Dimensional Hotel

The fact that someone was hidden in the locked room—a room that couldn’t be opened—sent an unsettling chill down Yu Sheng’s spine. His scalp prickled, and questions began to tumble through his mind like a wild storm he couldn’t control.

Who was it? How had they managed to sneak inside? Did they slip in while he was asleep, or—far worse—had they been there the entire two months since he’d moved in?

The second thought was unbearable. It would mean that someone had been concealed in that very room while Yu Sheng lived in the house, unaware and alone. He distinctly recalled that no one, not once, had opened the door to the second-floor room. Could someone have been there all along? Was there some hidden passage? Or worse—was it even human?

A flood of wild thoughts swept through his mind, but soon, his expression calmed. Maybe it was because of that strange encounter with the “frog” not too long ago, or perhaps it was the strange sensation of having narrowly survived something dangerous. His reaction felt… odd. The voice didn’t sound hostile, nor did it sound friendly—it was just… strange. And after the initial shiver of fear passed, all that remained was a burning, undeniable curiosity.

He needed to know what was inside.

He had to understand what secrets this house, his supposed refuge, was hiding. After all, this was meant to be his safe place, his sanctuary in a sprawling, unforgiving city. There couldn’t be anything unsafe here—right?

Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his ear to the door, straining to hear. Was that a faint chuckle? Or was it just the wind?

Without hesitation, he knocked.

As expected, the door remained shut, and the eerie chuckle fell silent.

He wasn’t surprised. Yu Sheng said nothing more. He simply turned away, walking with purpose toward the next room. He had tools in there—various items he’d collected over the months. Reaching into a cluttered pile, he grabbed an axe.

Returning to the locked door, he lifted the axe high and swung it down with all his strength.

The axe struck the wooden door with a sharp, metallic clang as though it had hit solid steel. Sparks flew from the impact, but to Yu Sheng’s shock, not even a scratch marred the door’s surface. It was as though magic protected the flimsy wood.

The chuckle returned, muffled but mocking.

Yu Sheng didn’t care. His face remained impassive, his mind focused. He raised the axe again and swung. Each strike was more forceful than the last as if every failed attempt only fueled his resolve. His strikes grew rhythmic, almost like a craftsman at work, each blow deliberate, each swing of the axe synchronized with his growing determination.

He knew the door wouldn’t budge—he had tried everything over the past two months. Hammers, drills, even a saw. But today was different. That voice, the presence inside, had set something alight within him. Today, he would break it down.

With each swing, his resolve deepened. Each thud of the axe against the door sent vibrations up his arms, and, oddly enough, it felt… satisfying. It was as if the act of chopping at this door was connecting him to some deeper, primal force. His mind wandered, and for a strange moment, he imagined himself as Wu Gang, the mythical figure condemned to endlessly chop down a laurel tree on the moon. If he chopped long enough, maybe even the jade rabbit and Chang’e would come to cheer him on… or maybe Sisyphus would join the party with his boulder.

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Wait, Sisyphus? Where had that thought come from?

The laughter behind the door suddenly grew louder, sharper, almost unnervingly close. It was as if the person was standing right on the other side, taunting him, aware of the door’s indestructible nature.

Then, without warning, another voice cut through the eerie laughter—this one anxious and irritated.

“Will you stop laughing! If he breaks in, I’ll be the first one to get chopped to bits!”

The laughter stopped immediately.

Yu Sheng froze mid-swing, stunned. He stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Then, he felt a sharp crack in his lower back.

The axe slipped from his hands, landing awkwardly against the door.

But this time, the sound was different. The axe had struck the door with a lighter, crisper sound. Yu Sheng winced, reaching for his lower back as a sharp pain shot through him, almost as if something had snapped.

Leaning against the door, he took a few moments to catch his breath, wincing as he clutched at his back. The pain was real, too real, reminding him that he wasn’t some mythic figure from legend.

When the sharp ache eventually dulled to a throbbing pain, Yu Sheng’s eyes fell to the spot where the axe had last struck.

Just a few centimeters above the hinge, something strange caught Yu Sheng’s attention—a brief flicker of light, frozen in mid-air like a spark suspended in time. It was as though the impact from the axe had ignited a flash of fire that had decided to stay still, trapped in the moment.

Using the light, Yu Sheng noticed something peculiar on the door. Slowly, he reached out to touch it.

Suddenly, a muffled, high-pitched scream pierced through the door. “Ahh!”

…

Yu Sheng’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself back on the sofa, the harsh glow of the living room light burning into his vision. His whole body ached as though he’d been in some kind of battle. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

He glanced over at the clock—it had only been forty minutes since he’d fallen asleep.

Lying there, disoriented, Yu Sheng’s thoughts slowly sharpened.

Was it all a dream?

He blinked, still trying to make sense of everything. But something wasn’t right.

The dream… it had felt too real. The vividness of each detail lingered with him—the weight of the axe in his hands, the force of each blow, and that spark frozen on the door. And—

With a groan, Yu Sheng sat up abruptly, clutching his lower back.

Pain. Sharp and very real.

“Wha… Ouch…” he muttered through gritted teeth, cursing softly. Between the sudden jolt and the lingering ache in his back, it felt like his body had been put through a grinder. Maybe that bizarre encounter with the frog would’ve been less painful—it had only lasted a few seconds, after all.

He winced as he stood, still holding his back. The more he thought about the dream, the more convinced he became that it wasn’t just a dream.

You don’t pull your back in a dream, do you?

Something wasn’t right. Something—or someone—had found its way into his safe house.

Straightening himself as best he could, despite the pain, Yu Sheng made his way upstairs to the second floor, a new sense of urgency pushing him forward. He wasn’t going to let this go unanswered. Clutching a retractable baton in one hand, he rummaged through the storage room until he found the axe from his dream.

The moment his fingers wrapped around its handle, a familiar sensation coursed through him—the exact warmth and weight from the dream were present, down to the smallest detail.

He returned to the locked door. On the surface, it looked unchanged, just as solid and unyielding as ever. No sign of the strange glowing mark he’d seen.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

But Yu Sheng knew exactly where to look.

He clipped the baton to his belt, shifted the axe into his left hand, and stretched out his right hand, feeling along the door’s surface. His fingers searched near the hinge, where he’d seen… something.

Then, his hand brushed against it—a handle. An invisible handle, one that definitely hadn’t been there before.

How? He had checked every inch of this door countless times. There hadn’t been a handle. Had his dream somehow revealed it to him? Was this the result of his relentless efforts, or was it something else… something more bizarre?

A flood of possibilities rushed through his mind, each one fueled by the films, books, and games that had always sparked his imagination. But he didn’t dwell on it. He acted.

Without hesitation, he gripped the handle and turned it gently. The door—impenetrable for months—swung open without the slightest resistance.

The room beyond was empty.

Yu Sheng blinked, standing at the threshold, the door half-open. A sliver of dim light spilled from the hallway into the room, casting faint shadows on the bare walls and wooden floor.

No ghost. No mocking laughter. No mysterious figure.

Only the soft whisper of a cold breeze slipping through a crack in the curtains. Moonlight, thin and pale, spilled across the floor in uneven patches.

But then, something caught his eye.

There was something inside the room.

Directly opposite the door, hanging on the wall, was a painting.

It was framed beautifully, with intricate, classical vines weaving around the edges. The scene depicted an elegant chair draped over with a rich, red carpet as its backdrop.

Nothing more.

No eerie figure staring out from the canvas. No haunted image waiting to spring to life.

Yu Sheng frowned, taking a cautious step closer to examine the half-meter-tall painting. He reached for the light switch by the door, flicking it on.

Under the bright light, the painting’s details stood out in sharp relief.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the scene. The longer he looked, the more he felt there was something he wasn’t seeing. His gaze roamed over every inch of the artwork, searching for anything unusual.

Then, he saw it—down in the bottom corner of the frame. It was barely noticeable, but there it was—a small hem of a skirt peeking out as if someone were hiding just beyond the edge of the scene.

“…You there?” Yu Sheng called out, skepticism clear in his voice.

From the painting, a guilty voice replied, “No one’s here!”