Chapter 4: No One in the Room

The fact that there was someone hidden inside this locked room—a room that had never been able to be opened—made Yu Sheng’s scalp tingle instantly. Following that came a series of uncontrollable conjectures.

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

If it were the latter, then considering he had spent long periods in this large house without leaving, he could be certain that this room on the second floor had never been opened during that time. So, had the person been hiding inside the whole time? Was there another passage in the room, or perhaps…

Was the one who let out that soft chuckle even a "person" at all?

A chaotic mess of thoughts surged wildly in his mind, yet the expression on Yu Sheng’s face gradually calmed down. Perhaps it was the changes brought about by his previous encounter with that "frog," or perhaps it was the influence of having "died and come back to life," but he felt his current state of mind was… somewhat strange.

The voice held no discernible malice or kindness, but it was undeniably eerie. Yet, Yu Sheng found that after the initial tingling of his scalp, all fear and hesitation had vanished from his heart. All that remained now was… intense curiosity.

He wanted to figure out what exactly was in that room.

He wanted to figure out what secrets were hidden in this large house he had chosen as his base.

This was his safe house, his only "home" in this massive city—and there could be no unsafe things in a safe house.

He slowly leaned in, pressing his ear against the door. He heard what sounded like a low chuckle hidden within, though it might have just been an illusion—perhaps only the hollow sound of the wind swirling in his ears.

He curled his fingers and knocked on the door.

"Open up, I hear you."

The door, of course, did not open, but the hollow chuckle did indeed vanish.

As expected, Yu Sheng said nothing and simply turned to leave. He went to the adjacent room, which was piled with various sundries, and retrieved an axe.

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

The sharp axe struck the thin wooden door, producing a shrill sound like metal clashing. Sparks flew from the axe blade, yet the door, which looked like it could be kicked open with one foot, didn't even show a single mark.

The soft chuckle drifted over again, vague and indistinct, but Yu Sheng paid it no mind. With a calm expression, he raised the axe once more, as if performing a task that required extreme seriousness, meticulousness, and patience, and continued to hack away, one blow after another.

He knew this door couldn't be opened; it wouldn't open with an electric drill or a chainsaw. But even knowing this, he had tried to open it in various ways almost every day for the past two months. Today, the eerie voice coming from inside had only fueled his motivation to open it even more.

And as each attempt ended in vain, this motivation only grew stronger. Every swing of Yu Sheng’s axe became more forceful, more fluid, and even… more in line with his own intent.

His gradually emptying mind even conjured up some bizarre associations—he felt like Wu Gang chopping the tree on the moon. If he could just chop down that damn osmanthus tree, Chang'e, the Jade Rabbit, Guangtou Qiang, and Sisyphus, who were watching from the sidelines, would gather around and applaud for him…

He didn't even know why Sisyphus had appeared in his thoughts.

The soft chuckle from behind the door grew increasingly grating, becoming more distinct and closer, as if the owner of the voice had walked over step by step and was now pressed against the back of the wooden door. It was as if she knew perfectly well that the door was indestructible and was unscrupulously mocking Yu Sheng, who was swinging an axe outside, from behind this wall of sighs.

But suddenly, another voice appeared within that eerie, grating chuckle, sounding nervous and annoyed: "Can you stop laughing! If he actually opens the door and comes in, the first person he'll chop is me!"

The laughter inside the door immediately stopped, displeased.

Yu Sheng, who was in the middle of raising his axe to strike, froze instantly, and then he heard a *crack* come from his own lower back.

Following the *crack*, his axe, which he couldn't stop in time, fell and struck a spot completely unplanned.

A crisp sound, entirely different from the previous grating metallic clashes, came from the door. The axe fell from Yu Sheng’s hand to the floor, and immediately after, he jerked his hand up… to support his waist.

His back hurt—he’d thrown it out quite badly, a sharp, stinging pain.

He leaned against the door, clutching his waist, and waited two seconds before focusing his attention on the spot where his final swing had landed.

A "flash" of light remained about two or three centimeters from the door panel, located on the side of the door hinge. It looked like the sparks that had flown up when the axe struck, but it remained frozen in the air, as if stuck at the very moment the light had burst forth.

And by the light of that spark, Yu Sheng vaguely saw something on the door panel nearby.

He reached out to touch it.

A suppressed, shrill scream came from behind the door: "Eek—!"

Yu Sheng opened his eyes abruptly. The bright light in the living room felt somewhat glaring. Sleeping on the sofa had left his whole body aching, and the wall clock nearby ticked away; the time on the dial showed he had been asleep for less than forty minutes.

Yu Sheng lay on the sofa, stunned for a moment, before the somewhat numb memories in his mind finally began to clear.

He had fallen asleep… was that just a dream?

He sat there blankly, but suddenly, he felt something was wrong.

The process of that "dream" had been too real, the details too clear and complete. He could even clearly remember the tactile sensation of the axe in his hand, the frozen sparks on the door, the memory of…

He suddenly sat up from the sofa and jerked his hand up… to support his waist.

His back hurt—he’d thrown it out quite badly, a sharp, stinging pain.

"Fu… sss… ck…" Yu Sheng couldn't help but offer a word of praise. The combination of his newly thrown-out back, the sudden movement, and the full-body soreness from sleeping on the sofa had a mixed effect. For a moment, he felt it would have been better to let that frog stab his heart; at least that only hurt for two seconds. He then stood up with difficulty, clutching his waist, his heart becoming increasingly certain that it was definitely not an ordinary "dream."

A thrown-out back in a dream wouldn't hurt in reality. Something truly wicked had appeared.

That thing had invaded his "safe house."

He adjusted his posture and mindset so the back pain wouldn't hinder his movements too much, then, after a moment of thought, he headed up the stairs to the second floor, wincing with every step.

Holding a telescopic baton in one hand, he went to the room with the sundries and found the same axe he had used in his dream, gripping it in his right hand—the feel of the handle was exactly the same as in the dream, as if the warmth of his own palm still lingered on the wooden handle.

He arrived before the locked door. It remained as good as new, and there was no sign of the "light trace" left by his hacking in the dream.

Inside the door, it was quiet.

It was as if everything was normal, as if nothing had happened.

But Yu Sheng still clearly remembered the location of that light trace.

He hung the baton on his waist, switched the axe to his left hand, and reached out with his right to grope the door, searching for the spot where the flash he had created in his dream was located… He remembered it was near the hinge, where he had seen a faint…

The next second, he touched a handle—a handle invisible to the naked eye.

But he clearly remembered that there was no handle here. He had checked every inch of this locked door on the very first day he discovered it, feeling every part of its surface. He could be certain that he had never touched any "non-existent handle" before!

Why? Was it because he had observed it in his dream? Because he had "seen through" some kind of camouflage with the axe? Because he had confirmed its existence, so it now truly existed?

Yu Sheng ran through every movie, TV show, game, and novel he had ever seen in his mind, instantly finding a pile of possible reasons. Yet, his hand did not hesitate in the slightest; he gripped the invisible door handle and gave it a gentle turn.

The indestructible, locked door opened with ease, opening from the side of the hinge.

It was an empty room. Looking in through the gradually widening gap, there was nothing but the floor and the walls. The light spilling in from the doorway illuminated that dim space bit by bit. However, even after carefully opening the door completely, Yu Sheng did not see the owner of the mocking voice.

He gripped the axe tightly in one hand, carefully observing the room, only to find that there was truly nothing inside—not even a bed or a chair.

There was only the cold moonlight, spilling through the gaps in the old curtains, leaving a mottled pattern on the floor.

But suddenly, something caught the corner of his eye.

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

It had an exquisite frame, decorated with intricate, classical vine patterns along the edges. In the center of the painting was a chair covered in a soft red carpet, serving as the background.

But there was nothing else. There was no cursed ghost with a mocking laugh sitting in the oil painting, watching the intruder.

Yu Sheng frowned, staring intently at the oil painting frame, which was about half a meter high, for a long time. While keeping his gaze fixed on it, he groped around until he found the light switch by the door frame and turned on the room's light.

Under the illumination, the details of the oil painting became even more vivid.

He carefully approached the painting and stared at it for a long time.

Then, he saw a very, very inconspicuous detail in the corner of the frame… the hem of a skirt.

"..."

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

"I'm not!"

A guilty voice came from the oil painting.

(End of chapter)