Gongsun Liang gently pressed his hand against the Mist Door. Its utterly frigid touch sent a wave of apprehension through him.
His gaze remained trained warily on his surroundings, afraid that this barrier, created by an employee who had become a ghost after death, might suddenly trigger some unknown change.
After all, no living person, or even a ghost, had ever escaped from here.
Everything was calm, suddenly silent.
Gongsun Liang unconsciously extended his hand slowly through the Mist Door. His wrist disappeared into it, yet not only did the door offer no resistance, his surroundings remained perfectly quiet.
Branch No. 2 really seemed to have no people left, nor any ghosts.
This was a dead branch, a hotel that had long since fallen into ruin, with even its ghosts gone.
That terrifying thought abruptly surfaced in Gongsun Liang's mind before he left, sending cold sweat trickling down his back.
Yet just as he slipped completely through the Mist Door, he suddenly heard what sounded like a conversation coming from the second floor.
The voices were like the whine of mosquitoes or the buzz of flies. He could not make out a single word.
But he was certain they belonged to neither Chang Nian nor Wei Guang.
Dazzling sunlight poured down from above at an angle without warning, stabbing straight into his eyes.
Noise and commotion erupted around him. For some reason, a dizzying sensation suddenly engulfed Gongsun Liang, making the world spin.
Inside the Mist Door and outside it, desolation and bustle—it was as though they were two different worlds.
The man passing between them struggled to adjust, as though a lifetime had passed. The moment he returned to the Real World, he bent over and began dry-heaving uncontrollably.
Until a strong, sinewy hand landed heavily on his