The Fifth Time.
Fang Xiu had come to a bitter understanding: avoiding it was futile, and fear was useless. He could not lie in bed with his eyes shut forever. If he wanted to live, he had to confront his wife directly, to truly ignore her presence. Otherwise, he would never step out of his home.
"Darling, it's time for breakfast."
Fang Xiu turned a deaf ear, his eyes blank, rising from the bed and walking towards the bedroom door.
His wife stood blocking the doorway.
Fang Xiu showed no sign of movement, as though he didn't see her at all, and walked straight into her.
The imagined collision never occurred. It was as though he passed through a mass of air, unobstructed.
He had already deduced it—his wife couldn't make physical contact unless she knew for certain that he could see her.
The way she had merged into the bed moments earlier was proof enough of that.
Soon, he successfully stepped out of the bedroom.
But his wife seemed unwilling to let him go, fluttering in front of him like a playful butterfly, appearing and disappearing, always just in his line of sight.
And then Fang Xiu died.
He died from his lack of acting skills, from his inability to overcome his natural instincts.
It's difficult for anyone to remain still when a punch is thrown towards them, even if it stops just an inch from their nose. The body's instinct is to flinch, to blink.
His wife was no different. The more he ignored her, the more she leaned into his space, sometimes even materializing in front of him, her face so close to his that they could have kissed with a mere tilt of her lips.
In moments like these, even a seasoned actor would have been startled.
The Sixth Time.
Fang Xiu, his expression unreadable, walked out of the bedroom. This time, he didn't rush, fearing that any unusual movement might arouse suspicion. Instead, he decided to visit the bathroom first.
His wife, seemingly "shy," did not follow him.
Just as Fang Xiu let out a sigh of relief and began his business, a beautiful face slowly emerged from the toilet bowl.
Fang Xiu died again.
The Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Times.
Fang Xiu had died so many times that he had become numb to it, indifferent even to his own death. Despair had taken hold, and he was on the edge of complete collapse.
He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't overcome his natural reactions. His wife would appear in so many ways, in so many unexpected forms, that his gaze would inevitably shift.
Once, she had even emerged from his chest.
Running away was futile as well; any abnormal movement would trigger her transformation.
Countless deaths had finally broken his nerves.
He resisted. He fled. He gave in... but it was all in vain. Everything was in vain.
It was as if his fate had been sealed from the beginning—to die by his wife's hand.
The Eleventh, Twelfth, Thirteenth Times...
"Darling, it's time for breakfast."
"Hehe, you're so kind, dear."
Fang Xiu had lost his mind.
His mental state had completely unraveled, going from clear-headed and rational to utterly deranged.
But his wife was not a judge, and she wouldn't spare him just because he had gone insane.
The cycle of death continued.
What happens when a person is pushed to madness by constant stimuli, and then that same stimuli is repeated?
No one knew...
The Eighteenth Time.
Fang Xiu lay motionless on the bed. If not for the barely perceptible rise and fall of his breath, and the subtle beating of his heart, he would appear like a corpse.
If anyone were to look into his eyes at that moment, they would be horrified to discover that they were not the eyes of a living person.
They were devoid of life, like still water—no trace of any human emotion could be seen.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Fang Xiu's windows were sealed shut with cement.
However, if anyone could somehow peer through that thick cement, through those dead, lifeless eyes, they would find...
Beneath that calmness was an unimaginable, suffocating madness!
And within that madness burned a hatred hot enough to set his entire body ablaze!
The flames of rage were roaring, fueled by his hatred for his wife, for being killed eighteen times.
Some people are alive but have already died.
Some are mad but are, in fact, more lucid than ever.
This was Fang Xiu's state now.
Countless deaths had driven him to madness, but in the end, the rage gave him back his sanity. His hatred for his wife had reshaped his rationality.
Suddenly, Fang Xiu sat up on the bed, his lips moving without thinking, murmuring, "Die, die, die. You must die. As long as I live, you will die."
His voice was low and steady, void of any emotional inflection.
He spoke those chilling words in the calmest of tones.
"Darling, it's time for breakfast."
His wife's sweet voice sounded, as usual.
Fang Xiu acted as if he hadn't heard her. He stood up, put on his shoes, got out of bed, and walked straight through his wife's incorporeal form, heading to the bathroom to wash up and change his clothes.
During this, his wife did her best to interfere, but Fang Xiu's gaze never wavered. He moved with the air of someone who truly couldn't see her.
Once dressed, he sat at the table and calmly ate breakfast.
Of course, he had made it himself—one fried egg, a sausage, sandwiched between whole-grain bread, accompanied by a glass of fresh milk. Simple, yet nourishing.
It was clear: the more beautiful the woman, the better she was at lying.
His wife was no exception. She had said it was time for breakfast, yet there was no breakfast made.
Once he finished, Fang Xiu walked to the door.
He was leaving this place, heading outside to search for clues about his wife, to investigate the abnormalities in this world. Only then would he have the chance for revenge.
Just as his hand touched the doorknob, his wife's beautiful face appeared, embedded in the door, smiling sweetly.
"Darling, don't go outside, please stay home with me."
Creak!
The doorknob twisted off, but Fang Xiu walked calmly out the door.
Bang!
The door behind him.
His wife didn't follow.
After eighteen deaths, Fang Xiu had finally stepped out of the door, but there was no sense of relief or joy in his heart.
All he could think about was one thing—revenge.
Nothing but revenge!
"No one gets to kill me eighteen times and walk away scot-free! No one!"
His footsteps echoed through the hallway.
He lived on the fifth floor of an old building with no elevator, so he had no choice but to walk down the stairs.
Soon, the dim, decaying corridor came to an end, and the entrance door appeared in front of him.
He slowly pushed it open. The bright, warm sunlight poured in, filling the otherwise gloomy hallway.
It felt as though the outside world was bathed in sunlight, a stark contrast to the shadows behind him. The sunlight embraced Fang Xiu, warm and comforting.
After eighteen deaths, he had finally seen the sun outside.
He stepped out, embracing the world beyond the door.
But then, Fang Xiu froze, his blood nearly solidifying.
The sunlight that enveloped him no longer brought warmth.
Staring blankly at the outside world, he whispered to himself, "Is this... hell?""Hehe, my dear wife is truly wonderful."