of alcohol lingered, but the brass bullets lodged in the resin table were gone.

“Oh my, why are you holding a gun?” Jo Mary’s voice trembled with fear. Xia Yubing looked up and met the maid’s terrified gaze.

“Nothing,” Xia Yubing said, shaking her head. “It’s a decorative piece I bought in Vivian Port. I’m checking if the spare rounds were fully unloaded.”

“Oh, I see,” Jo Mary sighed in relief and swiftly began removing the other paintings from the wall.

In that moment, Xia Yubing finally understood the mindset Ning Zhe had felt when facing her back in Zanju Town: some things couldn’t be explained in a few words. Even if you explained them thoroughly, it wouldn’t change a thing. Better to say nothing.

!

“Was that… an illusion?” Xia Yubing walked to the wall, pulled open the cabinet door, and took out the gin bottle from its undamaged glass shelf.

The wooden cork was sealed tight. The bottle showed no cracks. The label was dry, not a trace of moisture from spilled liquor.

Xia Yubing carried the bottle to the coffee table. The waxed floor gleamed as before—no bullet holes. The table, just moments ago riddled with gunfire, was perfectly intact—as if nothing had happened. But…

Xia Yubing reached into her pocket. Six spare rounds were missing.

“What… happened?”

(End of Chapter)