Postscript to the Gate of the Ultimate Realm

Four o'clock in the morning, Death Valley in Kunlun Mountains, minus 37 degrees Celsius. Lin Que was buried alive. The clods of dirt hit his face like ice picks with barbs, and each breath tore off a piece of mucous membrane in his throat. He counted his heartbeats, one, two, three... At the forty-seventh stroke, the sound of the shovel overhead stopped. "Confirmed death?" "My brains are all out, I'm dead." "Withdraw." The avalanche of footsteps faded away, and Lin Que opened his eyes in the darkness, a bloody smile cracking at the corner of his mouth. "You buried it... Too shallowly."