Dying Once More

"Mr. Conroy, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence, oppressive silence; cold, bone-chilling cold. He stared wide-eyed, silent, as the halo in his eyes dimmed bit by bit, as if all vitality had been sucked out.

This wasn't a dream.

It was over, everything was over, dreams were over, even his life was over.

No insurance money, Linda couldn't continue, their house would become a heavy burden, even if she didn't want to, after the bank repossessed the house, she could only take Sean back to her parents' home, gradually forgetting about him; after he passed away, his presence in this world would gradually be erased, eventually disappearing completely, as if he had never existed, even his mother, suffering from Alzheimer's, wouldn't remember him.

It was all a lie, a beautiful lie.

The White House said Iraq was a threat, that they orchestrated 9/11, so everyone nationwide was indignant and plunged into war, only to get stuck in this quagmire, who cared about the innocent soldiers on the battlefield? The company said there was no danger in Iraq, and they could even earn high rewards, so he left home without hesitation, hoping to do something for Linda and Sean with his own hands, only to be trapped in this tiny box, quietly waiting for death, and all they cared about was how to avoid paying insurance money?

How ridiculous, how absurd, how desolate.

But what was even more tragic was that he couldn't even muster up anger now, only a sense of helplessness, the weight of despair suffocating him. He was alone now, wasn't he? Linda didn't answer the phone, Sean was at school, the White House rescue team didn't show up, and on the other end of the line was a cold-blooded creature eager to finish work. Nothing, there was nothing, no hope, no follow-up, this was the end.

"Mr. Conroy?" the voice on the other end called again, still no response from him, "This concludes my conversation with Mr. Paul Conroy. I'm going to turn off the recorder now."

He stared wide-eyed, but there was only blankness in his deep brown eyes, as if there was no trace of emotion left. A hot tear rolled down his cheek, but before it could hit the ground, it evaporated into the air. He didn't even have tears anymore.

As Chu Jia Shu, he had died once; as Paul Conroy—or was it Renly Hall—he couldn't tell anymore, whether Renly was a dream or Paul was a dream, but whoever he was, it was time to end again, he had to die again.

Die again.

Where was the fear of death? The desire to survive? The longing for freedom? Gone, all gone, extinguished coldly, he had nothing, he couldn't even feel pain, just lying here quietly, waiting for death. The whole world turned gray, vast and majestic, but he had no strength to struggle, let alone escape.

To quietly witness the world crumbling was such a wonderful thing. The corners of his mouth, slowly, gently, gradually formed a faint arc, that was a smile.

The dead silence made time seem to stand still, waiting on the other end of the phone for a long time, still no response, it seemed even the sound of breathing had disappeared, a sense of sadness slowly rose, he whispered, "I'm sorry." Without the previous formalities, his voice was low, echoing in the faint glow of the phone, inexplicably adding a touch of sadness.

He hung up the phone, then slowly lowered his arm, staring at the wooden boards above, the flashlight resting on his chest flashed twice, finally stabilizing, a faint light seemed precarious under the pressure of darkness, there was a danger of being extinguished at any moment.

He lay there like that, the sound of his breathing gradually fading away, the rise and fall of his chest gradually calming, the curve of his lips returning to its original state, the light in his deep brown eyes slowly dissipating, no anger, no despair, no irony, nothing, just calmness, as if he could clearly see the process of the faint vitality disappearing along with the light.

Hah. The world fell silent again.

In a daze, he returned to the hospital bed of the previous life, a vast expanse of white, doctors and nurses rushing around, Ding Ya Nan's tearful face filled with despair and shock, gradually fading in the surging crowd, all the noisy voices around began to disappear, the world dimming bit by bit. He knew there was no next time, this was the end, a void end.

"...Renly."

The empty voice came from the distant horizon, indistinct, echoing in the boundless darkness, unable to identify the direction or the content, as if just the howling of the wind.

"...Renly." The voice still lingered, the empty echo sounded thin and weak. Suddenly, the voice crossed the vast expanse of the stars and burst in his ear, "Renly!"

A beam of light exploded in the depths of his pupils, the dazzling light rushed into his eyes, the tearing pain made his body instinctively close his eyes, the bright light almost scalding, even with closed eyes he could feel the boiling heat, but he had no strength to touch it, his brain couldn't even react.

"Renly! What on earth is happening? Renly! Renly!"

The anxious voice roared in his ears, like a huge force pulling him up from the depths of the ocean, suddenly, he emerged from the water, his lungs, which had been suffocated for so long, suddenly sucked in a large amount of air. He couldn't help but take a deep breath, opening his eyes again, his muscles tense to the extreme, even his eyeballs couldn't move, just staring blankly at the light above, hurting his eyes.

"Renly? Answer me? Renly!"

"Hu, hu, hu..." he breathed heavily, his soul finally returned to his body, he turned his head blankly, trying to find a reference point in front of him with his blurry focus, the distant figures lost their faces, wearing the same masks; even the person nearby was the same, wearing a white mask without features. This left him confused, full of question marks— 

Who was he? Was this a dream or reality? How could he distinguish? Should he find the sensation of falling from "Inception"? Or find his totem?

"...Where am I now?" Struggling, he finally asked a question.

"Warehouse, we're in a warehouse now, this is the set." Rodrigo didn't know why Renly asked this question, but he tried his best to answer.

"Do you remember? We were filming, and then you... you fell asleep because you were too exhausted. After waking you up, we resumed filming. Are you okay now? If you need to, we can pause today's work and you can go rest. You don't need to worry about the rental fee for the warehouse, our funds are still relatively abundant..."

Rodrigo continued, but Renly raised his hand to stop him, he turned his head again, the faces in his sight gradually became clear, familiar yet unfamiliar faces, filled with panic and shock, all focused on his shoulders, as if... as if he had just escaped death.

"So, we were just filming." Renly's brain was a bit slow, still somewhat blurry, he was called "Renly" just now, did that mean this was reality? But how could he distinguish? Did he have to find a sensation of imbalance like in "Inception"? Or was it finding his totem?

His confused thoughts settled down, he raised his head again, and then he saw Rodrigo's anxious expression, "...So, was the filming just now smooth?"

None of this felt real, yet it was all too real. The boundary between illusion and reality was incredibly blurred, there seemed to be no difference between this moment and the moment just now. But at least he was "alive" now, even if it was an illusion, he was alive, he needed some time to sort out his thoughts.

For now, let's assume he was Renly, let's assume the filming just now was just a shoot, let's assume falling asleep while watching the script at the hotel was just a dream.

"Good." Rodrigo's words were a bit stumbling, Renly's question caught him off guard—Renly's condition was so bad just now, and now he's asking about the filming situation? This... this... really left Rodrigo at a loss for how to respond. But stepping back, considering the magnificent performance Renly just delivered, if the camera didn't faithfully capture it, that would be their fault, "Perfect! I mean it," Rodrigo quickly said, "Everything is fine, there are no problems at all, the camera angles are perfect, no need for reshoots. Brilliant, truly brilliant!"

In his mind, he couldn't think of any actor who could reach such heights, not even Robert De Niro, not even Al Pacino, not even Marlon Brando. Although he might be inexperienced, although his judgment might be unfair, although he might be overly surprised, this was his opinion, the performance just now absolutely deserved to be recorded in history!

"That's good. Isn't it. This is a good thing?" Renly's weak voice made a sarcastic remark, then he started coughing violently.