Chapter 11 As I felt relieved, I reached out and held my head in front of me.
That day, not long after Young Master Lan left, I was alone in the house, feeling drowsy, and curled up on the soft couch in the outer room, hugging a hand warmer.
I thought that with such cold weather today, no one would come.
Just as I closed my eyes and was drifting off to sleep, the door was suddenly pushed open from the outside.
With a sharp creak, I was so startled I almost rolled off the tatami mat.
Opening his eyes, he was met with Li Xiao, who exuded a chill. The boy's fair skin was frozen, turning a pale pink, and his gray eyelashes seemed to be covered with glistening white.
Before you could even look closely, it turned into water droplets and condensed at the tips of your eyelashes, like slender blades of grass covered with strings of dew on a clear morning in the countryside.
Li Xiao had a thick fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He took it off as he entered the room and threw it towards the soft couch. A chill swept over me, making me shiver uncontrollably.
"Honestly, it's freezing outside, and they don't even bother to burn more charcoal inside."
I finally managed to peek out from under the thick layer of wool, just in time to hear Li Xiao complaining. I couldn't help but find it a little funny.
If he felt cold, why did the young master take off his clothes as soon as he entered the door?
Moreover, it wasn't that there was no fire inside; it had just been extinguished and was still warm.
I didn't feel that cold.
Perhaps it's because although the winters here are cold, the cold only freezes to the skin.
Unlike the winters in my hometown, which are damp and cold, the chill seems to come not from the outside, but from the very marrow of my bones and blood.
Many times, even if you stay indoors wrapped in a quilt, it's not as warm as going outside in a tattered cotton-padded coat and stamping your feet.
I didn't respond. I'd gotten used to Li Xiao ignoring me these past few days, and I was too lazy to be presumptuous. He was just talking to himself anyway, and I just needed to do my job as usual.
As I thought this, my hands kept moving. First, I tiptoed and carefully hung the cloak on the rack, then poured hot water into a basin, placed a clean towel on it, and then rekindled the fire in the charcoal stove.
Then she stuffed the hand warmer into Li Xiao's arms.
After brewing another pot of hot sweet tea, he stepped aside and chose a spot near the stove to stand.
In this situation, I shouldn't sit down unless the host speaks up.
Li Xiao would never talk to me about this.
So I made up my mind to stay in the corner and be a wooden doll until Young Master Lan returned.
Li Xiao had been to this place so many times that he felt as familiar as if he were in his own home. With no one around to greet him, he remained completely at ease.
I really envy his energy. He would rather leave the soft couch unused and wander around the room like a madman.
Of course, if that Tu Xingsun really existed, he certainly wouldn't be as fair-skinned as the boy in front of him.
I thought to myself, if Li Xiao knew what I was thinking right now, he would probably smash the heater in his hand, or maybe even smash it on my head.
After all, he hadn't done anything like that before.
At that time, however, he had no strength, and his aim and power were both lacking.
Oh right, so that means the sachet he used to hit my head is still here with me and I haven't taken it back.
But judging from Li Xiao's expression, he's probably already forgotten about it. He has so many valuable things on him, he probably doesn't care about these one or two.
But I don't want to leave my things behind.
The sachet was one thing, but the small jade pendant clearly had the words "Li Xiao" engraved on it.
At first, I didn't know him, and I didn't want to bring up the unpleasantness between me and Li Xiao to Young Master Lan.
—How does Li Xiao think it belongs to him?
I don't need to change my personality and confirm his slander just because of that little bit of resentment, or do the same kind of despicable thing as those people laughing under the window.
I've heard that there's a level of hell called the Tongue-Pulling Hell, which is specifically for those who love to gossip and fabricate facts after they die.
I'm afraid of pain. I almost cried when I accidentally bit my tongue while eating before, so I can't imagine how painful it would be to have my tongue pulled out.
Furthermore, since we cannot choose who we meet while we are alive, at least after we die, we can choose not to see those we hated in life again—especially not in such a terrible place.
Is it scary?
Young Master Lan vividly described the different punishments people would receive in the various levels of hell after death. He paused midway, took a sip of tea to moisten his throat, and seeing my frightened expression as I clutched the blanket, he couldn't help but ask.
I nodded: "Terrible."
He laughed: "Then you still want to hear it?"
I thought for a moment and replied, "It's precisely because it's so terrifying that I want to hear more."
Young Master Lan seemed to find this rather strange and asked what the reasoning was.
I said, "I think it's not scary to be completely ignorant about those scary things, nor is it scary to know them completely. The scariest thing is to have only a superficial understanding. Especially for a timid person like me, who is prone to overthinking and getting stuck on trivial details."
Upon hearing this, Young Master Lan nodded slightly, the warm yellow candlelight reflecting on his face, making him look exceptionally gentle.
I didn't see the red mole. I don't know if it was because the light was too dim or if I simply remembered its location wrong. Maybe it was on the side of my face that I couldn't see.
Young Master Lan didn't say anything, but at my request, he continued to explain step by step.
Of the eighteen levels, aside from the Tongue-Pulling Hell, the one that impressed me most was the Hell of Unjust Death. It's said this level is specifically for those who don't value their lives. Unjust death refers to suicide, whether by poisoning, hanging, or drowning…
Anyone who voluntarily gives up their life before their lifespan is exhausted will be sent to this hell to serve their sentence, and will be sentenced to never be reincarnated as a human.
I find this very puzzling.
"For someone who has no desire to live, shouldn't being forever barred from reincarnation be exactly what they want? Why call it punishment?"
"..."
"If life and death in this world are truly predetermined, then wouldn't everyone be unable to live or die? If that were the case, would being human really be so wonderful?"
I muttered to myself, my mind a jumbled mess, as if something buried deep within was stirring and trying to break free, but in the end I grasped nothing.
"If being human isn't all that good, then what is this so-called hell of wrongful death?"
I looked up in utter bewilderment, trying to find an answer in Young Master Lan's face.
But Young Master Lan simply turned to the window and calmly said, "It's late, time to sleep."
The last time I saw Young Master Lan with such an evasive expression was when he heard me say in the courtyard, "I believe you are far superior to myself."
I suddenly realized that my probing questions had ultimately crossed the line.
Before, I always thought I should be well-behaved, but I unknowingly caused you extra trouble.
I finally let my guard down, forgot my place, and acted like a child, losing my composure in the face of this unexpected kindness.
Young Master Lan didn't hold it against me. He just patted my head gently and told me that eating alone wouldn't help me grow taller; I also needed to get enough sleep.
So, go to bed early.
After saying this, Young Master Lan turned and went into the inner room.
Clutching my blanket, I tossed and turned in the darkness for a long time, unsure whether it was from listening to the story or from being angry at myself for behaving so rudely in front of the young master.
That night, I had a long-forgotten dream of myself falling from a great height.
It is still an endless fall.
However, this time the surroundings were not completely dark.
Instead, they are unfolding scenes of hell.
The first level is the Hell of Tongue-Pulling.
The second level is the Scissors Hell.
The third level is the Iron Tree Hell.
The fourth level is the Hell of Retribution.
The fifth level is the Steamer Hell.
The sixth level, the Copper Pillar Hell.
The seventh level is the Hell of Knives.
The eighth level, the Iceberg Hell.
The ninth level is the boiling oil hell.
The tenth level is the Ox Pit Hell.
The eleventh level is the Stone Press Hell.
The twelfth level is the Mortar and Pestle Hell.
The thirteenth level, Blood Pool Hell.
...
I fell down layer by layer, slowly and lightly, like a weightless leaf. All I saw along the way was crimson, and all I heard were piercing cries.
I want to close my eyes but I can't; I want to plug my ears but I can't even feel my own hands.
They could only watch and listen helplessly, imprinting the horrific scenes along the way into their minds.
Finally, I managed to stop, my body no longer falling, and I arrived at a place completely untouched by all the previous noise and pain.
I should have never been here before, yet I have a sudden, intuitive feeling that I am in the fourteenth level of hell, the Hell of the Unjustly Died.
I see……
It dawned on me belatedly that since I had ended up in this place, it meant that perhaps I had been wrong all along.
I didn't fall from the high platform by accident; I deliberately sought death.
But after figuring this out, I wasn't particularly surprised.
—I didn’t even feel whether my heart was still beating in my chest at that moment.
I glanced around casually, but saw no blood, heard no screams, no tortured dead, and no executioner's ghost...
There was only utter silence, darkness, and a door that vaguely appeared in the darkness.
This door... I feel like I've seen it somewhere before.
But I can't remember, and I don't really want to think about it.
I felt languid and unwilling to move, as if a huge weight had been lifted from my heart, or as if I had finally reached the point of exhaustion after countless long journeys.
As for where we came from and where we are going, it seems that none of that matters anymore.
Everything... is truly over.
If there is no end, then there is no beginning.
Without the necessary destination, there would be no departure in the first place.
In pure tranquility and bewilderment, I slowly closed my non-existent eyes, waiting for myself to completely disappear and return to silence. However—in the next instant.
A knocking sound came from the void.
I struggled to open my eyes.
Although it's said that I opened my eyes, I actually lost my body the moment I arrived in this place.
The so-called "opening my eyes" simply means that my scattered vision has become clear again, and I look in the direction of the sound with non-existent eyes.
It was that familiar door that vaguely appeared in the darkness.
...Is someone knocking on the door?
But... how is that possible?
After all... this place... is hell...
I thought slowly, my thoughts scattered like broken cotton wool.
I stared at that door, unblinking.
Just as my vision was becoming blurry again due to drowsiness, the knocking sounded again, even clearer and louder than before!
It's true!
Someone is actually knocking on the gates of hell!
As I realized this, my eyes lit up and my previously blurry vision suddenly became clear. I stared straight at the door, becoming more and more certain that I must have seen it somewhere before... But where exactly was it?
I was bewildered by a great deal of doubt.
I wanted to stand up, walk over, get closer to the door, reach out and open it, and see who was knocking on the door.
But I can't do it.
My hands and feet, my head, my internal organs, my limbs and bones have all disappeared.
Perhaps, the moment I jumped from that height, the moment I chose to kill myself, I could never go back...
I really don't want to go back.
For some reason, I wanted to take one last look at that door, and see who was standing behind it...
Bang bang bang—
My heart, which didn't exist, suddenly skipped a beat.
Within a chest that does not exist, the sound travels continuously through muscles and bones that should have long since vanished, reaching ears that do not exist.
How could this be...?
I looked down in disbelief, staring wide-eyed at everything before me.
I saw a blood-red, beating heart. Through the gaping hole in the chest, through the shattered ribs, I saw a thin chain, now wrapped around the heart like a vine.
It also emitted a crimson glow in the darkness.
The other end of the chain dragged out, stretching all the way to the door, and then disappeared below it.
It was only then that I noticed there was a narrow gap at the bottom of the door, just big enough for the chain to pass through.
Swipe, swish—
The rustling sound of chains being dragged broke the silence.
As the door drew closer, I held my breath. My heart pounded even faster than before.
Finally, I arrived at that door.
The force pulling me finally stopped abruptly, as if it could no longer bear the strain.
I lowered my head again, wanting to see if the chain tied to my heart was still in place.
Unexpectedly, due to a momentary lapse in control of the force, everything in my field of vision suddenly flipped over.
After a moment of dizziness, I gradually realized that my neck had broken while bending. My head, unable to bear the weight, drooped down, and if it weren't for the thin layer of skin connecting it, it would have fallen to the ground long ago.
...Thank goodness.
As I felt relieved, I reached out and cupped my head in front of me.
—If I could, I would like to put my head back in its original place.
Unfortunately, when it came time to actually do it, I discovered that both of my hand bones were broken. So no matter how hard I tried, I could only raise my arms to my chest, barely enough to support my head and prevent the skin connecting to my neck from further deforming or even tearing.
I adjusted my arm, lifting my face slightly towards the door, instead of staring directly at the bloody gash in my chest.
After doing all this, I opened my mouth, wanting to ask if the person outside the door was still there.
When he opened his mouth, he found that he couldn't make a sound at all.
That's it. I belatedly realized that since the neck was already broken, the throat was naturally no longer usable.
...But if that's the case, how am I supposed to know what's going on outside?
Just as I was hesitating, the long-awaited knocking sounded again.
Thump, thump, thump...
The slow, deep voice seemed to strike my heart with each beat.
I listened for a while, and then I was surprised to realize that it wasn't an illusion—
The frequency with which the person outside knocked on the door was exactly the rhythm of my heartbeat.
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