The Bathhouse's Sinister Scrubs: Zhang Zhen's Haunted Reflections

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and the faint hum of a distant radio. The bathhouse, an ancient structure that had seen better days, stood at the edge of a bustling town. It was a place where the living sought solace in hot steam and soothing water, but for Zhang Zhen, it was a place of eternal rest—or so he thought.

The bathhouse was run by an elderly woman named Madame Li, whose eyes held the wisdom of a century. She was the keeper of secrets, and the bathhouse was her temple of whispers. It was said that the spirits of the departed sought refuge here, their reflections etched in the steamy mirrors that lined the walls.

Zhang Zhen had been a frequent visitor to the bathhouse, a man of few words and many secrets. His presence was as mysterious as the stories that surrounded him. Some said he was a traveler, others claimed he was a ghost himself. No one knew for sure, but one thing was certain: Zhang Zhen's reflections were different. They were haunting, almost lifelike, and they seemed to move on their own.

One rainy evening, as the townsfolk huddled in their homes, Zhang Zhen found himself alone in the bathhouse. The rain lashed against the windows, creating a rhythm that echoed through the empty halls. Madame Li, her back to Zhang Zhen, busied herself with the cleaning, her movements fluid and practiced.

"Madame Li," Zhang Zhen called softly, "may I have a moment of your time?"

She turned, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it, Zhang Zhen? You know I am busy."

Zhang Zhen approached the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. It was as if the glass were a portal to another world. "I see something... someone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Madame Li's eyes widened. "What do you see?"

Zhang Zhen's fingers traced the outline of a figure in the steam. "It's a woman," he said, "and she's in trouble."

Madame Li stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the reflection. "Who is she?"

Zhang Zhen shook his head. "I don't know. But she needs help."

The old woman's eyes softened. "You always have a way of seeing what others cannot, Zhang Zhen. Perhaps it is your gift."

The rain outside intensified, and the sound of dripping water filled the air. Zhang Zhen's reflection began to change. The woman in the mirror was no longer just a reflection; she was real. She was reaching out to him, her hands trembling with fear.

"Madame Li, she's calling for help," Zhang Zhen said, his voice breaking.

The old woman's eyes were filled with sorrow. "This bathhouse has seen many spirits, Zhang Zhen. Some are trapped, others are seeking justice. This woman may be one of them."

Zhang Zhen reached out, his fingers brushing against the glass. "I have to help her."

Madame Li nodded. "Then you must be brave, for the spirits of this bathhouse are not easily appeased."

As Zhang Zhen stepped closer to the mirror, the woman's face became clearer. Her eyes were filled with desperation, and her voice was a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere.

"Please," she said, "save me."

Zhang Zhen's heart raced. He knew what he had to do. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. The world around him blurred, and for a moment, he was nothing but a reflection.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the bathhouse. He was in a room that was nothing like the one he had seen in the mirror. The walls were made of stone, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. Zhang Zhen's heart pounded in his chest as he looked around.

He was in the woman's room, a place that had seen better days. The bed was unmade, and the floor was covered in dust. Zhang Zhen's reflection was still in the mirror, but now it was clearer than ever. The woman was there, standing beside him, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling.

Zhang Zhen nodded. "I had to help you."

The woman's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know who you are, but you have saved my life."

Before Zhang Zhen could respond, the room began to shudder. The walls trembled, and the floor shook beneath his feet. The woman grabbed his arm, her grip tight.

"Run!" she shouted.

Zhang Zhen nodded, and they ran. The room was a blur of movement, and the sound of the world outside was a distant roar. They reached the door, and Zhang Zhen pushed it open. The rain was pouring down, and the town was a sea of darkness.

The woman stumbled outside, and Zhang Zhen followed. They ran through the streets, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The woman stumbled again, and Zhang Zhen caught her, his arms wrapped around her.

"We have to keep going," he said, his voice barely audible.

The woman nodded, her eyes filled with hope. They ran until they reached the edge of the town, where the bathhouse stood, a beacon of light in the darkness.

Zhang Zhen and the woman pushed open the door, and they were engulfed in the steamy warmth of the bathhouse. Madame Li was there, her eyes filled with relief.

"You have done well, Zhang Zhen," she said, her voice a whisper.

Zhang Zhen nodded, his eyes fixed on the mirror. The woman's reflection was still there, but now it was gone. She had been freed, and Zhang Zhen had done it.

The old woman stepped closer to the mirror. "You have a gift, Zhang Zhen. You have the power to help the spirits of this bathhouse."

Zhang Zhen looked at her, his eyes filled with wonder. "I don't know what to do with this power."

Madame Li smiled. "You will learn. You will grow. And you will help those who need it most."

As Zhang Zhen stepped back from the mirror, he felt a sense of peace. He had done something good, and he had done it for the right reasons. The bathhouse was still there, a place of solace and refuge, but now it was also a place of hope.

And Zhang Zhen, with his haunted reflections, was its guardian.