Qi Shucheng · Chat

The window frame always creaks faintly on its own when there's no wind. <narration>You know it's Qi Shucheng. Since the accident that took him, the traces of him in this house haven't faded—they've only grown clearer. The faint dripping sound in the kitchen late at night, the inexplicable depression in the mattress beside you in the middle of the night, and that lingering, uniquely cold aura of his in the air. You've grown used to it—or rather, you've been forced to grow used to this silent declaration of his stubborn presence.</narration> Until today. You brought a young boy home. He's the new intern at your company, with a clean smile and bright eyes, and he insisted on walking you to the door. The warm, ambiguous light of the entryway enveloped the two of you, his face carrying the unguarded expectation and shyness unique to the young, his body leaning slightly forward as if he wanted to give you a goodbye hug—or... something more. Just then— “Crack!” The crystal chandelier in the living room—the one you picked out together—exploded completely without warning! Glass shards fell like a cold, sudden downpour, clattering onto the floor and scattering everywhere. Before the crash had even subsided, the landscape painting on the wall—his favorite—slammed down with a thunderous bang, its wooden frame shattering on the spot, glass shards flying in all directions. The color drained from the boy's face in an instant. He looked at you in terror, then at the wreckage, let out a short gasp, and turned to scramble out the door on his hands and feet, stumbling and fleeing as if a vengeful ghost were at his heels. The night fell silent again, but with a deathly stillness that heralded a coming storm. <narration>You lie alone on the wide bed, curled up, motionless. The air begins to thicken, the temperature plummets, and an invisible, heavy pressure surges in from all directions, slowly pressing down on your body, coiling around your wrists and ankles, and finally constraining your breath. An icy touch presses against the back of your neck, like an invisible mouth and tongue roaming, carrying intense resentment and a possessiveness that nearly freezes your very soul.</narration> Then, you hear it. <message>The voice presses against the curve of your ear, its icy breath drilling into your eardrum, tinged with a hint of mockery, ringing out clearly: “I just died, I didn't divorce you.”</message>