Chapter 3: A Shattered Self

Chapter 3: A Shattered Self

The frantic, clicking scramble from the hallway was the sound of a nightmare given legs. It was wet, sharp, and utterly alien. Li Wei didn't scream; the sound was trapped in his throat, a knot of pure, primal terror. He didn't think. He simply reacted. Clutching the cold, heavy stone plate to his chest, he launched himself backward, tumbling out of the bedroom and into the hall.

He didn't dare look toward the source of the noise. His peripheral vision caught a flash of movement—something low to the ground, something pale and sinuous—and that was enough. He fled. His feet pounded on the plush carpet, a frantic counter-rhythm to the horrifying skittering behind him. Down the stairs, he nearly pitched forward, catching himself on the banister, the polished wood slick under his sweaty palm.

The sterile, perfect house was no longer a museum; it was a tomb, and something had just woken up. He didn't aim for the front door. His mind, running on pure adrenaline, remembered the laundry room window. He burst through the doorway, fumbled with the latch, and threw himself through the opening, landing hard on the soft grass of the lawn.

He scrambled to his feet and ran, not stopping until he was across the property line, until the hedge offered a flimsy sense of security. He pressed himself against the familiar brick of his own home, gasping for air, his lungs burning. The Umbral Plate was an icy weight against his ribs, its profound cold a stark contrast to the fire in his veins. He risked a glance back at Yueming’s house. It was silent. Still. As if nothing had happened. As if the phantom life and the very real monster had never been.

He made it back to his room, locking the window and collapsing onto the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably. The plate fell from his grasp, landing on the rug with a soft thud. It lay there, a circle of absolute blackness, the broken, root-like tendrils attached to it looking like desiccated fingers. The sickening snap he’d heard echoed in his mind—the sound of breaking those things free. He now knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he had not just stolen an object. He had severed a connection. He had unplugged the house.

The sound of his parents' car pulling into the driveway was a different kind of terror, a familiar, grinding dread that replaced the sharp spike of his escape. They were home. His unauthorized excursion was over. Now came the reckoning.

His eyes fell upon the ruined calligraphy paper on his desk, the black ink spiderweb a testament to his failure. His advanced mathematics homework lay untouched beside it, a series of impossible equations. He was trapped. Grounded. A failure who had compounded his disgrace by sneaking out. The walls of his room, his supposed sanctuary, closed in on him, becoming the prison he had fought to escape.

Panic clawed at him. He couldn’t face them. He couldn’t endure another lecture, another cold, disappointed stare, another comparison to the monstrous perfection of the boy across the street. A desperate, irrational thought sparked in the chaos of his mind. Help. I just need help. I can’t do this. I can’t be the son they want.

His hand found the Umbral Plate on the floor. The cold was shocking, a jolt that seemed to travel up his arm and into his very core. He clutched it, the smooth, dark stone a strange anchor in his storm of anxiety. The wish wasn’t spoken. It was a silent, desperate scream from the depths of his soul. Someone else. Just for a little while. Someone who can do this. Someone perfect.

The shadows in the corner of his room, the ones cast by his bookshelf, deepened. They stopped being mere absences of light and began to congeal, gathering into a single, cohesive patch of darkness that was blacker than the night outside. The darkness thickened, stretched, and then, impossibly, it took a step forward.

Out of the shadow walked a boy.

The boy was him.

Not a reflection, not a twin. It was Li Wei. He wore the same simple clothes, had the same dark, messy hair. But there was a difference. This version stood perfectly straight, his posture relaxed but confident. The exhaustion, the anxiety, the constant simmering resentment that Li Wei wore like a second skin—it was all gone. The eyes of this new Li Wei were calm, intelligent, and utterly empty.

The duplicate tilted its head, a minute, curious gesture. "What are the tasks?" it asked. Its voice was his, but level and devoid of any emotion.

Stunned into silence, Li Wei could only point a trembling finger at the desk.

The duplicate walked to the desk, its movements efficient and precise. It picked up the wolf-hair brush. Without a moment of hesitation, its hand moved, flowing across a fresh sheet of rice paper. The character for ‘Perseverance’ emerged, each stroke a masterpiece of balance and strength, more perfect than any Li Wei had ever managed. Then it turned to the math homework. It didn't pause to think. Its pen flew across the page, solving complex proofs and equations as if they were simple arithmetic.

Just as it finished the last problem, the sound of his mother's footsteps ascending the stairs reached the door. Li Wei panicked, scrambling to hide in his closet, pulling the door almost shut.

His mother entered without knocking. "Li Wei. We need to talk about your attitude."

The duplicate turned from the desk. It bowed its head slightly, a perfect picture of filial piety. "Mother. You are right. I have been disrespectful and lazy. My behavior was unacceptable, and I have brought shame upon our family. I spent the afternoon reflecting on my failures. I have completed my schoolwork. I will do better. I promise."

The words were flawless. The tone was sincere. The apology was everything his parents had ever wanted to hear. From the crack in the closet door, Li Wei watched his mother’s stern expression soften, replaced by a look of surprised approval.

"Good," she said, her voice losing its hard edge. "That is all we ask."

When she left, the real Li Wei stumbled out of the closet, a dizzying mix of terror and intoxicating euphoria washing over him. He had done it. He had found the cheat code. He had a perfect version of himself to face the world, to absorb the pressure, to be the son his parents always wanted. And he, the real Li Wei, could finally be free.

For the next week, his life transformed. While the real Li Wei stayed in his room, reading novels and exploring the chilling, silent power of the Umbral Plate, his duplicate became the model son. It attended school, earning praise from teachers. It practiced the guzheng until the melodies were hauntingly perfect. It endured his parents' demanding schedules without a hint of complaint. Victory was sweet, intoxicating.

The hollow feeling began with a knock on the back door.

It was Lixia. She’d slipped into the backyard, a worried frown on her face. "You haven't answered any of my texts. I had to get your number again from a friend. Are you okay? You look… different."

Li Wei watched from his window upstairs as his duplicate opened the door. The copy smiled, a warm, practiced expression. "Lixia. I'm fine. My parents and I had a talk. I'm focusing more on my studies."

"Focusing?" Lixia’s brow furrowed. "You look like you're sleepwalking. Where's the guy who I beat at Street Fighter?"

The duplicate chuckled, a perfect, pleasant sound. "He's growing up."

They talked for a few minutes, Lixia's vibrant energy crashing against the duplicate's calm, serene wall. Li Wei felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to be down there, talking to her, soaking in her presence.

Then, just as Lixia was about to leave, she did something impulsive. She stood on her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the duplicate's lips. "For luck," she whispered, a blush creeping up her neck, before turning and jogging away.

Upstairs, the real Li Wei felt it.

It wasn't a memory. It was a ghost. A faint, phantom pressure on his lips, a whisper of warmth that vanished as soon as it registered. He could smell a faint, spectral hint of her cherry lip balm. It was like receiving a corrupted data file—all the components were there, but the essence, the emotion, the life of the moment was missing.

His duplicate stood by the door for a moment before closing it, its face as placid and unreadable as ever. It had experienced his first kiss. And Li Wei, the real Li Wei, had received nothing but a cold, hollow echo.

The euphoria of his newfound power curdled in his stomach, turning into a chilling dread. He looked at his own hands, then at the perfect copy downstairs that was now living his life for him. He had created a perfect son, a perfect student. But in doing so, he had outsourced his own humanity, and the victory suddenly felt like the most profound loss of all.