Chapter 4: No One in the Room
The locked room, which had never once opened, harbored a person within—this realization sent a chill crawling up Yu Sheng’s spine. Instinctively, his mind spun out of control, weaving countless theories.
Who was that? When did the owner of that voice sneak inside? Had they slipped in while he was asleep, or were they already hiding there two months ago when he first arrived? If it were the latter, then during his long stays inside the Big Manor, where he rarely left the building, he could swear that no one had ever opened that door on the second floor. Could it be that someone had been concealed within the entire time? Was there some hidden passage in the room, or worse…
Was that eerie laughter truly human?
A maelstrom of wild thoughts swirled in his mind, but Yu Sheng’s expression gradually calmed. Perhaps it was the influence of his encounter with that wretched “Rain Frog,” or maybe it was the effect of his Resurrection ability, but his state of mind now felt… strangely composed.
The voice didn’t sound explicitly hostile, but it was undeniably strange. Despite the initial jolt of fear, Yu Sheng found that his terror and hesitation had melted away, leaving behind nothing but pure, relentless curiosity. He needed to know what was in that room.
He needed to unravel the secrets of the Big Manor—a place he considered his safe haven in the sprawling Boundary City. A sanctuary couldn’t harbor something unsafe.
Cautiously, he approached and pressed his ear against the door. Faintly, it sounded as if the low laughter still lingered within, but it might have just been the wind swirling through the cracks, playing tricks on his mind. He curled his fingers and knocked gently on the door.
“Open up. I know you’re in there.”
Of course, the door remained stubbornly closed, and the hollow laughter abruptly faded. Unfazed, Yu Sheng said nothing more and turned away, heading to the adjacent cluttered room filled with various tools. From the pile of discarded gear, he picked up an axe.
Returning to the locked door, he stood in silence, raising the axe high before swinging it down with all his might.
The blade struck the thin wooden door with a metallic clang, sparks bursting forth, but despite the vicious impact, the door didn’t even bear a scratch. The laughter seemed to whisper through the cracks again, but Yu Sheng paid it no heed, his face an impassive mask as he raised the axe once more. It was as if he was meticulously performing a delicate, patient task—each strike more forceful and fluid than the last, as though the motion was becoming increasingly harmonious with his own intentions.
He knew the door couldn’t be broken. He had tried every conceivable method—electric drills, saws, even explosives. Yet despite knowing this, he still found himself compelled to try once more, driven by the eerie voice that had emerged from within. The absurdity of it all only made his resolve grow stronger.
Somewhere in his mind, a whimsical thought took root—like the legendary Wu Gang chopping at the immortal laurel tree on the moon. Perhaps if he finally split that cursed door, Chang’e, the Jade Rabbit, Bald Qiang, and even Sisyphus would surround him in applause. The thought was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Sisyphus had even entered his imagination.
Suddenly, the dissonant laughter changed, interrupted by a tense, irate voice from behind the door:
“Can you quit laughing already? If he actually breaks through, I’m the first one getting chopped!”
The laughter ceased immediately. Yu Sheng, mid-swing, froze as something cracked audibly at his waist. In the abrupt silence, his next swing missed entirely, the axe slamming into an unplanned spot with a loud clatter.
Unlike the harsh, metallic collision before, this time there was a distinct, clear sound—something light and crisp from the door. The axe slipped from his hands, thudding to the floor as he clutched his waist, pain searing through him.
He bent over, feeling his back seize up, the pain prickling with each breath. He dragged himself closer to the door, staring intently at the point of impact from his last, misdirected swing. There was a peculiar flash—as if the very sparks he’d struck earlier had frozen in place, suspended mere centimeters from the wood.
Leaning in closer, Yu Sheng traced the light’s edge, barely making out faint markings on the door’s surface. Reaching out to touch it, a muffled, startled yelp came from behind the door.
Yu Sheng jerked awake, his eyes snapping open to the blinding light of the living room’s ceiling lamp. He lay sprawled on the couch, muscles aching and stiff. The ticking clock on the wall showed he had barely been asleep for forty minutes.
He lay still for a long while, the memories of the dream slowly piecing together.
He had fallen asleep… Was it all just a dream?
Yet even as he sat in stunned silence, an uneasy feeling gnawed at his mind.
The dream had been too vivid, too real. Every detail remained clear in his mind—the sensation of the axe gripped tightly in his hand, the flickering firelight frozen upon the Door… and something else…
Yu Sheng shot upright from the sofa, only to immediately clutch his waist, pain searing through him.
“Ahh… damn…” he hissed through clenched teeth, wincing as the sharp ache radiated from his strained waist. The sudden movement, combined with the stiffness from sleeping on the sofa, had only made things worse. For a fleeting moment, he almost wished that frog from the dream had pierced his heart instead—at least that pain was brief. Gritting his teeth, he managed to stand, gingerly rubbing his sore waist.
[That wasn’t just a dream… There’s no way a normal dream could hurt like that.]
The pain had carried over from the dream—something truly malevolent had invaded his “Safe House.”
After taking a few moments to collect himself and adjust his posture, Yu Sheng carefully made his way up the stairs to the second floor, grimacing with each step. His right hand clenched a telescopic baton, and his gaze was firm.
He entered the cluttered storage room and located the axe he’d used in the dream. Wrapping his fingers around the wooden handle, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu—the handle’s warmth seemed to carry the residual heat of his own grasp from before.
Taking a deep breath, he moved towards the sealed Door—the one that had resisted every effort to open since he’d first discovered it. The Door looked as pristine as ever, not a single mark from his previous attacks, no trace of the “light scar” from the dream. Everything seemed unchanged.
But he remembered the exact spot where he had struck.
Shifting the axe to his left hand, he reached out with his right, slowly feeling along the surface of the Door. He concentrated on the area near the hinge, where he had glimpsed something faint…
His fingers brushed against something—a handle. An invisible handle.
Yu Sheng froze. He was sure—absolutely sure—that there had been no handle here before. He had checked every inch of this Door when he first found it, and there had been nothing like this.
[Did… breaking the illusion in the dream make it real?]
His mind raced through countless theories from movies, games, and novels, while his hand moved on instinct, gripping the unseen handle and giving it a gentle twist.
With a soft click, the firmly sealed Door swung open.
Beyond the threshold was an empty room, illuminated only by the weak moonlight seeping through the faded curtains. Yu Sheng cautiously pushed the Door fully open, his eyes darting around for any movement or sound. There was no one—no sinister presence, no trace of the mocking voice from his dream. Just a barren room with a worn wooden floor and dusty walls.
However, his gaze caught on something—a painting hanging on the opposite wall.
The painting was framed in ornate, vintage carvings of vine patterns, encasing an image of a luxurious armchair draped in a soft, crimson carpet. Nothing else adorned the canvas—no sinister specter, no Ghost seated mockingly.
Frowning, Yu Sheng approached, his axe still at the ready. He scrutinized the painting closely, noticing a barely perceptible detail in one corner—a small, almost imperceptible hint of a skirt hem.
He hesitated, his expression shifting to one of perplexed curiosity. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to the painting.
“Are you… there?”
A muffled, guilty voice immediately replied, “Nope!”
Yu Sheng’s brow twitched in annoyance.