Survivor

"Drink," Renly suddenly took in a gulp of air, sitting up like a vampire returning from the dead. The vague voice from his throat was almost inaudible, "Get... out..." Only a fuzzy hiss remained, but his hands and feet were extraordinarily strong, striking out at any nearby object with reckless force. The indiscriminate assault made everyone retreat.

Jose was almost scared out of his wits; his eyes had turned bloodshot. He crawled and scrambled to flee outside. Others fared no better; they started panicking and fleeing backward. People collided violently, and the room turned into chaos, resembling the hell of Asura. The coffins around, silent, offered no assistance in this moment.

A punch landed hard on Matthew's cheek, but he didn't care about himself. He tightly held Renly's arm, trying to calm him down. However, it was in vain. The relentless attacks continued, thunderous and furious. "Renly!" Matthew used up his last ounce of strength, roaring at Renly with all his might.

The powerful sound vibrated in the air. Renly's movements suddenly froze. He stared blankly at Matthew, inhaling greedily, gulping down fresh, cold air. Out of eagerness, he choked on his own breath, coughing violently. The coughing fit seemed endless, as if even his lungs were about to be coughed out.

Looking left and right, Matthew attempted to hand over a bottle of mineral water. Unexpectedly, Renly's pupils contracted sharply. He instinctively recoiled and raised his hands defensively, ready to attack any approaching object. Matthew raised his hands to show he meant no harm, then stopped moving, eventually causing Renly's attack to gradually cease.

"Cough, cough." Renly coughed again a couple of times, finally catching his breath. Unconsciously, he looked around, his vacant eyes trying to find a focus. Unfortunately, he failed. A glimmer flickered in his deep brown eyes, but before it could fully ignite, his eyelids closed. He lay down again, as if all his strength had been drained, and all signs of life had quieted down.

Matthew stood still, suddenly at a loss. He stared at Renly, completely baffled, trying to figure out what had happened. However, the chaotic scene before him offered no clues. "Renly? Renly? What happened? Are you alright? Renly?" Out of sheer urgency, he even reached out and shook Renly a couple of times, hoping for a response. "So annoying." Renly closed his eyes slowly, raised his right hand weakly, and then let it droop down. "Always so noisy. Can't you see? I'm exhausted, physically drained. Don't I need a good rest?"

Matthew paused, then burst into laughter, shaking his head helplessly. This was Renly, the Renly he knew so well, back to his usual self. The heavy heart that had been hanging suspended fell back into his chest, and he heaved a long sigh. At that moment, Matthew realized that his back was drenched in sweat, and he felt a bit weakened.

Turning his head, Matthew said to Rodrigo, "I think we need a doctor and some food."

Rodrigo was completely stunned, standing there motionless, not knowing how to react. Matthew had to repeat his request again. Only then did Rodrigo nod, "I'll take care of it right away." These were the duties of a producer, but in an independent film's small crew like this one, Rodrigo, serving as both director and producer, didn't need to be so strict about the division of tasks.

Matthew's gaze returned to Renly. Although Renly had his eyes tightly shut, the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was breathing. "You really are insane, you know that?"

Renly's lips curved into a faint arc, but then they smoothed out due to his exhaustion. "Thanks for the compliment."

Eight hours had passed. Renly had initially worried that he might sleep through this peaceful time, but reality turned those eight hours into a near-death nightmare. In the absolute darkness and absolute silence, fear clung to him like a malignant sore, slowly devouring vitality and hope. At some point, he genuinely thought his life was coming to an end, believed the Grim Reaper had found him again, and imagined himself being buried alive in a wooden box in the desert.

That bone-deep despair made words feeble and powerless. Even though he had once experienced death, even though he had lived two lifetimes, facing such situations still proved challenging. Darkness gradually eroded vitality, and hope was snuffed out bit by bit. Desperation spread insidiously from every angle, and the icy chill of Death's scythe made every pore feel it acutely. The more he struggled fiercely, the heavier disappointment became; the more he resisted vehemently, the more brutal despair grew.

Imagination always fell short, pale in comparison to true experience. Only those who had gone through it could understand the taste of it. Bystanders would forever remain on the sidelines.

When watching survival films like "127 Hours" or "Buried", the internal struggle and exhilaration were overwhelming, even inflicting a sense of shared torment. However, only when truly confronted with a desperate situation could one understand that kind of pain, that kind of torment, that kind of despair, a torment that words could not describe, and bystanders could never truly comprehend.

More importantly, different people, experiencing the same fear, tasted it in vastly different ways. He believed that at the brink of despair, the mental images conjured by Aron Ralston from "127 Hours", Paul Conroy from "Buried", and himself were all distinct.

He knew his attempt was mad, a reckless dance on the edge of a knife. One careless move could set him ablaze, potentially snuffing out his second chance at life. It was practically a textbook example of reaping what you sow, yet he had no regrets. If given another chance, he would still make the same choice.

Because he felt it, felt the fear and cruelty of being buried alive, felt the despair and anger of awaiting death, sensed the dissatisfaction, regret, helplessness, and grievances inside Paul. The blurred boundary between reality and illusion was like tearing the soul in half, pain reaching its apex, so intense that he couldn't even produce a sound. Yet, it granted him a true experience of being in a dire situation.

He needed this experience. Otherwise, his acting would always be proper, precise, controlled, and restrained, adhering obediently to the framework of method acting, using simulation and speculation to portray the character's emotions. But such acting lacked a shred of soul, his soul, entwined with the character's, a soul that bestowed realism and uniqueness, a soul that danced between virtuality and reality, indistinguishable.

However, all of this was for later.

Even though this was an experiment, even though he had orchestrated everything himself, surviving the near-death experience drained him. Fatigue surged like a tidal wave; he had completely exhausted his physical strength. This exhaustion even surpassed that of three hours of surfing. His mental energy had been entirely depleted; he didn't even want to think about where he was right now.

He just wanted to sleep soundly, breathe air deeply, and relish life as it was.

He sank deeply into sleep, drifting away. The world quietened once more, but this time, it was illuminated, warm, and safe.

It was Matthew who woke Renly. Rolling over, Renly pulled the blanket over his head, ignoring him. However, Matthew was not one to give up easily. He brought a cup of coffee to the bedside and began sipping it leisurely, its rich aroma quickly filling the room. Renly's stomach, rather uncooperatively, began rumbling.

Despite his heavy eyelids, he longed to sleep indefinitely. Yet, the scent of coffee awakened the hungry beasts in his belly. Gurgling, his stomach protested again. Matthew's serious voice reached his ears, "If Elizabeth heard that, she'd probably berate you for being impolite, and Edith would be delighted to add fuel to the fire."

Noble life demanded restraint and suppression—even a hungry belly couldn't utter a sound. It was basic etiquette.

Renly buried his head in the pillow, but eventually, he couldn't resist any longer. He raised his hand and tossed the pillow in the direction of Matthew's voice. Of course, he knew it was unlikely to hit the target. The pillow hit the door panel with a thud, then dropped to the ground without a splash.

"If you get up now, the steak will still be perfectly warm, the freshest it can be. I can have the waiter bring it to your room." Matthew continued to entice.

Renly finally sat up, eyes still closed. He let out a sigh, "Charles, you know I need rest."

Charles was Matthew's middle name. Only his father would call him that way—rigid and formal. Every time Renly wanted to mock him, he would call him by that name. Matthew rolled his eyes in exasperation, "I also know that you need to eat; your stomach doesn't lie."

His shoulders sagged as he let out a long breath, "Fine, I'll reluctantly have a bit."

"It seems your habit of sleeping in hasn't changed." Matthew walked to the bedroom door, signaled to the waitstaff outside, and they brought in dinner. Though this was just a three-star hotel, the service was still satisfactory.

Renly's eyes remained closed as he stretched lazily, "It seems your habit of talking too much hasn't changed either. Is that an inherited trait?" The second part of his sentence insulted Matthew's father as well, making Matthew chuckle.

The aroma of food wafted under his nose, and Renly finally gave in, opening his eyes. Through his hazy vision, he saw a fresh piece of steak, a serving of mashed potatoes, some blanched broccoli, and a simple Caesar salad. "After barely making it through and now having to eat this utterly horrible food, I suddenly feel like life has no hope." Despite his words, he picked up the knife and fork, ready to start his meal.

The waitstaff and Rodrigo standing at the door were at a loss, but Matthew couldn't help but suppress his laughter.