The plaster was peeling off the walls of the health classroom, and all the students looked toward the mirror with reverence.
The surging evil intent, like a suit woven from the night, clung to his body. Ji Zhe casually loosened his tie in the mirror, his eyes full of arrogance, as if he were a god of the new age.
Seemingly familiar with being the center of attention, Ji Zhe gently bit his slender finger that he usually used to hold a pen, and red paint dripped down his wrist.
"What is he doing?"
"Does he want to paint on the mirror?"
"Why is it that the same face looks so much more handsome in the mirror?"
Without needing a brush, the Ji Zhe in the mirror reached out towards its surface, and lines of blood appeared within it, as if it wasn't he who was painting, but the painting itself that was eagerly emerging in his hands.
The threads of blood intertwined, forming a lifelike pattern, first of Ji Zhe himself, then of the health teacher behind him.