How are we supposed to get people into the house?

He sulked for a while, then finally remembered that Henry Baker could barely be considered a judge—though he’d been crossed off, he at least had a name once. Different branches always had their own methods, so maybe there was a way.

So William Clark asked, “Do you have a way?”

Henry Baker made a noncommittal sound. “It’s not like I have no way at all.”

William Clark couldn’t be bothered to listen to his rambling, so he simply said, “Then you do it.”

“Are you sure?” Henry Baker casually broke off three dead twigs from the side, then reached out his hand to William Clark. His open palm was thin and clean, with long, straight fingers.

William Clark stared at that hand, suddenly dazed for a moment, his own fingers hanging at his side curling slightly.

Henry Baker said, “Give me the lighter.”

William Clark flexed his knuckles, took out the lighter, and handed it over.

He watched as Henry Baker lit the twigs and stuck them into the muddy ground… These techniques, compared to the Zhang family, were actually closer to puppet arts.

“Let’s be clear first.” Henry Baker looked up at William Clark, reminding him, “You’ve heard those rumors about me, right? I only know a few simple tricks, my skills are limited, I can’t do anything complicated. You’re the one who asked me for help, remember that—if anything goes wrong, don’t blame me.”

He was still smiling as he spoke. The moment his five fingers closed and the three twigs collided, William Clark’s vision went black.

In that instant, William Clark regretted it.

But when he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a room—he must have entered the heart of the cage. He had to admit, Henry Baker’s skills weren’t bad.

He didn’t act rashly, but looked around. This seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Besides the bed, the floor was covered with a soft, shock-absorbing plastic mat, printed with those 90s-style cartoon patterns.

In the corner was a small wooden chair, and scattered building blocks. Clearly, the room’s owner wasn’t very interested in blocks—a visible layer of dust had settled on them.

William Clark felt he was high up in some cabinet, but didn’t know if he was a photo or a painting. If only there were a mirror to check. He was just about to look for George Miller and Henry Baker, when he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps outside the door.

It was probably a child dragging slippers.

Sure enough, the next second, the door opened and a little boy dressed like a doll ran in.

People inside the cage rarely looked normal—one feature would be especially prominent, while the rest were blurry, just like human memory.

For this little boy, it was his eyes—huge and pitch black.

He ran into the room and suddenly stopped, then, as if he’d discovered something, stared fixedly at a point in the air. Those beautiful eyes now seemed a bit eerie.

He stood there for a moment, then, without warning, tilted his head and looked straight at William Clark.

William Clark immediately heard a faint gasp, confirming that George Miller was right beside him, just too scared to speak.

The next second, that ghostly little boy withdrew his gaze, ran back to the door, and suddenly shouted downstairs, “There are so many people in my room!”

William Clark: “……”

Not long after, a dragging footstep came up the stairs. Judging by the sound, it was an old man.

From William Clark’s high vantage point, he could see the old man’s gray-white hair, but because his back was hunched, he couldn’t see his face.

The old man looked at the empty room, sighed softly, then patted the child’s head and asked, “Where are all those people? Grandpa’s eyes aren’t so good, I’ll have to look for a while.”

The little boy pointed straight at William Clark: “Over there!”

The old man finally looked up…

He had no face.

William Clark felt something next to him shudder, then slowly slide down. As expected, it must have been George Miller fainting from fright.

But he was puzzled—what’s with sliding down? Whether it’s a picture frame or a photo, that’s not how it works, right?

What exactly had Henry Baker put them into?

Just as William Clark was wondering, George Miller slid all the way out.

With a soft “thud,” he watched as a doll in a pink dress fell to the floor, face down.

William Clark: “……”

Immediately after, the faceless old man bent down, picked up the pink-dressed George Miller, dusted her off, and placed her on the bed. He patted the little boy’s head, looked toward William Clark, and said, “Are these dolls the people you were talking about?”

William Clark: “……”

These…

Dolls…

William Clark felt suffocated, and just wanted to know two things:

First, whether his own doll was wearing a dress.

Second, where Henry Baker was, so he could go die.

Chapter 7 Mirror

What kind of soul-shaking trauma a “doll” was experiencing, of course, no one else knew—

The old man was still coaxing his strange grandson.

He slowly walked to the cabinet, that featureless face leaning in. Seeing something like that up close would make anyone’s skin crawl, but William Clark was already used to it.