An hour later, Fang Xiu lay on his bed, his eyes vacant, staring blankly at the ceiling as if his soul had been stripped away.
He had died dozens of times, been driven insane by the eerie horrors, shattered and broken, yet in the end, he had survived.
Madness and hatred had pulled his reason back from the brink of hell.
From that moment on, revenge became his sole purpose—vengeance upon his wife, upon the grotesque horrors of the world, upon the entire monstrous existence that had tormented him. He would make them suffer. That was the meaning of his existence. Just as his name implied—he would not rest until death.
But now that the horrors were gone, what was he supposed to do with this all-consuming hatred? What meaning was there left in living?
So he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling throughout the night.
It wasn't until the next day that his phone rang.
"Xiu-ge! Turn on the news, now!" Zhao Hao's voice was filled with urgency.
Fang Xiu remained unresponsive.
"Xiu-ge, Bai Liu Academy is on fire!"
The mention of Bai Liu Academy made his dull eyes flicker with life. He picked up his phone and opened the news.
The first headline he saw left him frozen.
It read: At 19:49 yesterday, a major fire broke out at the Bai Liu Academy sales office in Lvteng City's development district, with a burned area of approximately 1,000 square meters. Firefighters responded immediately, and the blaze was extinguished by 22:00.
According to official reports, the incident resulted in 11 casualties.
The death toll was listed below…
A fire at Bai Liu Academy at 7:49 yesterday?
Impossible.
Fang Xiu distinctly remembered that at that exact time, he and his group were fleeing within the eerie domain. He had checked his phone frequently to track the time—there was no mistake.
And when they left Bai Liu Academy, sometime past nine, there had been no sign of a fire at all.
Heart pounding, he scrolled to the list of the deceased.
There, in bold, unmistakable letters, was his own name.
And not just his.
Zhao Hao. Wang Zitong. Wu Dahai…
A sharp, panicked voice erupted from the phone.
"Xiu-ge, did you see it? Our names are on that list. Does this mean… we're already dead?"
Fang Xiu did not answer, but in his eyes, the light of reason was swiftly returning.
"Xiu-ge? Are you there?"
Then, suddenly—
"Heh… hahahaha…"
A burst of suppressed, almost euphoric laughter escaped Fang Xiu's throat.
"Hahaha… marvelous. This is truly marvelous. I knew they hadn't vanished. They were just playing hide-and-seek with me."
"Xiu-ge… what are you talking about? Don't scare me like this!"
Thud!
Fang Xiu hung up the call.
The realization that he was listed among the dead filled him with exhilaration—because it meant the horror wasn't over. The grotesque nightmares had not disappeared. And what could be more thrilling than that?
Just then—Ding!
A WeChat notification popped up.
It was from the sales office workgroup.
Manager Wu Dahai had tagged him.
"Fang Xiu, why haven't you come to work yet?"
"Why haven't you come to work yet?"
"Why haven't you come to work yet?"
Message after message bombarded his screen.
Fang Xiu smirked.
Wu Dahai, who had died, was telling him to come to work?
Hah. Interesting. Truly, hilariously interesting.
Dead men demanding attendance—what could be more absurd?
It seemed Wu Dahai had transformed into a capitalist horror after death.
For the first time in his life, Fang Xiu found himself eager to go to work.
But he didn't reply. He wanted to see what else Wu Dahai would do.
As he continued to ignore the messages, the notifications became incessant, relentless.
Then, suddenly, a line of blood-red text appeared.
"Do you think I don't know where you are just because you're not replying?"
Crimson letters bled across the screen, ominous and grotesque.
Then, as if the blood had a mind of its own, it pooled and began to swirl, forming a dense, viscous stain.
Gurgle… gurgle…
The blood began to boil, bubbles rising from its surface. And then—
An eyeball emerged.
Tangled in a mass of bloodied sinews, it pushed itself out of the phone screen, grotesquely staring straight at Fang Xiu.
And then, from within the oozing, pulsing mass, came a voice.
"Fang Xiu… I see you."
Wu Dahai's voice. Cold. Menacing.
A sight that would drive any ordinary person to madness.
But Fang Xiu?
He simply tilted his head, thought for a moment, and calmly asked,
"When will my commission be paid?"
The eyeball hesitated, as if momentarily stunned.
"Come to work, and I'll pay you."
"Alright."
With that, Fang Xiu reached out, grabbed the eyeball—still writhing in its mass of sinews—and yanked it clean from the phone screen, as if uprooting a weed.
"Apologies, but I only have one phone. I'd appreciate it if you didn't occupy it."
The eyeball shrieked in agony—before vanishing like a burst soap bubble.
Fang Xiu opened his hand.
Empty.
No blood. No eye.
"An illusion?"
He chuckled.
"Things are getting interesting. Guess I'll go to work."
And so, Fang Xiu set off for Bai Liu Academy once again.
When he arrived, the entire sales office was charred black, its structure barely standing, a stark remnant of a devastating inferno. Police tape lined the perimeter.
Yet, the moment he stepped inside—
The world shifted.
In an instant, the ruin transformed.
The scorched walls became pristine. Chandeliers sparkled overhead. Marble floors gleamed under the lights. Everything looked as it had before.
Even Li Feifei, long dead, stood by the front desk in her uniform, chatting with coworkers.
When she saw him, she smirked.
"Well, well, Xiao Fang, you're early today."
Fang Xiu approached and casually pinched her arm.
Warm. Supple. Real.
"Is this real?"
Li Feifei yelped, slapped his hand away, and scolded him.
Ignoring her, he walked toward the second floor.
As soon as he reached the stairs, Zhao Hao rushed toward him.
"Xiu-ge! Did they force you to come to work too?"
"No. I wanted to come. Where's Wu Dahai?"
Zhao Hao hesitated before answering, "In his office."
Fang Xiu nodded and continued onward.
He passed through the workspace, where all his deceased colleagues sat at their desks—some working, some slacking—just as they had in life.
As he reached Wu Dahai's office, the door swung open, and out stormed Wu Dahai himself.
"Fang Xiu! Do you have any idea how late you are?! I tagged you in the group chat—why didn't you reply?! Do you even—"
"When will my commission be paid?" Fang Xiu's voice was calm, cutting through Wu Dahai's tirade.
Wu Dahai scoffed. "Commission? With your attitude? You think you're—"
"You're just as insufferable dead as you were alive."
"What the hell did you just say?! Who's dead?! You—"
Wu Dahai's rage was a spectacle, his voice booming, drawing the attention of the entire office.
Shing!
A glint of silver flashed.
The world fell silent.
All eyes widened in shock.
A surgical scalpel gleamed in the light, embedded deep in Wu Dahai's thick neck.
Fang Xiu's hand remained firm on the handle.
Their gazes met.
Fang Xiu's expression was indifferent.
"Now you're dead, aren't you?"