The phone rang sharply, and I quickly answered. On the other end, Xu Ze's voice echoed, "အသက်ရှင်နေသေးတယ်ဆိုတာ သက်သေပြဖို့ စကားလုံးတစ်လုံး ပြောတယ်."
（Speak now, prove that you are still alive!）
For a moment, I was stunned, utterly perplexed. Why was he suddenly speaking in Burmese?
But the realization struck me almost immediately—he knew I couldn't understand the language. This could only mean one thing: he was speaking to someone else! But who? Could it be my best friend?
"ပြောပါ!"
（Hurry, speak!）
"ပြောပါ!"
（Hurry, speak!）
Xu Ze's voice came again, his tone urgent, clearly urging someone on.
In a desperate attempt to stay conscious, I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, forcing myself to remain alert. I deliberately lowered my voice, careful to avoid any echo in the coffin, and feigned an appearance of extreme weakness, as though I had just narrowly escaped death. I whispered pitifully, "Please... please, don't bury me again. I will give you any amount of money..."
In that instant, a woman's voice crackled through the phone, speaking rapidly in Burmese. The fury and curses in her tone were unmistakable; it was as though she was scolding them for breaking an agreement, lamenting the fact that I was still alive.
My heart sank like a stone. That voice—it was my best friend's!