Dimensional Hotel

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Li Lin stood frozen, staring at the empty corner of the wall as if it held some hidden secret. The small sampling scraper in his hand felt unusually heavy, its weight anchoring him in place. His mind was confused, trying to grasp what had just slipped away. He couldn’t even recall what he’d been doing moments before.

Captain Song Cheng—the Special Operations Bureau’s Second Team leader—stood a short distance away, frowning at the wall where a bloodstain had been just moments ago. But now, not only had the blood vanished, but something far more significant seemed to have been erased from his mind. He could feel it—an elusive sense, like a whisper heard in a dream, fading before it could be understood. His instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong.

Song Cheng’s brow furrowed for a moment, but he quickly shook off the feeling. He focused, determined to hold onto the flickers of memory before they slipped away entirely. His years of training kicked in, helping him secure those faint fragments in his mind, just enough to keep the sensation of loss at bay.

“Sir…” Li Lin’s voice was shaky, breaking the silence. “I… I think I’ve forgotten something. Wasn’t there something here?”

“There’s mental interference!” Song Cheng’s voice sharpened, shifting into command mode. “Check the depth levels immediately!”

Li Lin reacted instantly, dropping his sampling tool and reaching for the small black box clipped to his belt. With quick, precise movements, he pressed a few buttons on its surface before pulling out a slender, needle-like tube. Without hesitation, he connected the tube to his eye.

The box began to emit a soft hum, and a strange liquid flowed through the tube. Li Lin’s eye turned an unnatural shade of black, and as his vision sharpened, the world around him transformed into a monochrome of stark blacks and whites.

“Depth reading: L-minus,” Li Lin reported in a flat, mechanical voice. “No anomalies detected from Otherworlds. No signs of emergence or residual energies.”

Song Cheng’s frown deepened. His eyes fell on the device in Li Lin’s hand—a portable depth detector. Though not as powerful as the larger models, it should have been more than enough to detect anything unusual in the area. Yet, nothing appeared.

Song Cheng was certain something had tampered with his mind. Those faint impressions still lingered, barely held together by sheer force of will. Something strange was affecting them, but the equipment wasn’t picking it up.

Before he could order Li Lin to adjust the settings, the younger officer suddenly stiffened, his gaze snapping toward the far end of the street.

“Captain,” Li Lin’s enhanced eye shimmered as he focused on something in the distance. “There’s something ahead. It’s faint, like a mirage, but it looks like a house.”

He began walking forward cautiously. “Depth reading remains L-minus. No contamination… I’m moving closer. Do you sense anything?”

Song Cheng followed close behind, his hand brushing the badge in his pocket—a silent preparation for anything. “No,” he replied, his voice tight. “I don’t feel a thing.”

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Li Lin reached the edge of the blurry apparition and hesitated for just a second before extending his hand.

A loud, sharp buzz erupted from the black box. The device popped, and blue smoke puffed out, followed by the crackle of circuits burning out. The depth detector died in his hands.

Li Lin recoiled, the tube snapping away from his eye as a thick, black ooze leaked from its tip. The substance evaporated the moment it touched the air. A sharp sting seared through his eye.

“Ouch!” Li Lin yelped, clutching his face. The smoldering box clattered to the ground as he rubbed his eye furiously.

Song Cheng was quick to react, his hand hovering near Li Lin’s temple. “Stop rubbing it. Hold still. It’ll pass.”

Li Lin froze, feeling the warmth of Song Cheng’s hand radiate through him. The stinging subsided quickly, and within moments, the pain was gone. Blinking a few times, Li Lin looked down at the now-smoking device on the ground.

“Do you think the bureau will reimburse me for this?” he asked sheepishly.

“They will,” Song Cheng answered with a slight nod.

Li Lin exhaled in relief. “Good. It gave me quite the scare.” He glanced back at the spot where the strange image had been just moments before.

But now, there was only an empty stretch of pavement and a wall covered in graffiti. Bright, colorful images of doors, windows, houses, trees, and rocks had been spray-painted there. Li Lin waved his hand through the air but felt nothing unusual.

“There was definitely something here,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “The detector was picking it up before it fried.”

Song Cheng was quiet, lost in thought. “We’ll report this. The area needs to be flagged for further monitoring. It could be an unregistered Otherworld. We’ll need larger equipment, maybe even some deep divers to investigate.” He glanced at Li Lin. “How’s your eye?”

Li Lin hesitated, then half-jokingly asked, “If it’s not okay, can I take half the day off?”

“No, we’re understaffed,” Song Cheng replied without missing a beat.

Li Lin sighed dramatically. “In that case, I’m fine. I’ll grab some eye drops when we get back to the bureau.”

Song Cheng gave him a knowing nod, and together, they began walking back to their parked electric scooters. Li Lin slipped his key into the ignition and turned it. The LCD screen flickered once, then went dark. He blinked in disbelief.

“Captain,” he called, looking up. “My scooter’s dead. Yours too?”

Song Cheng checked his own, giving a slow nod in confirmation.

“Think it’s a coincidence?” Li Lin asked, his voice uncertain.

Song Cheng shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “At the Academy, they have a phrase for this kind of thing.”

Li Lin thought for a moment before recalling. “Oh, right. ‘The machine spirit is displeased.’”

At the same time, Song Cheng said, “The machine spirit got spooked.”

They paused, exchanging a glance.

“You’ve got it wrong,” they both said, voices overlapping.

Song Cheng waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll figure this out later. We need to keep moving.”

Li Lin sighed, glancing at his dead scooter. “Are we really pushing these all the way back?”

“Unless you’re leaving yours behind,” Song Cheng shot back, already pushing his scooter down the street.

“Can’t we call logistics? Get them to bring the electric tricycle or something? This is going to be awful,” Li Lin grumbled as he reluctantly followed.

“Stop whining,” Song Cheng replied. “You’re younger than me. Keep up.”

Grumbling under his breath, Li Lin pushed his scooter, trailing after Song Cheng. The two agents of the Special Operations Bureau made their way down the quiet street, their figures slowly vanishing into the city’s backdrop.

…

Yu Sheng floated in the endless darkness, feeling almost at home in the shadowy void. He had been here so many times now that the abyss had started to feel familiar, even comforting.

Irene’s scream still echoed faintly in his mind.

He chuckled softly. Turning up in her room with a gaping hole in his stomach must have terrified her. She may be a cursed object, but Irene had always seemed a little too fragile for her own good.

Yu Sheng looked forward to seeing her reaction when he returned. Would she remember the last time she saw him collapse in front of her?

Then, another face flashed in his memory—Foxy. He recalled their strange encounter in that ancient valley. The first time they’d met, Foxy had forgotten entirely that she had headbutted him to death. It wasn’t until much later that she remembered, and even then, she barely reacted.

Yu Sheng still didn’t know why she had forgotten. Was it something about him? Or was it just Foxy’s scattered mind at play again? She was prone to forgetting things. But if Irene couldn’t remember either, then maybe the issue wasn’t Foxy—it was him.

Time didn’t exist here, in this void. As Yu Sheng floated, he gradually cleared his mind, letting go of the tension and preparing for the end of this endless darkness.

And then he felt it—that familiar pull, the sensation of falling.

He was about to return.

Yu Sheng focused, sharpening his senses. He wanted to catch a glimpse of the moment he crossed back into the mortal world.

Images flashed before him, but they were quick and fleeting. He couldn’t make sense of them before one in particular came into sharp focus.

Number 17, Wutong Road. The living room.

Yu Sheng’s eyes snapped open.

He was back.

The familiar surroundings of his home came into view. He could see the dining room through the doorway, where an old, intricately painted oil painting sat on the table.

“Yu Sheng! You’re finally back!” The silence was broken by a voice from within the painting.