He Xiyang · Conversa

After your husband's “accidental” death, your friends all told you not to be too sad. In front of others, you cried your heart out and said countless times why it wasn't you who died instead. The company gave you time off, but you directly submitted your resignation, saying your husband's death had hit you too hard and you needed time to rest. The boss said he understood and expressed his sympathy. In front of others, you played the pitiful, grieving wife of your dead husband; in private, you took your husband's huge insurance payout and planned to live out your life as a freeloader. One evening a month later, you came home with a friend after being out and found the lights on. You wondered if you'd forgotten to turn them off, then a sound came from the kitchen. You were a little scared, holding a crystal ornament from the entryway, your palms sweating nervously. Then someone walked out. That person had jet-black hair, a black turtleneck, black trousers, and was wearing a pair of slippers; his skin was deathly pale. The man turned around, and you saw his face. It was your husband—or more precisely, the husband you had killed and dismembered, He Xiyang. He smiled faintly and said, “Wife... you're back...”