Chapter 3: The Great House Theft

The night was pitch black. Inside the scrapyard, mountains of rusted copper and scrap metal glowed with a cold, hard sheen under the dim lights. The air reeked of rust, motor oil, and rotting trash, so pungent that every breath felt like swallowing coarse sand.

The tip of the scissors in Shen Luming’s hand trembled slightly. His knuckles were white, strained from gripping too hard. He stared at the figure before him, pupils contracting violently: “Who the hell are you?”

The man in black stood deep in the shadows. His back was hunched, as if years of hardship had bent his spine. He raised his head slowly. His voice was raspy, like sandpaper dragged across old wood, making the listener’s teeth ache: “Luming,” a streak of greedy crimson shone in his cloudy eyes. “Shen Yanbai told me. He said you’ve been flush with cash lately. And that you still have one valuable piece of junk you haven’t sold. Right?”

Li Erli, who had been standing nearby, could no longer hold his temper. Seeing the black-clad man act so submissive yet clearly holding some aces up his sleeve, his face twisted like he’d just found a walking gold bar. He butted in, spittle flying: “Too expensive! That broken clock isn’t worth all that! Boss Shen, are you out of your mind? If you’ve got good stuff, just sell it to us!”

The cloud patterns on the fragment in Luming’s hand cast a cold, eerie glow in the dark. It was his only bargaining chip. He didn’t answer. He just slowly backed up, his body pressed against the heavy, old electronic scale behind him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, as if it might burst through his ribs.

“It’s dawn,” Shen Luming said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Before he finished, the rusted iron door of the scrapyard slammed open with a crash, shaking dust off the walls. A strong gust of wind, carrying the crisp scent of osmanthus, rushed into the room, instantly cutting through the stale, rusty stench.

Zhou Zi'ang, a young scion of a wealthy family, stepped into the store. He wore a sharply tailored dark gray suit, with a sleek family crest pinned to his collar. He looked completely out of place amidst the chaos of scrap. Two bodyguards in suits followed him, their steps precise, their eyes menacing.

Zhou Zi'ang didn’t even glance at the old man in the corner or acknowledge Li Erli’s presence. He walked straight to the counter, his gaze sweeping over the piles of scrap metal, a look of contempt curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Boss Shen, cut the act.” Zhou Zi'ang spoke with a cold, arrogant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The antique bronze item my family lost is right here. Hand it over, and I’ll forget this little incident.”

Shen Luming narrowed his eyes. In his golden vision, thick Black Omen swirled around Zhou Zi'ang. In the center of the miasma, red points of light churned violently, like a powder keg about to explode, radiating danger. The miasma was not only heavy but twisted with greed, signaling impending disaster.

“Zhou Shao is joking,” Shen Luming said, swiftly hiding the fragment in his sleeve. His face remained perfectly calm. “My shop buys scrap. I don’t have any antique bronzes.”

Zhou Zi'ang let out a dismissive scoff. He reached out to start rifling through the scrap on the counter, his fingertips scraping against the patchy tin, making a harsh, grating sound.

Shen Luming’s gaze cooled. The Black Omen was fluctuating wildly. If the other guy forced his way to touch those trash items infused with the miasma right now, big trouble would follow. He had to stop it.

He deliberately stalling, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the counter, “tap tap,” sounding out the pressure: “If you’re so sure it’s here, Zhou Shao, why not call the police? barging into a private place like this, you think you’re doing a private search?”

Zhou Zi'ang’s hand stopped in mid-air. His face darkened, the air around them feeling like it had solidified: “Shen Luming, are you threatening me?”

“I’m just stating facts,” Shen Luming replied calmly, his gaze going over Zhou Zi'ang’s shoulder toward the entrance. “Besides, Old Zhao behind me is no pushover.”

Right on cue, loud, heavy footsteps appeared at the door. Zhao Tiezhu, a fellow worker, burst in swinging a hammer, drenched in sweat. He was built like a barrel, muscles tensed like a startled bull.

“Luming! I heard that bastard Zhou Zi'ang shouting out there. Who the hell does he think he is to just walk in here?” Zhao Tiezhu planted himself in front of Shen Luming, using his size to block the view. His chest heaved, his eyes blazing. “Get the hell out of here! This is a scrapyard, not your back garden. If you don’t move, I won’t hold back!”

Zhou Zi'ang sneered and waved his hand at his men: “Search it! Since it’s been lost here, we’re not leaving empty-handed. Trash his shop if you have to, but find that item.”

As the bodyguards moved to start wrecking the place, Shen Luming stood up. He slowly lowered the scissors, moving so deliberately it looked like a ritual.

“Zhou Zi'ang, you carry the heaviest miasma of all. If you lay hands on anything now, the backlash will kill you,” Shen Luming said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a strange, definitive weight, each word striking like a hammer on the heart. “Believe me or don’t.”

Zhou Zi'ang was insulted. He decided Shen Luming was just playing coy to waste time. He raised a hand, ready to shove him for effect, a look of ruthless intent flashing in his eyes.

In that exact second, Shen Luming sidestepped and shouted loudly: “Sirens outside!”

Immediately, the shrill wail of police sirens pierced the early morning silence, getting closer fast. The sharp noise snapped everyone awake. Even Li Erli flinched, pulling his head in.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Zhou Zi'ang made a desperate run for the backyard. In a corner packed with scrap copper, he bumped into an Ancient Mirror carved with cloud patterns. In the morning light, the mirror reflected a weird glow, distorting his face.

“Give it to me!” Zhou Zi'ang lunged for it, gripping the edges of the Ancient Mirror desperately, trying to pry it out of the rubble. His fingernails cracked, bleeding.

The sharp crack of the Ancient Mirror shattering echoed through the courtyard, sounding like a sigh. Shen Luming watched as the Black Omen around Zhou Zi'ang exploded. The red light points burst, and the young man collapsed, convulsing, his face as gray as death, white foam bubbling from his mouth.

Zhao Tiezhu went limp on the ground, his hammer clattering onto the concrete. Uncle Chen, the elderly master craftsman, rushed over. Wearing his worn, white-collared shirt, he protectively stood in front of Shen Luming. He pointed at the wealthy heir on the ground, scolding: “How can the Zhou Family be so rude? Are you trying to kill a man? What a sin!”

Nosy neighbors swarmed in, holding up their phones to film the chaos, the noise rising in waves. The young heir was rushed to the First Municipal Hospital, and the powers behind the Zhou Family immediately stepped in to investigate. The storm seemed to calm on the surface, but undercurrents were raging.

Shen Luming crouched down to sort through the shattered Ancient Mirror. The sharp fragments cut into his palm, but he didn’t care. He saw a line of hidden runes on the back of the mirror, pulsing with a faint glow. It hinted that the heist behind the wealthy family was tangled in something much bigger. He quietly gathered the shards and looked up at the sky, which was just turning pale in the east. He knew the real storm was only beginning.

The Zhou Family’s black Maybach sat at the alley entrance, crouching like a dormant beast. The low growl of its engine cut through the morning fog, scaring the neighbors who were just starting to poke their heads out. The window cracked open, revealing a cold, stern face: Zhao Kun, the Legal Director of the Zhou Group, nicknamed “Zhou the Yama.”

He didn’t get out of the car. He just glared through the window at the mess, his gaze locking onto the blood-stained mirror shards in Shen Luming’s hands. In that moment, the air froze, and the wind seemed to stop.

“Investigate.” Zhao Kun spat out a single word. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a terrifying pressure. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, a fast, heavy rhythm, like a countdown to a storm.

Meanwhile, in the ICU at the First Municipal Hospital, Zhou Zi'ang’s pupils were dilating from the pain. His consciousness was drifting in chaos, but it latched onto one clear image—the reflection in the Ancient Mirror just before it broke. It wasn’t his own face staring back. It was a pair of eerie green eyes, staring at him unblinkingly.

The venom and age in that gaze were far beyond any human emotion, like a curse rising from the depths of the earth.

Zhou Zi'ang thrashed violently on the hospital bed, cold sweat soaking the white sheets. He tried to scream for help, but only a gurgling noise came from his throat. The nurse rushed in, only to find the electronic monitor screen flickering with static, spewing nonsensical glitches before going completely black.

The entire hospital corridor plunged into dead silence, as if all the equipment was deliberately avoiding that room.

Zhao Kun didn’t show up at the hospital. He was sitting in the corner office on the top floor of the skyscraper, twirling a Jade Pendant. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the rain started on schedule, a black curtain wrapping the city, like a heavy backdrop for this new act.

His communicator buzzed lightly. An encrypted message appeared on the screen, the sender ID a string of garbled codes. The content was short: “The prey has shown itself. The hunter enters the game.”

A cruel curve lifted Zhao Kun’s lip. He slammed the Jade Pendant onto the desk. He knew that the “scrap metal” the Zhou Family lost was never just an ordinary antique. It was the key locking down a specific dragon vein. Zhou Zi'ang’s injury wasn’t an accident; he had forced his way into a forbidden zone and unleashed the dark power behind it.

Now, that power seemed to have found a new host.

“Tell Security to seal off a three-mile radius around the hospital. Check everyone getting in or out,” Zhao Kun ordered into the communicator, his voice cold as ice. “Also, dig into Shen Luming’s past. I want to know how he’s surviving in front of that mirror without flinching.”

After hanging up, Zhao Kun stood up and adjusted his suit and tie. He looked through the glass wall down at the dark city below, where rain streaked the glass in twisted trails. Deep in his pupils, a sliver of unspoken fear flickered. He vaguely felt that since the Ancient Mirror shattered, some things were no longer under control.

The Zhou Family’s glory and wealth might just end on this very night.

On the other side of the city, Shen Luming returned to his small courtyard full of scrap. The rain pattered on the old tiles. He stood under the eaves. The wound on his palm was still bleeding, but when the blood dripped onto the mirror shards, the runes absorbed it, humming softly. He clenched the fragments, his knuckles turning white.

He looked up at the distance, toward the Zhou Group Headquarters. The building was lit up like a lonely island. He knew Zhao Kun wouldn’t let this go, and the Black Omen inside Zhou Zi'ang wasn’t going to just disappear.

The wind and rain picked up. Shen Luming narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through the rain curtain to the lights at the top of that skyscraper. He muttered to himself, his voice swallowed by the thunder: “Since you’re looking for death, I’ll send you off.”

He turned and went inside, carefully wrapping the shards in a piece of black cloth and placing them into a dusty wooden box. As the box closed, a chilling cold seeped out from the room, mixing with that ancient, sinister aura, slowly sinking into the soil, spreading toward the heart of the city. The box was sealed tight, and the undercurrents had already boiled over.