Chapter 4: The Room Was Empty

There was someone hidden inside this locked room that had never been opened—this realization sent a chill down Yu Sheng’s spine. Immediately, an uncontrollable flood of conjectures surged through his mind.

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

If it was the latter, then since he had spent long stretches inside this large house without leaving, and he was certain no one had opened that room on the second floor during that time, the person must have been hiding inside all along. Was there a secret passage within the room, or could it be…

Was the faint laughter really from a “person”?

His thoughts twisted and turned wildly, yet Yu Sheng’s expression gradually calmed—as if his previous encounter with that “frog” had altered something within him, or perhaps the experience of “coming back to life” had changed his mindset. He now felt something strange in his heart.

The voice carried neither kindness nor malice, but an undeniable eeriness. Yet after that initial shock sent shivers through his scalp, all fear and hesitation melted away, leaving only a burning curiosity.

He wanted to know what exactly was inside the room.

He wanted to uncover the secrets of this large house he had come to regard as his refuge.

This was his safe house—the only “home” he had in this vast city—and a safe house must contain nothing unsafe.

Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his ear against the door. Faint laughter seemed to echo from within, though it might have been just a trick of the wind swirling around his ear.

He curled his fingers and knocked on the door.

“Open up. I heard you.”

Of course, the door didn’t open, but the hollow laughter vanished.

As expected, Yu Sheng said nothing and turned away. He went to the neighboring room, cluttered with miscellaneous items, and retrieved an axe.

Returning to the locked door, he silently raised the axe high, summoning all his strength to strike down.

The sharp edge clashed against the thin wooden door with a metallic ring, sparks flying as if from a blade hitting metal. The door, which looked as if it could be kicked open in a single blow, showed not a single scratch.

The faint laughter returned, blurred and indistinct, but Yu Sheng paid it no mind. With a calm face, he raised the axe again, as if performing a meticulous, patient task, swinging the blade down stroke after stroke.

He knew this door was unopenable—not even a drill or saw could break through. Yet for nearly two months, he had tried countless methods to force it open. Now, hearing that strange voice inside only fueled his determination to open it today.

With each failed strike, his resolve grew stronger. Every swing became more forceful, more precise, even more in tune with his own will.

His mind gradually emptied, giving rise to odd imaginings—he felt like Wu Gang chopping the osmanthus tree on the moon, and once the cursed tree was felled, Chang’e, the Jade Rabbit, Bald Strong, and Sisyphus would gather around to applaud.

He had no idea why Sisyphus appeared in his thoughts.

The laughter behind the door grew sharper, louder, and closer, as if the voice’s owner was stepping right up, pressing against the wood, fully aware of the door’s indestructibility, mocking Yu Sheng wildly through this wall of sighs as he swung the axe outside.

Suddenly, amid the eerie laughter, another voice interjected, tense and annoyed: “Can you stop laughing? If he breaks in, I’m the first one he’s chopping!”

The laughter inside instantly ceased.

Yu Sheng, poised to strike again, froze for a moment, then felt a snap in his waist.

With the crack came a loss of control; the axe in his hand fell, striking somewhere entirely unexpected.

A crisp sound, unlike the earlier harsh clashes, rang from the door. The axe clattered to the floor, and Yu Sheng suddenly raised his hand to clutch his waist.

Pain flared sharply—a severe strain, sending jolts through him.

Supporting his back, he painfully approached the door, taking a moment to focus on where his last blow had landed.

There, about two or three centimeters from the door’s surface near the hinge, a “flash” lingered—a spark from the axe’s impact, suspended in the air as if frozen in that instant of fiery light.

Using that faint glow, Yu Sheng vaguely discerned something on the nearby door panel.

He reached out to touch it.

A suppressed scream pierced from behind the door: “Ah—!”

Yu Sheng’s eyes snapped open. The glaring living room light stung his eyes; lying on the sofa left his body aching all over. The clock on the wall ticked steadily—he had slept less than forty minutes.

He lay dazed, memories slowly sharpening in his numb mind.

He had fallen asleep… and that had all been just a dream?

He was still stunned when suddenly something felt wrong.

The “dream” had been too vivid, too detailed and complete. He could even recall the feel of the axe in his hand, the frozen spark on the door, and—

He abruptly sat upright on the sofa, clutching his waist again.

The pain was intense—a severe strain sending jolts through him.

“Damn…!” Yu Sheng muttered, the sharp pain from his strained waist combined with sudden movement and sleeping on the sofa creating a cocktail of discomfort. He briefly wished the frog had just stabbed his heart; at least that pain lasted only two seconds.

He pressed on, slowly standing while massaging his waist, more convinced than ever that what he experienced was no ordinary dream.

The pain in his waist during the dream could never compare to reality. Something sinister had truly invaded his “safe house.”

He adjusted his posture and mindset to minimize the pain’s interference, then grimaced as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Holding his baton in one hand, he entered the cluttered room again, found the axe from his dream, and gripped it in his right hand—the wooden handle felt exactly as it had in the dream, as if still warm with the imprint of his palm.

He approached the locked door once more. It remained intact and pristine; the “light mark” from the axe strikes was nowhere to be seen.

Inside, all was silent.

As if nothing had happened.

But Yu Sheng clearly remembered the exact spot of that light mark.

He hung the baton at his waist, switched the axe to his left hand, and extended his right hand to explore the door’s surface, searching for the place where he had seen the spark in his dream—near the hinge—where he had glimpsed something vague.

The next moment, his fingers found a door handle—one invisible to the naked eye.

But he was certain there was no handle here. Since the first day he discovered this locked door, he had examined every inch of it, feeling every surface. He was sure he had never encountered such a “nonexistent handle.”

Why? Was it because he had seen it in the dream? Had the axe strike revealed some hidden disguise? Because he acknowledged its existence, it became real?

Yu Sheng’s mind raced through all the movies, shows, games, and novels he’d seen, quickly listing all possible explanations. Yet his hand moved without hesitation, gripping the invisible handle and gently turning it.

The supposedly unbreakable locked door opened effortlessly, swinging from the hinge side.

Inside was an empty room. From the widening gap, only the floor and walls were visible, dimly lit by the light seeping through the doorway. Even after cautiously pushing the door fully open, Yu Sheng saw no sign of the one who had mocked him from within.

Clutching the axe tightly, he carefully surveyed the room, finding nothing—not a bed, not a chair.

Only cold moonlight filtered through the worn curtains, casting mottled shadows on the floor.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something.

There was indeed “something” in the room—a painting hung on the wall directly opposite the door.

An exquisite frame adorned with intricate, classical vine patterns surrounded the canvas, which depicted a chair draped with a soft red carpet as its background.

But beyond that, there was nothing—no cursed ghost laughing mockingly from within the oil painting at the intruder.

Frowning, Yu Sheng stared at the roughly half-meter-high frame for a long while. Maintaining his gaze, he felt along the wall and found the light switch beside the door, flipping it on.

Under the bright light, every detail of the painting became crystal clear.

He cautiously stepped closer, studying the painting for several long moments.

Then he noticed a very subtle detail in the corner of the frame—a fold of a skirt.

“…”

He thought for a moment, then spoke with a strange expression: “Are you there?”

“No!” came a guilty voice from inside the painting.