Dimensional Hotel

Irene looked heartbreakingly sad.

Yu Sheng glanced at the “masterpiece” he’d spent hours crafting. Putting himself in her shoes, he thought that if his own soul had to inhabit such a body to come back to life, he’d probably burst into tears as well.

Still, her reaction stung a bit. He forced himself to keep a straight face as he gazed at the puppet on the table, trying to appear earnest. “I really did my best. Look, at least the eyes are symmetrical…”

Irene actually started to cry. “But the head isn’t symmetrical…”

Yu Sheng turned away awkwardly. “Well… I admit I’m a bit inexperienced. I’ll do better next time. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time,” she said despairingly, waving her hand. Then, perhaps remembering that today was the day she could finally escape, she tried hard to pull up the corners of her mouth into a smile—but failed. All her words ended up as a sigh. “Well, at least it’s a body. I can feel the connection is established. Fine, it’ll have to do.”

She took a deep breath, hopped down from the chair in the oil painting, and took a few steps forward. Then, as if recalling something, she looked down at the plush teddy bear she was holding.

Standing silently for a few moments, she hugged the bear tightly, then turned and placed it back on the chair, as if saying goodbye.

“I can’t take it out. It’s… another soul sealed in this painting, and its consciousness faded long ago. I don’t even know where it came from,” Irene shook her head gently, reaching out to pat the bear’s head. “It can only stay here. But I won’t discard this painting, so it’ll be like keeping it close by.”

“Oh.”

Yu Sheng nodded, then watched her next moves with a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

He was keen to see how she’d “come out” of the oil painting and how she’d “come to life” using that, well, not-so-attractive clay puppet he’d made.

Then he saw Irene in the oil painting start to… melt!

The scene was eerie and horrifying. She seemed to turn into a wax figure under a flame, her entire body gradually melting. In almost the blink of an eye, she lost all color and detail. Within seconds, she became a softening, collapsing mass of black substance, oozing from the bottom edge of the frame and beginning to flow onto the tabletop.

The table emitted a faint hissing sound, as if corroding under some strong acid. The black substance flowing out first looked like thick mud, then quickly thinned to a watery consistency. In the next moment, it transformed into a swirling black mist, hovering around the lifeless clay puppet on the table, gradually seeping into it.

Yu Sheng stared wide-eyed. Whether it was his imagination or not, he felt a chill emanating from the eerie black mist.

If he hadn’t seen Irene transform into this mist, he’d have thought it was something evil and dangerous. The whole scene was utterly spooky. Even knowing the truth, he still found the black mist incredibly unsettling. The lingering cold felt like malice seeping into the world from some distant, dark abyss—quite unlike Irene’s usual carefree and harmless demeanor.

He shook his head, pushing aside the odd thoughts. Watching the mist seep into the clay, he suddenly had some absurd ideas.

What would happen if he blew on the mist? Or poked it with his finger?

Irene would probably curse him out…

Yu Sheng managed to restrain his mischievous impulse, and just then, the mist’s infiltration reached its end.

The puppet on the table began to change visibly. The rough, ugly clay figure suddenly seemed endowed with life. The coarse surface smoothed out in an instant, and the crooked limbs straightened and rearranged. It began to take on the texture and color of human skin. Distorted features merged back into the head, then reformed, gradually emerging on the face.

Yu Sheng thought he should probably turn away out of politeness.

But before he could, he saw a delicate black dress “grow” from the puppet’s body as if it were part of her flesh, covering Irene’s form.

Mimicry?

The word popped into his mind. At that moment, he suddenly felt a certain… connection between himself and Irene.

The feeling was fleeting. He didn’t even have time to discern whether the dreamy whisper was her voice before the connection faded.

Yu Sheng frowned, recalling the drops of his own blood he’d mixed into the clay while shaping the puppet. Perhaps that momentary link was related to that.

He suddenly felt worried. His blood was somewhat special. Would it affect Irene’s rebirth?

But soon, his worries were dispelled.

The fully reconstructed puppet lay quietly on the table, skin like porcelain, hair like silk, her delicate face resembling a work of art.

Under his somewhat nervous gaze, the puppet’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.

Then, her eyes slowly opened.

Scarlet pupils stared vacantly at the ceiling for a moment, then regained focus. Irene clumsily raised her hands, looking at them in disbelief. She slowly clenched and unclenched her fists as if feeling the texture of the air.

After standing there stunned for several seconds, she began to smile, which seemed to suppress an overwhelming urge to cry.

Yu Sheng’s voice sounded beside her. “Congratulations, Irene.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She pressed her hands against the tabletop, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. Wobbling a bit, she stood up on the table, then turned to Yu Sheng with a radiant smile. She spread her arms wide as if about to give him a hug. “I’m alive again! Yu Sheng! Tha—”

She suddenly froze as if realizing something. She remained in that pose, arms outstretched, staring blankly at him.

Yu Sheng blinked. “…What is it?”

Irene slowly tilted her head back. “Why… do you look… so tall?”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe because you’re… a bit short?”

She blinked, then quickly looked down at herself. Then she glanced over at the desk lamp nearby. Suddenly gasping, she scurried over to the lamp, comparing her height to it, then stiffly turned her head back to him.

Yu Sheng sensed something was off.

“Why…” Irene muttered blankly, “Why am I so… small?”

“Well… the size of the puppet. It’s a large one,” Yu Sheng was beginning to panic but tried to keep his composure. “I mean, like a one-third scale doll… Wait, did I mess up?”

“One-third your head! Puppets! Standard size is human size! I’m supposed to be five foot six!” Irene, now only as tall as the desk lamp, began jumping up and down on the table, shouting. “Where are my long legs?! Huh? Huh?! I can’t even reach that chair over there!”

Yu Sheng was utterly bewildered, but then he realized something. “But wait, you were watching when I was making the body, right? You saw the size. Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Irene stopped mid-jump as if just realizing this. “Yeah… you’re right, I was watching…”

She pattered over to the center of the circle where the puppet had been made, glanced back at the oil painting where she’d been trapped, and thought hard. Some vague memories surfaced.

“Yes… yes, your procedure was fine. The clay body is just a medium to temporarily house the soul. Even if the size was a bit off, my soul should’ve adjusted during the body’s reconstruction. No matter how limited the adjustment, there should’ve been some change. There’s no way I should only be as tall as this lamp…”

She reached up to touch her head, then tried jumping a couple of times as if hoping that might somehow make her taller.

Obviously, it didn’t work.

“So… did something go wrong with the ritual after all?” Yu Sheng asked nervously. “Was there a problem during the body’s reconstruction? But that shouldn’t be my fault…”

Irene looked up at him, her face a mix of grief and anger, eyes welling with tears. It made Yu Sheng take a step back.

“Ruler.”

She stretched out her hand toward him, her voice strained.

“Uh… what?”

“Get me a ruler!”

Yu Sheng nodded quickly. “Oh, right!” He dashed upstairs to find a tape measure.

He’d initially thought of bringing a regular ruler—but figured that if Irene saw it, she might fly into a rage, so he didn’t dare.

A moment later, Irene stood straight on the table, balancing an old book on her head. Yu Sheng pulled out the tape measure, carefully measuring her height.

She tried to tilt the book upward slightly, but Yu Sheng gently pressed it back down.

“So… how tall am I?” she asked cautiously.

“Thirteen inches,” he said, glancing at the measurement, his tone sympathetic. “I rounded up for you, even included the point three inches.”

Irene finally broke down and cried.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

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