The sky that day was surprisingly clear. The window in the room was half open. There was a breeze in the court…
The sky that day was surprisingly clear. The window in the room was half open.
There was a breeze in the courtyard—
even a few birdsong notes.
Shen Yu placed the flute gently on the table. Then she looked up, meeting the gaze of the bronze mirror before her.
For the first time, she truly studied her own reflection.
She looked at the face in the mirror—
and at the smile she had worn for so many years, unchanged. She recalled the surface of the pond when she was twelve.
But this time, there was no stone in her hand.
So, in silence, she lifted her arm—
and shattered the mirror. Then waited for the sound of footsteps.
She saw people come rushing in, startled by the noise, their voices loud, cluttered, questioning what had happened. But in that moment, those voices were so close yet they felt distant. Very, very distant.
Shen Yu said nothing. She simply stared at the shards of glass. In those fragments,
the false smile had broken into pieces—
along with her reflection, along with the girl she used to be.
Then she heard a voice, very close.
It was the old Shen Yu, whispering in her ear:
"If seeing me brings you this much pain, then may you and I never meet again."
She raised her head and heard them asking about the flute resting on the table.
She raised her head again, looked at it calmly, and said,
"Tell Father to come."
"Tell him that today, I have a story to tell."