Dimensional Hotel

In the dimly lit, gray-hued room, shrouded in an oppressive gloom that sunlight could not penetrate, countless dense symbols dissolved into the air. From a gaping void in the ceiling emerged an ugly, grotesque tentacle. Slowly swelling and contracting, it swayed ominously in the air, inching ever closer to Yu Sheng’s position.

His heart clenched instantly, and he took two cautious steps back. Although he’d encountered his fair share of grotesque and eerie entities lately, this scene still sent shivers down his spine. The tentacle’s revolting appearance was especially hard to stomach. Even with his vivid imagination, Yu Sheng couldn’t conceive a way to make the thing look less nauseating, even with artistic liberties.

The sight hit Yu Sheng like a punch to the gut.

The tentacle wavered clumsily in the air a few times, seemingly losing its focus on its “target.” It then resumed its slow, aimless motion, expanding and contracting as though sleepwalking in a blind trance.

Yu Sheng tried to steady his nerves, keeping a cautious distance from the appendage as he moved along the wall. He maneuvered carefully, ensuring to stay out of its perceived path, before finding himself on its other side.

The dark room rippled faintly, as though his movements had disturbed the surreal fabric of a bizarre dream. The ripples spread outward, casting faint glowing patterns along the surface of the tentacle.

This must be what Old Zheng had once touched—what he had supposedly summoned using a crude spirit-summoning technique under the influence of those Angel Cultists. Was this their so-called “Messenger”?

Yu Sheng hesitated for a moment, then cautiously edged half a step closer to the tentacle. Ensuring the distance wouldn’t provoke it, he scrutinized its surface and the bizarre void from which it emerged.

If the contents of the secret letter were accurate, and if the cultists’ spirit-summoning claims were true, then this thing was likely a part of a Dark Angel.

The void in the ceiling was dense with shadowy darkness, concealing the “body” to which the tentacle was connected. Yu Sheng could only make out a faint outline of the structure closest to the opening. It confirmed that the tentacle was part of something much larger, lurking silently in the void beyond human perception and reason.

The appendage twisted blindly in the air, swaying past Yu Sheng once again.

Should he try?

Touch it?

The thought crossed his mind, bold and reckless, startling even himself. Logic screamed at him to stay away from something so visibly sinister and dangerous. Both Little Red Riding Hood and Irene had warned him not to engage with anything tied to Dark Angels, as they were the very embodiment of chaos and madness.

Yet, touching it might yield valuable information. He might glimpse what Old Zheng had seen.

Touch it. It doesn’t look hostile. The tentacle has shown no aggression.

Touch it. Even if there are consequences, they shouldn’t be severe—this is just a strange dreamscape, and the thing before him is likely a mere illusion.

Touch it. A mere mortal had once done so and sensed kindness and sincerity from it. If things felt off, he could simply let go and step away…

Just one touch…

Yu Sheng frowned, glancing around the room. “What the hell is this voice rambling about…”

The mysterious whispers that had been tempting him suddenly vanished—just like the failed attempts of the X090 graphics cards, limited-edition controllers, and ultimate fishing spots on the Black Forest trails to lure him before.

Blinking, Yu Sheng quickly decided against touching the sinister tentacle. In fact, without the strange voice pushing him, he might have grabbed it impulsively by now.

But just as he calmed himself and prepared to examine another part of the room, a chilling sensation swept through his senses.

The next moment, Yu Sheng felt a familiar coldness wrapping around his limbs, slowly penetrating his flesh and spreading within. It seemed to pull at him, dragging him backward. Reflexively stepping back, he saw countless black threads appear out of nowhere, unfurling from the air around him. Some were already entwined around his arms and legs.

Irene’s voice cut through his mind like a sharp blade: “Yu Sheng, what are you spacing out for?!”

A sharp pain stabbed through his head, jolting him back. The room’s grim tones dissolved like water, and within moments, the normal world’s colors returned. Sunlight flooded through the windows, warming the space and dispelling the lingering cold.

Turning around, Yu Sheng found himself standing by the dark red circle, where Little Red Riding Hood remained in her previous spot. Irene stood nearby, her arms outstretched, threads of black trailing from her fingertips to his body.

Yu Sheng blinked, stunned. Then Irene stormed toward him, furious. “Yu Sheng, you idiot! Can you stop trying to ‘experiment’ every single time?! What if ‘trying’ gets you killed? If you insist on trying, at least give us a heads-up first!”

“Are you okay?” Little Red Riding Hood approached as well, her face tense. “You froze suddenly, then started fading. Irene said your consciousness was being ‘pulled away’…”

Yu Sheng hastily caught Irene as she fumed, soothing her with difficulty before managing to speak. “I’m fine, I’m fine… Wait, I was almost ‘dragged away’? Really?” He glanced down at himself nervously but found no visible abnormalities. Yet seeing the worry on Little Red Riding Hood’s face and Irene’s exasperation convinced him that the situation had been dangerous.

Though the tentacle hadn’t bewitched him, merely lingering in that eerie, gray space seemed to have almost caused him to “lose himself.”

“Of course it’s true,” Irene grumbled, tugging at his hair. “If I hadn’t pulled you back, you’d be gone by now—and don’t give me that nonsense about dying and respawning or reopening a door. What if you really screwed up this time?”

“What did you see?” Little Red Riding Hood asked seriously. “Did the crude spirit-summoning ritual actually call something?”

Yu Sheng steadied himself, his expression turning grim. “I saw a tentacle… and another version of this room. It seems your ‘contact,’ Old Zheng, was completely deceived.”

He recounted everything he had seen and experienced in the bizarre “illusion,” including the tentacle’s attempt to bewitch him.

When he finished, the room fell silent.

Irene stared at Yu Sheng in disbelief. “…You weren’t affected at all?”

Yu Sheng frowned. “What kind of question is that? Isn’t it good that I wasn’t?”

“Normally, this is the part in the story where you’d zone out, almost get eaten by some eldritch abomination, and then I’d heroically save you with my powers. Afterward, you’d bow in gratitude and vow eternal servitude…”

Yu Sheng promptly tuned out Irene’s ranting.

Instead, he turned to Little Red Riding Hood, who had been standing there with a complex expression, silent since his account. Irene finally quieted as well, and the room was heavy with unspoken thoughts.

After a long pause, Little Red Riding Hood sighed softly.

“…Old Zheng has been our contact for a long time,” she said quietly.

Yu Sheng nodded. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“He’s closely tied to the orphanage. Years ago, he worked there as a volunteer before joining the Association of Strange Objects or becoming an expert in anomalies. He secured many of the commissions the Fairy Tale Organization handled. His terms were always the best…” She trailed off, lost in thought. “But I never really understood him. Most of what I know about his past comes from the older staff at the orphanage.”

Yu Sheng wasn’t sure what to say, and silence filled the room again.

Then, they heard the sound of the front door opening.

Old Zheng’s nephew had returned.

Yu Sheng glanced at Irene, who immediately gestured toward him. “Open the door. I’m out.”

He nodded, letting Little Red Riding Hood head to the living room while he quickly activated the Open Door Ability, creating a passage to Wutong Road No. 66.

Standing at the door, Irene glanced back at him. “Those cultists are seriously annoying.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Yu Sheng replied.