The Transdimensional Inn

NO other

In the locked room that had never been opened, there was someone hidden inside—a realization that made Yu Sheng's scalp tingle with unease. Almost instantly, an uncontrollable cascade of speculations flooded his mind.

Who was it? When did the owner of that voice sneak in? Did they slip in while he was asleep, or had they been there since the day he arrived two months ago?

If it was the latter, then the unsettling fact was that despite spending long, solitary stretches inside this grand house, the second-floor room had never been opened. Had that person been hiding there all along? Was there some hidden passage within the room, or could it be...

Was the one laughing softly even human?

A jumble of wild thoughts surged and ebbed in his mind, yet Yu Sheng's expression slowly calmed. Perhaps it was the strange encounter with the "frog" earlier or maybe the fact that he had "come back from the dead," but he felt a strange shift in his own mindset, a detachment from fear.

The voice held neither clear malice nor goodwill, but it reeked of eerie strangeness. Despite the initial shudder that ran through him, Yu Sheng found that all his fear and hesitation had melted away, leaving only a sharp and overpowering curiosity.

He wanted to know what was really in that room.

He needed to uncover the secrets hidden in this house, his supposed refuge.

This was his safe house, his only "home" in this vast, intimidating city. No danger should be allowed within its walls.

Leaning closer, he pressed his ear against the door, straining to catch the sound of what might have been a faint chuckle from within. It could have been a trick of the mind, perhaps just the hollow whisper of the wind swirling in his ears.

He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door.

"Open up. I know you're in there."

The door, of course, did not open. But the faint laughter vanished.

As expected, Yu Sheng said nothing more. He simply turned and walked away, heading to the adjacent storeroom. There, among the clutter, he found an axe.

Returning to the locked door, he silently raised the axe high and brought it down with all his strength.

The blade struck the thin wooden door with a sharp, metallic sound, sparks flying as if it had hit steel. Oddly, the door—which should have shattered easily—didn’t even bear a scratch.

That eerie laughter echoed once more, but Yu Sheng paid it no heed. His face remained impassive as he raised the axe again, swinging it down with the steady precision of someone wholly absorbed in a task, as though it were a careful, methodical job that required his utmost patience and focus.

He knew the door wouldn’t open. He had tried everything—power drills, saws, you name it—but nothing could breach it. Even knowing this, for the past two months, he had attempted various methods to open that door every single day. The strange voice from within today only fueled his resolve further.

With each futile swing of the axe, his determination grew. Every strike became stronger, more fluid, and almost... aligned with his inner will.

Odd, disconnected thoughts began creeping into his mind. He felt like Wu Gang, eternally chopping down the osmanthus tree on the moon. If he could just fell that cursed tree, wouldn’t the onlookers—Chang'e, the jade rabbit, and even Sisyphus—gather around to applaud his effort?

He couldn’t fathom why Sisyphus had suddenly entered his thoughts.

Meanwhile, the laughter from behind the door grew sharper, louder, and more grating. It was as if the owner of the voice was now standing right behind the door, fully aware of its invulnerability, mocking Yu Sheng as he labored with his axe in vain.

But then, another voice, this one laced with irritation and fear, interrupted the laughter. “Could you stop laughing already? If he breaks through, I’ll be the first one he chops!”

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Yu Sheng, in the middle of a powerful swing, froze for a moment, then heard a soft c***k from his lower back.

Accompanied by that sound, the axe slipped from his grip and landed on an unintended spot.

A distinct, clear noise—unlike the harsh clangs before—rang out from the door, as if something brittle had been struck. The axe fell from his hands to the floor, and Yu Sheng instinctively reached for his back, his face twisted in pain.

His back had gone out—a sharp, searing pain coursed through him.

Gritting his teeth, he hobbled closer to the door, taking a few seconds to refocus before inspecting the spot where his last blow had landed.

A faint “flash” hovered in the air, just two or three centimeters away from the door, near the hinge. It looked like a spark frozen in time, hanging there from the moment it flared up during the strike.

By the faint light, Yu Sheng could just barely make out something unusual on the door.

He reached out to touch it.

A muffled yelp came from the other side of the door: “Ah—!”

Yu Sheng snapped awake. The glaring light of the living room’s lamp stung his eyes, and his body ached from having dozed off on the sofa. The ticking of the wall clock broke the silence, showing he had only slept for about forty minutes.

He lay there for a moment, groggy, as his memory sluggishly began to return.

He had fallen asleep. It had all just been a dream?

Dazed, he blinked, but something didn’t feel right.

The dream had been far too vivid, too detailed. He could clearly recall the weight of the axe in his hand, the flash of light against the door, the...

Abruptly, he sat up, clutching his lower back.

His back still hurt—sharply, intensely.

“Damn…” he muttered, cursing under his breath as the pain radiated through his stiff muscles. The sudden movement only worsened the ache from having slept on the sofa, making him wonder whether getting stabbed by that frog would have been less painful.

Shaking off the discomfort, he stood, slowly and painfully, a deep certainty settling in his chest. That wasn’t an ordinary dream.

In a dream, you wouldn’t feel this kind of pain. Something truly strange was at play here.

Something had invaded his safe house.

He took a moment to adjust his posture, ensuring the pain wouldn’t hinder his movement, then, grimacing slightly, headed upstairs again.

With a retractable baton in one hand, he returned to the cluttered room and retrieved the axe from his dream. The feel of the wooden handle in his grasp was exactly the same as it had been in the dream. It even seemed to hold the residual warmth of his hands.

Back at the locked door, everything looked as pristine as ever. There was no sign of the “light mark” his axe had supposedly left.

The room beyond was deathly silent.

As though nothing had ever happened.

But Yu Sheng remembered exactly where that mark had been.

He hooked the baton onto his belt, shifted the axe to his left hand, and reached out with his right, feeling along the door for the spot where the flash had appeared in his dream. He recalled it had been near the hinge, a vague imprint of something...

His hand brushed against a handle—a handle that couldn’t be seen.

Yet, he was certain that this handle hadn’t been there before. On the first day he found the locked door, he had thoroughly inspected every inch of it. There had been no hidden handle!

Why now? Was it because he had seen it in the dream? Had he “broken through” some illusion with the axe? By acknowledging its existence, had he made it real?

His mind raced through countless movies, shows, games, and novels, piecing together possible explanations. But his hands moved without hesitation, grasping the invisible handle and giving it a slight turn.

The door, which had seemed impenetrable, swung open with ease, pivoting on its hinges.

It revealed an empty room. The faint light from the hallway spilled into the darkness, illuminating the bare floor and walls. Cautiously, Yu Sheng pushed the door fully open, yet there was no sign of the mocking voice’s owner.

He gripped the axe tightly, scanning the room warily, but there was nothing—no bed, no chair, nothing.

Only a cold, pale moonbeam filtered through the tattered curtains, casting a broken path across the floor.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something.

There *was* something in the room. Hanging on the wall opposite the door was a painting.

A finely crafted frame adorned with intricate, vintage vine patterns surrounded the artwork. The centerpiece of the image was a plush chair, its seat draped in rich, red fabric.

But that was all. No cursed specter, no ghostly figure seated in the painting, staring at the intruder.

Yu Sheng frowned, staring at the half-meter-tall painting. He carefully approached it, keeping his eyes locked on the details, while his hand reached out to flick the light switch beside the door.

Under the bright electric light, the painting’s details stood out even more clearly.

Cautiously, he examined it for a long while.

And then he saw it—a faint detail in the corner of the frame... the edge of a skirt.

“...”

He hesitated, his expression growing a little odd, before speaking aloud, “Are you there?”

“No, I’m not!” came a nervous voice from the painting.