The crack was truly too narrow, just a thread's width, but he could sense that faint hint of coolness, as if air were flowing. Although he couldn't confirm whether it was real or his imagination, that faint possibility triggered an explosion of adrenaline. He began using his fingertips to pick at the seam, trying to lift the lid slightly.
But... not a fraction of movement.
He remembered the nails he'd hammered in earlier, dense and tightly securing every part of the coffin, leaving no crevice. He put all his effort into trying to insert his fingertips into the gap, but there was no chance at all. His fingertips could even sense the viscous and warm blood, yet there was no wavering. It was as if an elephant was sitting on top of the coffin lid. That tiny, feeble feeling dragged him into an abyss of endless despair after the exhilaration of free-falling stimulation.
No, he wouldn't give up. He refused to give up.
Taking a deep breath, the boiling air entering his lungs started to sting. The rolling of his stomach caused nausea again. He clenched his teeth, forcefully swallowing this sensation. Then he picked up the shoelace, and bit by bit, he stuffed it into the crevice.
In the darkness, he couldn't see the result of his efforts. He had to rely on instinct to keep pushing, but the shoelace started to accumulate at his fingertips, refusing to budge. All the shoelaces were stuck in the crevice, immobile. No matter how hard he tried, his actions were in vain. The tangled shoelaces were stuck, like a mess of threads frozen in place with no progress.
He gripped the shoelace and pulled it backward forcefully. Unexpectedly, the shoelace easily came out. He exerted too much force with his right hand, smashing it against the wooden board above him. Intense pain shot through his hand and wrist. His uncontainable irritability erupted, yet he couldn't vent it. He was like an injured beast, wildly grabbing onto the gap, fiddling with it carelessly, and ultimately venting his anger on himself.
He clenched his fists, opened his mouth wide, and silently roared. All his strength burst from his tense muscles. "Ah!" But no sound came from his throat. He just opened his mouth wide. The anger, repression, struggle, and pain he had so exuberantly vented couldn't be seen at all. Only a sense of desolation remained, gray despair creeping like vines, winding around his ankles, spreading rapidly, consuming him bit by bit. There was nothing left, not even a trace of debris.
Despair gradually settled. The fine gray emotion infiltrated every inch of his blood, wrapping around his heart. It voraciously devoured the bright vitality and vibrant energy, and then his chest sank slowly. It was as if the last bit of strength had been drained, even his spine taken away. He was reduced to a mere skin, falling softly, splashing up a cloud of dust.
The last trace in his gaze scattered, his pupils began to disintegrate, his soul shattered.
Humans were always this foolish, weren't they? Right before the explosion happened, he had just had a big fight with Linda. They had been in a cold war for two weeks, not exchanging a word. But Linda called him about Shane's matter, and though they had initially been discussing their child, it still ended in an argument.
He felt Linda didn't appreciate his hardships. He was covered in yellow sand in Iraq, unable to even bathe freely, not to mention the horrendous food and constant explosions. The reason he did all this was to make a final effort for the family, yet he couldn't gain understanding.
Linda believed he didn't understand her burden. The busyness of her work left her with no time, yet she had to care for Shane. Missing out on his childhood meant there would be no second chances. She just wanted her mother or his mother to come and spend some time with Shane, to alleviate her stress, but he disagreed.
The argument ended with Linda hanging up on him. Linda insisted that whether he agreed or not, her mother would come to stay for a while. He was furious, because he knew his mother-in-law had never liked him, not even when their life was stable and everything was progressing positively. If his mother-in-law came to live with them, his last bit of peace would disappear. Linda and Shane might be persuaded to distance themselves from him even more.
He truly believed their marriage had reached its end, seemingly beyond salvage. Yet here he was, lying in this coffin, buried alive in the heart of the desert. How ironic. He didn't want to end their marriage, he wanted to go home, to stop arguing with Linda. He still loved her deeply, but he had no chance left.
Even more ironic, his company had abandoned him. The promised benefits were all gone because they fired him. While he was still in the coffin, not even taking his final breath, the callousness sent shivers down his spine. All of this was merely to distance themselves, and all of it paled before the exchange of interests. The government had also given up on him. The so-called "rescue every citizen" was a joke in the face of national interest. They wouldn't come to save him. Even the Iraqi soldiers were abandoned; the government only cared about oil.
So, he had nothing left. He lost his wife, lost his son, lost his support, lost his home, lost his life, and even lost his faith. Then, what did he have left? When he died, would he only be left with a soulless shell?
Gradually, he started losing consciousness. He couldn't feel his feet or his hands. The narrow space compressed to the extreme, the air stuck to his skin obediently. All sensations seemed magnified to the utmost, yet also imprisoned to the utmost. The suffocating oppression was so clear, clear enough to induce despair. In a daze, he returned to the hospital bed. He was still Chu Jiashu, still the paralyzed Chu Jiashu.
He struggled with his body, but found he couldn't move at all. The nightmare that had haunted him for ten years had returned to his body. His soul was once again trapped within his body. Panic swept over him. Warmth gathered in his eye sockets. No matter how he struggled, his body had no sensation, just coldness, only coldness.
Everything had returned to square one. His dreams were just a joke, his efforts were futile. His persistence, his struggles, his endeavors, were all nothing more than a dying struggle. More laughable was that he thought he had finally won the opportunity to spread his wings once again. Like a moth to a flame, he embraced freedom, only to plunge into an abyss, shattering into pieces.
He was unwilling, but what could unwillingness achieve? Regret was powerless to help him, anger was ineffective. Even if he gave his all, it would be futile. That frustration clung to his throat, tearing at his heart and lungs, yet it was silent. He watched as his soul was gradually devoured by the gray despair.
Vivid and cruel, real and chilling.
The boundary between reality and illusion shattered completely at this moment. He could no longer distinguish whether he was Renly or Paul, or even Chu Jiashu. Otherwise, he was nothing but a wandering soul without identity. Everything from the past was merely a dream, including the 32 years of his previous life. When the dream awakened, unable to accept reality, he descended into madness, fragmenting apart. All the threads of the story twisted into chaos—Paul's, Renly's, and Chu Jiashu's. It was as if three memory puzzles were jumbled together, their pieces spilled out in a kaleidoscope, dazzlingly confusing, making it impossible to discern truth from falsehood.
He tried to clench his fists, only to find that his brain had lost control over his hands. He tried to take deep breaths, but his throat was completely locked. He attempted to gather his thoughts, but his mind had turned into a chaotic mess. Even the warm tears in his eye sockets gradually lost their warmth, turning icy cold, then evaporating into thin air, disappearing without a trace.
In this moment, time had completely lost its meaning. He didn't know if a second had passed or an hour. The air grew increasingly thin. The boiling oxygen in his lungs felt like thousands of needles pricking and stirring, conveying faint waves of tearing pain. His senseless body finally seemed to detect some movement.
Yet this faint movement was the death knell.
The hands of death firmly gripped his neck, sharp nails piercing his throat. Squeezing, squeezing harder, leaving traces of purple and blue, suffocation's torment allowed darkness to seep into his body. He began to sink, like plunging into a vast, desolate ocean. The freezing seawater surrounded him, chilling despair slowly crystallizing his blood. He continued sinking, endlessly sinking. The unfathomable ocean seemed to have no bottom, never reaching an end, perpetually imprisoned in boundless void.
The soul, withering away.
The body couldn't move, but his thoughts remained active. Dreams were aborted, but he still possessed the right to dream. Progress met obstacles, yet even after failure, he could try again. Life was trapped by reality, yet he could still hold onto a small happiness. But the wings of freedom were broken, the soul slowly withered and dissipated. "He" no longer existed, whether Chu Jiashu, Renly, or Paul. All of them would vanish. The final flicker of sentiment marked the moment of his complete disappearance from this world, utterly obliterated.
It was over. Everything was over.
Light, a glimmer of light pierced through. The feeble glow was so sharp it stung his eyes, causing a faint ache. "Huh..." he let out a long exhale. Was this the light of rebirth? Or the light of ending? Had he squandered his chance at rebirth, leading to a complete conclusion? How laughable, how absurd, how empty. But, it was truly ending.
"Renly? Renly! Jesus Christ! Renly! Wake up, please, wake up!"
The voice approached from afar, striking his soul like a giant bell. A torrent of pain surged in, every cell in his body started to scream and shout. In an instant, he surfaced from the deep sea!