Dimensional Hotel

It was a long-abandoned theater, its name and purpose forgotten by nearly everyone. No one had stepped through its doors for countless years, yet now, its old ticket booth was suddenly lit with a bright, eerie glow. Inside that booth, an ancient ticket machine began to creak and groan. With each painful-sounding click, it spat out a roll of red admission tickets into the air, as if answering some invisible call. To an ordinary observer, this would have seemed utterly impossible. But Little Red Riding Hood stood there quietly, watching the whole thing with a calm, steady gaze, as if this were nothing unusual. It seemed as though such strange occurrences were as common to her as the sunrise.

After a few moments, the rattling stopped. Three old-fashioned, rectangular tickets—still connected to each other—fell onto the dusty windowsill inside the booth. Little Red Riding Hood blinked once but did not reach for them right away. Instead, she gently rapped her knuckles against the glass of the booth.

“Excuse me,” she called out, her voice sure and clear. “We need four tickets! Four people are going in!”

Silence hung in the air. For several seconds, there was no reply whatsoever. Little Red Riding Hood raised her hand to knock again, but before she could tap, the lights inside the booth flickered a few times, as if something there were losing power, and then went completely dark. Not a single glow remained, leaving only those three red tickets resting on the dusty surface.

Yu Sheng, who had been watching this unusual scene with narrowed eyes, looked around at the group—there were four of them, after all—and gave a soft, puzzled cough. “Um,” he said, turning to Little Red Riding Hood, “what’s going on here?”

“I really don’t know,” she answered, sounding honestly uncertain. “This has never happened before.” She reached in and plucked up the three tickets, holding them between her fingers. Then, she looked at Yu Sheng, Foxy, and Irene. “This entrance to the ‘Museum’ is supposed to respond perfectly to all valid requests. It’s tied to specific times—every hour and half-hour after sunset. It’s never failed to recognize a proper request for entry.” She paused, frowning. “I’ve never once seen it make a mistake.”

Yu Sheng’s eyebrows drew together as he scanned the small group, counting heads again. They needed four tickets—there were four of them. His gaze landed on Irene, who stood there looking uneasy under his stare. She shifted from foot to foot, then looked up at him, her doll-like face scrunched into a pout. “What are you staring at me for?” she asked defensively.

“Um,” Yu Sheng began, hesitating slightly, “I was just wondering… could it be that children under one meter tall get in for free?”

For a heartbeat, Irene froze. Then, her cheeks flamed scarlet, and she nearly exploded with fury. Her voice rose with an outraged squeak, “You think I’m a child?! You’re the child! Your whole family are children! How dare you say something like that to a grown, mature lady like me! Do you have any idea how insulting that is?!”

As Irene flailed, Yu Sheng tried to calm her down, holding her shoulders firmly to keep her from launching herself at him. He shot Little Red Riding Hood a questioning look, “Could that be it? Is that really a thing?”

Little Red Riding Hood’s eyes widened, and she seemed just as startled by the idea. She had seen countless bizarre events in her work as a Spirit Realm Detective, but this was entirely new. After a long silence, she sighed, “There… might be some truth to that.”

Hearing this, Irene screamed in fury and turned her wrath on Little Red Riding Hood instead. With a furious growl, she charged forward—only to be instantly tackled and pinned down by two gray-furred wolves that seemed to appear from the shadows at a silent command. Irene’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked as though she might start sobbing at any moment.

Yu Sheng rushed over to lift Irene back to her feet, patting her shoulder awkwardly to soothe her hurt pride. “Has no one ever tested this rule before?” he asked Little Red Riding Hood, still a bit taken aback.

She gave him a rather wry grin. “No one in their right mind would bring a toddler—or someone tiny enough to be mistaken for one—on a mission. It’s simply never come up.”

With that, Irene truly began to cry, her small form shaking in Yu Sheng’s arms.

“Was that really necessary?” Yu Sheng said, looking at Little Red Riding Hood with mild exasperation. He tried to hush Irene gently. “Now what? We’re one ticket short. Will Irene be allowed inside the ‘Museum’? Or is there really some silly rule that anyone under a certain height can get in for free?”

Little Red Riding Hood frowned. “I have no idea. This is a first.” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “We can only try. Either she’ll be admitted without a ticket, or we’ll have to think of something else.”

As she spoke, she divided the three tickets among herself, Yu Sheng, and Foxy. With a final uncertain glance at the silent ticket window, she muttered to herself, “Would an ‘entrance’ really have such a considerate, human-friendly policy?”

The dark ticket booth offered no answer. Instead, in the quiet gloom of the abandoned theater, a dim glow started to shine from the corridor that led deeper inside. It beckoned them forward, as if urging the ticket-holders to enter.

“Let’s go,” Little Red Riding Hood said, squaring her shoulders and heading towards the corridor. The shift in her voice was obvious—she was all business now. She looked over her shoulder at Yu Sheng, Irene, and Foxy. “Follow closely. Don’t dawdle or wander off.”

Yu Sheng nodded at once. Even Irene stopped sniffling and fell into step, walking close behind Foxy. Together, all four ventured down the narrow passageway. As they moved, the weak lights on the walls flickered, slowly revealing more and more of the old theater’s interior. The deeper they went, the clearer it became that something unnatural was at work here.

At first, Yu Sheng thought he heard footsteps echoing alongside them—many, many footsteps, as if an invisible crowd were marching in time down that hallway. The sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But after a few tense moments, the footsteps faded away, leaving only the soft hush of their own breathing.

Eventually, they came upon a door at the end of the corridor. It stood half-open, spilling warm, bright light into the hallway. Beyond it, they could glimpse rows of seats and, at the far end, a stage. The scene reminded Yu Sheng of entering a grand old cinema that had long since fallen silent.

Little Red Riding Hood raised her ticket and called over her shoulder, “Hold up your tickets the same way I am. If you hear anyone shouting at you or telling you to stop as you step through that door, don’t go in any further. That means we’ve been refused entry, and if we try to force our way in, the ‘Museum’ will create its own security. Believe me, that’s dangerous. We’d have to go back to the entrance right away.”

Yu Sheng and Foxy each lifted their tickets, holding them at about shoulder height, just as she did. Irene, who had no ticket, looked around nervously but said nothing. Together, they slowly moved through the door and entered the main hall.

No one scolded them. There were no shouts, no angry voices. Irene also heard nothing amiss. Everything seemed… normal, for the moment.

Soon they found themselves walking between rows of old, dusty red seats. Finally, they settled in the very front row, close to the stage itself. The fabric of the seats was stained and grimy. Yu Sheng leaned over to Irene, whispering, “We’ll have to wash these clothes afterward. These seats are filthy. Next time, maybe we should bring some newspapers to sit on.”

Little Red Riding Hood overheard and turned to give Yu Sheng a slightly baffled look. His practical, everyday worries seemed oddly out of place in this mysterious, otherworldly scenario. She said nothing, though.

Right at that moment, a piercing bell echoed somewhere outside the hall. Instantly, the overhead lights dimmed, and spotlights on the stage blinked to life. They shone down upon the empty boards, cutting through the darkness. And then Yu Sheng heard something that made him spin around.

Applause—loud, thunderous applause—erupted all around them. Whistles, cheers, and excited cries blended together into a roaring wave of sound. Yet all the rows of seats behind them remained completely empty. It felt as though an invisible crowd had just materialized, clapping and shouting from every corner of the old theater.

Yu Sheng squinted against the bright lights, trying to understand what was happening. Foxy, Irene, and Little Red Riding Hood were no longer sitting. Instead, they were all standing right beside him, but now they were gathered on the stage itself. Somehow, they were no longer the audience. They were the performers.

Just as described in the old documents and tales, once you entered the strange “Museum” theater and the applause began, the visitors became the actors. They were now inside the show, and the stage was theirs—whether they liked it or not.

The sound of set pieces creaking into place came from the sides of the stage. Yellowish walls with intricate carvings and painted patterns rose from the floor. Ceilings lowered from above. Deep green and blue tiles spread across the ground. Doorways and display cabinets slid silently into view, forming rooms and halls. With astonishing speed, the stage transformed into a grand, maze-like Museum. Everything was shifting and rearranging as if guided by an unseen hand.

Yu Sheng watched in wonder as a giant mural formed on one wall. A crimson dragon stretched across its surface, its wings flared. Then a plaster knight statue appeared, sword raised, ready to do battle with the dragon, both blending into the mural until it became a three-dimensional bas-relief.

In another direction, a squad of soldiers in antique armor marched out of a newly formed doorway. Before they could advance far, musketeers from an oil painting on the opposite wall sprang to life and opened fire. The crack of guns thundered, white smoke filled the air, and the soldiers toppled, transforming upon the floor into clusters of blooming flowers. Those blossoms arranged themselves into neat flowerpots and leafy screens, lining a tidy path as though part of an elegant exhibit.

This bizarre, ever-changing scene continued for what felt like a long, dizzying stretch. For ten full minutes, the stage and walls around them groaned and screeched, forming and reshaping a museum of impossible sights. Yu Sheng’s head spun as he tried to take it all in.

Finally, the frantic rearranging came to an end. They now stood in a wide, well-lit corridor. Beautiful landscapes hung on the walls, their frames shining beneath the bright lights. At the far end, Yu Sheng could just see a spacious hall that promised even more wonders—or dangers.

A low, uneasy sound rose from a shadowy corner. Little Red Riding Hood’s Phantom Wolves were there, summoned silently to guard them. The wolves growled softly, their ears alert. Little Red Riding Hood gave Yu Sheng a reassuring look and smiled faintly. “A bit unsettling, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “This place truly is remarkable. If you ignore the dangers, you might think it’s a magical palace filled with marvelous things. That’s what Aemorabi said—right before he died here.”

Yu Sheng blinked. “Who’s Aemorabi?” he asked softly.

“An artist,” she explained. “He was well-known outside the Borderland. He lost his life in this place, all in pursuit of true art.” Her voice dropped to a gentler tone. “I’ve heard that if we’re lucky, we might see a painting called ‘The Field’ in a sky-blue room somewhere in here. It’s said to bear Aemorabi’s signature. Supposedly, it appeared after he died, as if the Museum absorbed his talent and turned it into part of its collection.”

Yu Sheng frowned. “You can still create things even after becoming part of this… Museum’s collection?” The idea sent a chill up his spine.

“Some experts believe so,” she said. “They say new items appear, tied to those who lost their lives here. Sometimes it’s a portrait or a statue of them. Other times, it might be an artwork bearing their signature. That’s just how the Museum works—or so they say.”

Yu Sheng forced himself to straighten his shoulders. “You said this place wasn’t too dangerous, right?” he asked, his voice calmer than he felt.

Little Red Riding Hood nodded. “Its danger level is rated only a two. That means as long as we follow the rules, avoid annoying the ‘guards,’ and don’t wander into the truly hazardous areas, the Museum won’t actively try to kill us. It’s surprisingly peaceful, in its own strange way. Still, let’s not let our guard down.”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

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