Death

My roommate Chen Ling was always coming up with strange rules. For example, after the dorm power went out, we weren’t allowed to turn on any lights, and once a bag of snacks was opened, it had to be finished within five minutes.

If we didn’t follow them, she would nag us about it all day long.

Just now, at three in the morning, she woke all of us from a dead sleep and said:

“You have to survive. The drill is officially over now.”

With that, she gave us an eerie smile, then turned and walked out the door.

A scream came from downstairs soon after.

She had jumped from the dorm room below ours.

After I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I bought three necklaces and hid them in three different places.

“Honey, this is my favorite necklace. Make sure you burn one for me every year on the anniversary of my death, okay?”

With that one sentence, I put a leash on that mad dog Shen Ci.

It made him give up on jumping off a building and throw away the sleeping pills.

Clinging to that promise, he endured year after year.

Until a young girl appeared by Shen Ci’s side. She was innocent and kind, like a warm little sun.

Shen Ci moved out of our marital home and sent away the puppy I had raised.

By the third anniversary of my death, Shen Ci didn’t come.

I slipped into his dream and put on my cutest act.

“Honey, you’re such a dummy. You still haven’t found this year’s necklace.”

Shen Ci, who had always chattered endlessly at me, was strangely silent now.

After a long time, he finally said, “Qingqing, it’s been three years. I need to start a new life too.”

The night I was sent into the Royal Palace, snow was falling from the heavens.

One hundred and twenty silver lamps lined the steps, but their wicks were not made of cotton; they were segments of little finger bones coated in white wax.

Everyone said that as long as I sold my last box of matches to the Crown Prince, Baili City would survive this winter.

Only I knew that the flames capable of conjuring the scent of bread, the crackle of a hearth, and the warmth of a grandmother’s smile were not blessings from God.

They were the final dreams of children who had frozen to death in the streets.

Tonight, the Royal Palace was coming for mine.

When I was eighteen, I didn’t dare push open that door. Behind it, my best friend was playing adult games with the male writer I secretly loved.

I remembered that moment for ten long years. In that decade, my friend died, the writer stopped writing, and my life was ruined.

I respectfully composed a letter and mailed it to the man I had once loved from afar: Chen Song.

Fu Qiu had always accepted her lot in life.

When she was a child, a blind man read her fortune through bone-weighing and said her bones were light, her fate was lowly, and that in this life she could only sell her body.

As it happened, her family was going through hard times, so her father simply sold her to a brothel.

When she was still young and first put on display, the madam said that although she was beautiful, her face carried a pitiful, sorrowful look, and the customers she attracted would never be decent men.

Sure enough, every few days, she suffered another bout of abuse.

By middle age, her looks had withered, and she married a merchant. The neighbors said her thin lips and fox-like eyes meant she would never be the faithful sort.

Before long, rumors were flying everywhere. The merchant could not bear it, and on a rainy night, he drove her out of the house.

Even so, she never hated anyone. She only hated that her own fate was so poor.

As she lay on the verge of death, the Old Blind Man happened to pass by drunk, bragging to the crowd.

“Twenty years ago, I saw a little girl in another town. She was so young, but she already had the looks to topple a kingdom.

“So I pretended to be blind, did a bone-weighing for her, and told her she had a lowly fate-that in this life, she could only become a whore.

“And guess what? Her whole family believed me!”

He Died Before Spring When Lu Chen died before my eyes for the sixth time, I finally stopped trying to block that car, that river, and that fire.

I no longer clung to a medical report, fruitlessly arguing with fate.

Over the past three years, I had dragged him back from the brink of spring time and time again, only to finally realize that someone eventually has to walk that path to the end.

But I still couldn’t let go. At the very least, this time, I wanted to tell him I loved him to his face before he closed his eyes for good.

My husband was sick and dying.

But before he died, he insisted on divorcing me.

He transferred every asset under his name, including the company, to me and left himself without a penny.

The night we signed the divorce agreement, he held me and cried like his heart was being ripped out.

He said this was the last thing he could do for me. He didn’t want me, after his death, to become the widow everyone pitied-the woman whose husband had died.

It was his one and only wish before he passed. As the wife who loved him so deeply, how could I possibly refuse?

The night before we were supposed to pick up the divorce certificate, he suddenly fell into a coma and was rushed to the hospital.

The doctor issued a critical condition notice.

And I signed the consent form to forgo treatment without hesitation.

They couldn’t save my husband. He died on that rain-lashed night.

I turned away, wiped the tears from my eyes, and tore the divorce agreement to shreds with a smile.

That same night, I called the funeral home. Before dawn broke, I had him sent into the cremator and burned down to a handful of ash.

The day I died of illness, the entire palace was shrouded in grief.

Only Emperor Yan Lang was not sad; he was merely a bit annoyed.

He was annoyed that half a month ago, because he wanted to invest my sister, Cui Mingshu, as Noble Consort, I had a massive argument with him and had yet to bow my head and admit my fault.

He was annoyed that the tactless officials from the Ministry of Rites were kneeling outside the hall, claiming they did not know how to determine the Empress’s posthumous title, write her biography, or arrange her burial in the imperial mausoleum.

Memorials piled up on his desk like snow on the eaves, as the hundred officials exhausted every flowery word to speculate on the Son of Heaven’s whims.

They suggested posthumous titles like ‘Virtuous,’ ‘Moral,’ ‘Gentle,’ and ‘Respectful,’ yet I was once the woman who, because someone had skimped on Yan Lang’s rations, chased that eunuch through three streets with a knife like a common shrew, cursing him the whole way.

They described my life as ‘noble and carefree,’ yet after his enthronement, he and I did nothing but argue or give each other the cold shoulder.

It seemed I was always crying-always weeping.

When it came to the matter of the imperial mausoleum, Yan Lang finally recalled a sliver of my merit.

Having been husband and wife, he was not stingy in granting me glory after death, graciously permitting me to sleep in the same tomb as him.

Before the vermilion ink of his approval for our joint burial could dry, Aunt Sun, the head maid of Jianjia Palace, was already kneeling respectfully outside the hall. She said the Empress had a final request she wished to be granted.

Yan Lang likely guessed what it was.

In all probability, she wanted to bow her head and admit her mistake, then ask for a grander posthumous title, an honorary rank, and for him to forbid Cui Mingshu from entering the palace.

“The Empress does not wish to be buried with you. “She said this life was too wretched; she never wants to see you again, neither in the blue vault of heaven nor the yellow springs of the underworld.”

At my grand wedding to my Boyfriend, a stranger pushed open the door and walked in elegantly.

Who is he? What does he want? Is he here to bless me, or to destroy me?

When the man smiled, raised his hand, and lightly pushed me off the rooftop, I finally remembered who he was.

After fate destroyed me once more, it granted me the chance of Rebirth.

Since then I have decided: I will never bow my head or admit defeat. Even if I fall into Avici Hell, I will stop at nothing.

In our village, there was an abandoned Brick Kiln rumored to be haunted.

During my first year of middle school, a few classmates and I went to the kiln for an adventure. We unexpectedly stumbled upon a swarm of rats worshipping a wall, all of them throwing themselves against it until they died…

In that moment, I realized there was truly something in that kiln that shouldn’t be provoked.

Unfortunately, it was already too late. From then on, my friends began to die one after another.

Until one night, that thing finally stood at the head of my bed…