In the dim corridors of the Huangshan International Hotel, shadows flicker like memories long forgotten, as if the very walls hold their breath, waiting for nightfall. Guests have become accustomed to the eerie dance of lights that flicker on and off, a spectral rhythm that pulses through the rooms, while the ghostly caress of unseen fingers glides over their skin, awakening them to the suffocating dread of being watched. Whispers of those who once lingered echo in the stillness, leaving an unsettling question hanging in the air: When darkness descends, who really occupies the rooms you thought were empty?

The World Hotel in Kunming loomed like a shadow against the fading sun, its cracked facade whispering secrets lost to time-a sentinel of despair in the late 1990s. Inside, a suffocating heaviness pressed against the chest, as if the air itself was thick with the weight of forgotten souls, while disembodied whispers and the shudder of furniture shifting against the grain of the wood drew the unsuspecting into an unsettling dance with the unknown. Guests reported waking in the night to the sound of furniture scraping across the floor, only to find their belongings eerily rearranged, as if the hotel itself was alive, intent on weaving them deeper into its dark and tangled history.